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diff --git a/938-0.txt b/938-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e0e07dd --- /dev/null +++ b/938-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9085 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Good Indian, by B. M. Bower + +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: Good Indian + +Author: B. M. Bower + +Posting Date: July 26, 2008 [EBook #938] +Release Date: June, 1997 +Last Updated: March 9, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOOD INDIAN *** + + + + +Produced by Ken Smidge + + + + + +GOOD INDIAN + +by B. M. Bower + +1912 + + + + +Contents: + + I PEACEFUL HART RANCH + II GOOD INDIAN + III OLD WIVES' TALES + IV THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL + V “I DON'T CARE MUCH ABOUT GIRLS” + VI THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL PLAYS GHOST + VII MISS GEORGIE HOWARD, OPERATOR + VIII THE AMIABLE ANGLER + IX PEPPAJEE JIM “HEAP SABES” + X MIDNIGHT PROWLERS + XI “YOU CAN'T PLAY WITH ME” + XII “THEM DAMN' SNAKE” + XIII CLOUD-SIGN VERSUS CUPID + XIV THE CLAIM-JUMPERS + XV SQUAW-TALK-FAR-OFF HEAP SMART + XVI “DON'T GET EXCITED!” + XVII A LITTLE TARGET PRACTICE + XVIII A SHOT FROM THE RIM-ROCK + XIX EVADNA GOES CALLING + XX MISS GEORGIE ALSO MAKES A CALL + XXI SOMEBODY SHOT SAUNDERS + XXII A BIT OF PAPER + XXIII THE MALICE OF A SQUAW + XXIV PEACEFUL RETURN + XXV “I'D JUST AS SOON HANG FOR NINE MEN AS FOR ONE” + XXVI “WHEN THE SUN GOES AWAY” + XXVII LIFE ADJUSTS ITSELF AGAIN TO SMALL THINGS + + + + +GOOD INDIAN + + + + +CHAPTER I. PEACEFUL HART RANCH + +It was somewhere in the seventies when old Peaceful Hart woke to a +realization that gold-hunting and lumbago do not take kindly to one +another, and the fact that his pipe and dim-eyed meditation appealed to +him more keenly than did his prospector's pick and shovel and pan seemed +to imply that he was growing old. He was a silent man, by occupation +and by nature, so he said nothing about it; but, like the wild things +of prairie and wood, instinctively began preparing for the winter of his +life. Where he had lately been washing tentatively the sand along Snake +River, he built a ranch. His prospector's tools he used in digging +ditches to irrigate his new-made meadows, and his mining days he lived +over again only in halting recital to his sons when they clamored for +details of the old days when Indians were not mere untidy neighbors to +be gossiped with and fed, but enemies to be fought, upon occasion. + +They felt that fate had cheated them--did those five sons; for they had +been born a few years too late for the fun. Not one of them would ever +have earned the title of “Peaceful,” as had his father. Nature had +played a joke upon old Peaceful Hart; for he, the mildest-mannered +man who ever helped to tame the West when it really needed taming, had +somehow fathered five riotous young males to whom fight meant fun--and +the fiercer, the funnier. + +He used to suck at his old, straight-stemmed pipe and regard them with a +bewildered curiosity sometimes; but he never tried to put his puzzlement +into speech. The nearest he ever came to elucidation, perhaps, was when +he turned from them and let his pale-blue eyes dwell speculatively +upon the face of his wife, Phoebe. Clearly he considered that she was +responsible for their dispositions. + +The house stood cuddled against a rocky bluff so high it dwarfed the +whole ranch to pygmy size when one gazed down from the rim, and so steep +that one wondered how the huge, gray bowlders managed to perch upon +its side instead of rolling down and crushing the buildings to dust and +fragments. Strangers used to keep a wary eye upon that bluff, as if +they never felt quite safe from its menace. Coyotes skulked there, and +tarantulas and “bobcats” and snakes. Once an outlaw hid there for days, +within sight and hearing of the house, and stole bread from Phoebe's +pantry at night--but that is a story in itself. + +A great spring gurgled out from under a huge bowlder just behind the +house, and over it Peaceful had built a stone milk house, where Phoebe +spent long hours in cool retirement on churning day, and where one went +to beg good things to eat and to drink. There was fruit cake always +hidden away in stone jars, and cheese, and buttermilk, and cream. + +Peaceful Hart must have had a streak of poetry somewhere hidden away in +his silent soul. He built a pond against the bluff; hollowed it out from +the sand he had once washed for traces of gold, and let the big spring +fill it full and seek an outlet at the far end, where it slid away under +a little stone bridge. He planted the pond with rainbow trout, and on +the margin a rampart of Lombardy poplars, which grew and grew until they +threatened to reach up and tear ragged holes in the drifting clouds. +Their slender shadows lay, like gigantic fingers, far up the bluff when +the sun sank low in the afternoon. + +Behind them grew a small jungle of trees-catalpa and locust among +them--a jungle which surrounded the house, and in summer hid it from +sight entirely. + +With the spring creek whispering through the grove and away to where it +was defiled by trampling hoofs in the corrals and pastures beyond, and +with the roses which Phoebe Hart kept abloom until the frosts came, and +the bees, and humming--birds which somehow found their way across the +parched sagebrush plains and foregathered there, Peaceful Hart's ranch +betrayed his secret longing for girls, as if he had unconsciously +planned it for the daughters he had been denied. + +It was an ideal place for hammocks and romance--a place where dainty +maidens might dream their way to womanhood. And Peaceful Hart, when all +was done, grew old watching five full-blooded boys clicking their +heels unromantically together as they roosted upon the porch, and threw +cigarette stubs at the water lilies while they wrangled amiably over the +merits of their mounts; saw them drag their blankets out into the broody +dusk of the grove when the nights were hot, and heard their muffled +swearing under their “tarps” because of the mosquitoes which kept the +night air twanging like a stricken harp string with their song. + +They liked the place well enough. There were plenty of shady places +to lie and smoke in when the mercury went sizzling up its tiny tube. +Sometimes, when there was a dance, they would choose the best of +Phoebe's roses to decorate their horses' bridles; and perhaps their +hatbands, also. Peaceful would then suck harder than ever at his pipe, +and his faded blue eyes would wander pathetically about the little +paradise of his making, as if he wondered whether, after all, it had +been worth while. + +A tight picket fence, built in three unswerving lines from the post +planted solidly in a cairn of rocks against a bowlder on the eastern rim +of the pond, to the road which cut straight through the ranch, down that +to the farthest tree of the grove, then back to the bluff again, shut in +that tribute to the sentimental side of Peaceful's nature. Outside the +fence dwelt sturdier, Western realities. + +Once the gate swung shut upon the grove one blinked in the garish +sunlight of the plains. There began the real ranch world. There was the +pile of sagebrush fuel, all twisted and gray, pungent as a bottle +of spilled liniment, where braided, blanketed bucks were sometimes +prevailed upon to labor desultorily with an ax in hope of being rewarded +with fruit new-gathered from the orchard or a place at Phoebe's long +table in the great kitchen. + +There was the stone blacksmith shop, where the boys sweated over the +nice adjustment of shoes upon the feet of fighting, wild-eyed horses, +which afterward would furnish a spectacle of unseemly behavior under the +saddle. + +Farther away were the long stable, the corrals where broncho-taming was +simply so much work to be performed, hayfields, an orchard or two, then +rocks and sand and sage which grayed the earth to the very skyline. + +A glint of slithering green showed where the Snake hugged the bluff a +mile away, and a brown trail, ankle-deep in dust, stretched straight out +to the west, and then lost itself unexpectedly behind a sharp, jutting +point of rocks where the bluff had thrust out a rugged finger into the +valley. + +By devious turnings and breath-taking climbs, the trail finally reached +the top at the only point for miles, where it was possible for a +horseman to pass up or down. + +Then began the desert, a great stretch of unlovely sage and lava rock +and sand for mile upon mile, to where the distant mountain ridges +reached out and halted peremptorily the ugly sweep of it. The railroad +gashed it boldly, after the manner of the iron trail of modern industry; +but the trails of the desert dwellers wound through it diffidently, +avoiding the rough crest of lava rock where they might, dodging the +most aggressive sagebrush and dipping tentatively into hollows, seeking +always the easiest way to reach some remote settlement or ranch. + +Of the men who followed those trails, not one of them but could have +ridden straight to the Peaceful Hart ranch in black darkness; and there +were few, indeed, white men or Indians, who could have ridden there at +midnight and not been sure of blankets and a welcome to sweeten their +sleep. Such was the Peaceful Hart Ranch, conjured from the sage and the +sand in the valley of the Snake. + + + +CHAPTER II. GOOD INDIAN + +There is a saying--and if it is not purely Western, it is at least +purely American--that the only good Indian is a dead Indian. In the very +teeth of that, and in spite of the fact that he was neither very good, +nor an Indian--nor in any sense “dead”--men called Grant Imsen “Good +Indian” to his face; and if he resented the title, his resentment was +never made manifest--perhaps because he had grown up with the name, he +rather liked it when he was a little fellow, and with custom had come to +take it as a matter of course. + +Because his paternal ancestry went back, and back to no one knows +where among the race of blue eyes and fair skin, the Indians repudiated +relationship with him, and called him white man--though they also spoke +of him unthinkingly as “Good Injun.” + +Because old Wolfbelly himself would grudgingly admit under pressure +that the mother of Grant had been the half-caste daughter of Wolfbelly's +sister, white men remembered the taint when they were angry, and called +him Injun. And because he stood thus between the two races of men, his +exact social status a subject always open to argument, not even the fact +that he was looked upon by the Harts as one of the family, with his own +bed always ready for him in a corner of the big room set apart for the +boys, and with a certain place at the table which was called his--not +even his assured position there could keep him from sometimes feeling +quite alone, and perhaps a trifle bitter over his loneliness. + +Phoebe Hart had mothered him from the time when his father had sickened +and died in her house, leaving Grant there with twelve years behind him, +in his hands a dirty canvas bag of gold coin so heavy he could scarce +lift it, which stood for the mining claim the old man had just sold, and +the command to invest every one of the gold coins in schooling. + +Old John Imsen was steeped in knowledge of the open; nothing of the +great outdoors had ever slipped past him and remained mysterious. Put +when he sold his last claim--others he had which promised little and so +did not count--he had signed his name with an X. Another had written the +word John before that X, and the word Imsen after; above, a word which +he explained was “his,” and below the word “mark.” John Imsen had stared +down suspiciously at the words, and he had not felt quite easy in his +mind until the bag of gold coins was actually in his keeping. Also, he +had been ashamed of that X. It was a simple thing to make with a pen, +and yet he had only succeeded in making it look like two crooked sticks +thrown down carelessly, one upon the other. His face had gone darkly red +with the shame of it, and he had stood scowling down at the paper. + +“That boy uh mine's goin' to do better 'n that, by God!” he had sworn, +and the words had sounded like a vow. + +When, two months after that, he had faced--incredulously, as is the way +with strong men--the fact that for him life was over, with nothing +left to him save an hour or so of labored breath and a few muttered +sentences, he did not forget that vow. He called Phoebe close to the +bed, placed the bag of gold in Grant's trembling hands, and stared +intently from one face to the other. + +“Mis' Hart, he ain't got--anybody--my folks--I lost track of 'em years +ago. You see to it--git some learnin' in his head. When a man knows +books--it's--like bein' heeled--good gun--plenty uh ca't'idges--in +a fight. When I got that gold--it was like fightin' with my bare +hands--against a gatlin' gun. They coulda cheated me--whole thing--on +paper--I wouldn't know--luck--just luck they didn't. So you take it--and +git the boy schoolin'. Costs money--I know that--git him all it'll +buy. Send him--where they keep--the best. Don't yuh let up--n'er let +him--whilst they's a dollar left. Put it all--into his head--then he +can't lose it, and he can--make it earn more. An'--I guess I needn't +ask yuh--be good to him. He ain't got anybody--not a soul--Injuns don't +count. You see to it--don't let up till--it's all gone.” + +Phoebe had taken him literally. And Grant, if he had little taste +for the task, had learned books and other things not mentioned in +the curriculums of the schools she sent him to--and when the bag was +reported by Phoebe to be empty, he had returned with inward relief to +the desultory life of the Hart ranch and its immediate vicinity. + +His father would probably have been amazed to see how little difference +that schooling made in the boy. The money had lasted long enough to take +him through a preparatory school and into the second year of a college; +and the only result apparent was speech a shade less slipshod than that +of his fellows, and a vocabulary which permitted him to indulge in an +amazing number of epithets and in colorful vituperation when the fancy +seized him. + +He rode, hot and thirsty and tired, from Sage Hill one day and found +Hartley empty of interest, hot as the trail he had just now left +thankfully behind him, and so absolutely sleepy that it seemed likely to +sink into the sage-clothed earth under the weight of its own dullness. +Even the whisky was so warm it burned like fire, and the beer he tried +left upon his outraged palate the unhappy memory of insipid warmth and +great bitterness. + +He plumped the heavy glass down upon the grimy counter in the dusty far +corner of the little store and stared sourly at Pete Hamilton, who was +apathetically opening hatboxes for the inspection of an Indian in a red +blanket and frowsy braids. + +“How much?” The braided one fingered indecisively the broad brim of a +gray sombrero. + +“Nine dollars.” Pete leaned heavily against the shelves behind him and +sighed with the weariness of mere living. + +“Huh! All same buy one good hoss.” The braided one dropped the hat, +hitched his blanket over his shoulder in stoical disregard of the heat, +and turned away. + +Pete replaced the cover, seemed about to place the box upon the shelf +behind him, and then evidently decided that it was not worth the effort. +He sighed again. + +“It is almighty hot,” he mumbled languidly. “Want another drink, Good +Injun?” + +“I do not. Hot toddy never did appeal to me, my friend. If you weren't +too lazy to give orders, Pete, you'd have cold beer for a day like this. +You'd give Saunders something to do beside lie in the shade and tell +what kind of a man he used to be before his lungs went to the bad. Put +him to work. Make him pack this stuff down cellar where it isn't two +hundred in the shade. Why don't you?” + +“We was going to get ice t'day, but they didn't throw it off when the +train went through.” + +“That's comforting--to a man with a thirst like the great Sahara. Ice! +Pete, do you know what I'd like to do to a man that mentions ice after a +drink like that?” + +Pete neither knew nor wanted to know, and he told Grant so. “If you're +going down to the ranch,” he added, by way of changing the subject, +“there's some mail you might as well take along.” + +“Sure, I'm going--for a drink out of that spring, if nothing else. +You've lost a good customer to-day, Pete. I rode up here prepared to get +sinfully jagged--and here I've got to go on a still hunt for water with +a chill to it--or maybe buttermilk. Pete, do you know what I think of +you and your joint?” + +“I told you I don't wanta know. Some folks ain't never satisfied. A +fellow that's rode thirty or forty miles to get here, on a day like +this, had oughta be glad to get anything that looks like beer.” + +“Is that so?” Grant walked purposefully down to the front of the store, +where Pete was fumbling behind the rampart of crude pigeonholes which +was the post-office. “Let me inform you, then, that--” + +There was a swish of skirts upon the rough platform outside, and a young +woman entered with the manner of feeling perfectly at home there. +She was rather tall, rather strong and capable looking, and she was +bareheaded, and carried a door key suspended from a smooth-worn bit of +wood. + +“Don't get into a perspiration making up the mail, Pete,” she advised +calmly, quite ignoring both Grant and the Indian. “Fifteen is an hour +late--as usual. Jockey Bates always seems to be under the impression +he's an undertaker's assistant, and is headed for the graveyard when he +takes fifteen out. He'll get the can, first he knows--and he'll put in +a month or two wondering why. I could make better time than he does +myself.” By then she was leaning with both elbows upon the counter +beside the post-office, bored beyond words with life as it must be +lived--to judge from her tone and her attitude. + +“For Heaven's sake, Pete,” she went on languidly, “can't you scare up a +novel, or chocolates, or gum, or--ANYTHING to kill time? I'd even enjoy +chewing gum right now--it would give my jaws something to think of, +anyway.” + +Pete, grinning indulgently, came out of retirement behind the +pigeonholes, and looked inquiringly around the store. + +“I've got cards,” he suggested. “What's the matter with a game of +solitary? I've known men to put in hull winters alone, up in the +mountains, jest eating and sleeping and playin' solitary.” + +The young woman made a grimace of disgust. “I've come from three solid +hours of it. What I really do want is something to read. Haven't you +even got an almanac?” + +“Saunders is readin' 'The Brokenhearted Bride'--you can have it soon's +he's through. He says it's a peach.” + +“Fifteen is bringing up a bunch of magazines. I'll have reading in +plenty two hours from now; but my heavens above, those two hours!” She +struck both fists despairingly upon the counter. + +“I've got gumdrops, and fancy mixed--” + +“Forget it, then. A five-pound box of chocolates is due--on fifteen.” + She sighed heavily. “I wish you weren't so old, and hadn't quite so many +chins, Pete,” she complained. “I'd inveigle you into a flirtation. You +see how desperate I am for something to do!” + +Pete smiled unhappily. He was sensitive about all those chins, and the +general bulk which accompanied them. + +“Let me make you acquainted with my friend, Good In--er--Mr. Imsen.” + Pete considered that he was behaving with great discernment and tact. +“This is Miss Georgie Howard, the new operator.” He twinkled his little +eyes at her maliciously. “Say, he ain't got but one chin, and he's only +twenty-three years old.” He felt that the inference was too plain to be +ignored. + +She turned her head slowly and looked Grant over with an air of +disparagement, while she nodded negligently as an acknowledgment to +the introduction. “Pete thinks he's awfully witty,” she remarked. “It's +really pathetic.” + +Pete bristled--as much as a fat man could bristle on so hot a day. +“Well, you said you wanted to flirt, and so I took it for granted you'd +like--” + +Good Indian looked straight past the girl, and scowled at Pete. + +“Pete, you're an idiot ordinarily, but when you try to be smart you're +absolutely insufferable. You're mentally incapable of recognizing the +line of demarcation between legitimate persiflage and objectionable +familiarity. An ignoramus of your particular class ought to confine +his repartee to unqualified affirmation or the negative monosyllable.” + Whereupon he pulled his hat more firmly upon his head, hunched his +shoulders in disgust, remembered his manners, and bowed to Miss Georgie +Howard, and stalked out, as straight of back as the Indian whose blanket +he brushed, and who may have been, for all he knew, a blood relative of +his. + +“I guess that ought to hold you for a while, Pete,” Miss Georgie +approved under her breath, and stared after Grant curiously. “'You're +mentally incapable of recognizing the line of demarcation between +legitimate persiflage and objectionable familiarity.' I'll bet two bits +you don't know what that means, Pete; but it hits you off exactly. Who +is this Mr. Imsen?” + +She got no reply to that. Indeed, she did not wait for a reply. Outside, +things were happening--and, since Miss Georgie was dying of dullness, +she hailed the disturbance as a Heaven-sent blessing, and ran to see +what was going on. + +Briefly, Grant had inadvertently stepped on a sleeping dog's paw--a dog +of the mongrel breed which infests Indian camps, and which had attached +itself to the blanketed buck inside. The dog awoke with a yelp, saw +that it was a stranger who had perpetrated the outrage, and straightway +fastened its teeth in the leg of Grant's trousers. Grant kicked it +loose, and when it came at him again, he swore vengeance and mounted his +horse in haste. + +He did not say a word. He even smiled while he uncoiled his rope, +widened the loop, and, while the dog was circling warily and watching +for another chance at him, dropped the loop neatly over its front +quarters, and drew it tight. + +Saunders, a weak-lunged, bandy-legged individual, who was officially a +general chore man for Pete, but who did little except lie in the shade, +reading novels or gossiping, awoke then, and, having a reputation for +tender-heartedness, waved his arms and called aloud in the name of +peace. + +“Turn him loose, I tell yuh! A helpless critter like that--you oughta be +ashamed--abusin' dumb animals that can't fight back!” + +“Oh, can't he?” Grant laughed grimly. + +“You turn that dog loose!” Saunders became vehement, and paid the +penalty of a paroxysm of coughing. + +“You go to the devil. If you were an able-bodied man, I'd get you, +too--just to have a pair of you. Yelping, snapping curs, both of you.” + He played the dog as a fisherman plays a trout. + +“That dog, him Viney dog. Viney heap likum. You no killum, Good Injun.” + The Indian, his arms folded in his blanket, stood upon the porch +watching calmly the fun. “Viney all time heap mad, you killum,” he added +indifferently. + +“Sure it isn't old Hagar's?” + +“No b'long-um Hagar--b'long-um Viney. Viney heap likum.” + +Grant hesitated, circling erratically with his victim close to the +steps. “All right, no killum--teachum lesson, though. Viney heap bueno +squaw--heap likum Viney. No likum dog, though. Dog all time come along +me.” He glanced up, passed over the fact that Miss Georgie Howard was +watching him and clapping her hands enthusiastically at the spectacle, +and settled an unfriendly stare upon Saunders. + +“You shut up your yowling. You'll burst a blood vessel and go to heaven, +first thing you know. I've never contemplated hiring you as my guardian +angel, you blatting buck sheep. Go off and lie down somewhere.” He +turned in the saddle and looked down at the dog, clawing and fighting +the rope which held him fast just back of the shoulder--blades. “Come +along, doggie--NICE doggie!” he grinned, and touched his horse with the +spurs. With one leap, it was off at a sharp gallop, up over the hill and +through the sagebrush to where he knew the Indian camp must be. + +Old Wolfbelly had but that morning brought his thirty or forty followers +to camp in the hollow where was a spring of clear water--the hollow +which had for long been known locally as “the Indian Camp,” because of +Wolfbelly's predilection for the spot. Without warning save for the beat +of hoofs in the sandy soil, Grant charged over the brow of the hill and +into camp, scattering dogs, papooses, and squaws alike as he rode. + +Shrill clamor filled the sultry air. Sleeping bucks awoke, scowling at +the uproar; and the horse of Good Indian, hating always the smell and +the litter of an Indian camp, pitched furiously into the very wikiup of +old Hagar, who hated the rider of old. In the first breathing spell he +loosed the dog, which skulked, limping, into the first sheltered spot +he found, and laid him down to lick his outraged person and whimper to +himself at the memory of his plight. Grant pulled his horse to a restive +stand before a group of screeching squaws, and laughed outright at the +panic of them. + +“Hello! Viney! I brought back your dog,” he drawled. “He tried to bite +me--heap kay bueno* dog. Mebbyso you killum. Me no hurtum--all time +him Hartley, all time him try hard bite me. Sleeping Turtle tell me him +Viney dog. He likum Viney, me no kill Viney dog. You all time mebbyso +eat that dog--sabe? No keep--Kay bueno. All time try for bite. You +cookum, no can bite. Sabe?” + +*AUTHOR'S NOTE.--The Indians of southern Idaho spoke a somewhat mixed +dialect. Bueno (wayno), their word for 'good,' undoubtedly being taken +from the Spanish language. I believe the word “kay” to be Indian. +It means “no”, and thus the “Kay bueno” so often used by them means +literally “no good,” and is a term of reproach On the other hand, “heap +bueno” is “very good,” their enthusiasm being manifested merely by +drawing out the word “heap.” In speaking English they appear to have no +other way of expressing, in a single phrase, their like or dislike of an +object or person. + +Without waiting to see whether Viney approved of his method of +disciplining her dog, or intended to take his advice regarding its +disposal, he wheeled and started off in the direction of the trail which +led down the bluff to the Hart ranch. When he reached the first steep +descent, however, he remembered that Pete had spoken of some mail for +the Harts, and turned back to get it. + +Once more in Hartley, he found that the belated train was making up +time, and would be there within an hour; and, since it carried mail from +the West, it seemed hardly worthwhile to ride away before its arrival. +Also, Pete intimated that there was a good chance of prevailing upon the +dining-car conductor to throw off a chunk of ice. Grant, therefore, led +his horse around into the shade, and made himself comfortable while he +waited. + + + +CHAPTER III. OLD WIVES TALES + +Down the winding trail of Snake River bluff straggled a blanketed half +dozen of old Wolfbelly's tribe, the braves stalking moodily in front and +kicking up a gray cloud of dust which enveloped the squaws behind them +but could not choke to silence their shrill chatter; for old Hagar was +there, and Viney, and the incident of the dog was fresh in their minds +and tickling their tongues. + +The Hart boys were assembled at the corral, halter-breaking a +three-year-old for the pure fun of it. Wally caught sight of the +approaching blotch of color, and yelled a wordless greeting; him had +old Hagar carried lovingly upon her broad shoulders with her own papoose +when he was no longer than her arm; and she knew his voice even at that +distance, and grinned--grinned and hid her joy in a fold of her dingy +red blanket. + +“Looks like old Wolfbelly's back,” Clark observed needlessly. “Donny, if +they don't go to the house right away, you go and tell mum they're here. +Chances are the whole bunch'll hang around till supper.” + +“Say!” Gene giggled with fourteen-year-old irrepressibility. “Does +anybody know where Vadnie is? If we could spring 'em on her and make her +believe they're on the warpath--say, I'll gamble she'd run clear to the +Malad!” + +“I told her, cross my heart, this morning that the Injuns are peaceful +now. I said Good Injun was the only one that's dangerous--oh, I sure did +throw a good stiff load, all right!” Clark grinned at the memory. “I've +got to see Grant first, when he gets back, and put him wise to the rep +he's got. Vad didn't hardly swallow it. She said: 'Why, Cousin Clark! +Aunt Phoebe says he's perfectly lovely!”' Clark mimicked the girl's +voice with relish. + +“Aw--there's a lot of squaws tagging along behind!” Donny complained +disgustedly from his post of observation on the fence. “They'll go to +the house first thing to gabble--there's old Hagar waddling along like +a duck. You can't make that warpath business stick, Clark--not with all +them squaws.” + +“Well, say, you sneak up and hide somewhere till yuh see if Vadnie's +anywhere around. If they get settled down talking to mum, they're +good for an hour--she's churning, Don--you hide in the rocks by the +milk-house till they get settled. And I'll see if--Git! Pikeway, while +they're behind the stacks!” + +Donny climbed down and scurried through the sand to the house as if his +very life depended upon reaching it unseen. The group of Indians came +up, huddled at the corral, and peered through the stout rails. + +“How! How!” chorused the boys, and left the horse for a moment while +they shook hands ceremoniously with the three bucks. Three Indians, +Clark decided regretfully, would make a tame showing on the warpath, +however much they might lend themselves to the spirit of the joke. He +did not quite know how he was going to manage it, but he was hopeful +still. It was unthinkable that real live Indians should be permitted to +come and go upon the ranch without giving Evadna Ramsey, straight from +New Jersey, the scare of her life. + +The three bucks, grunting monosyllabic greetings' climbed, in all the +dignity of their blankets, to the top rail of the corral, and roosted +there to watch the horse-breaking; and for the present Clark held his +peace. + +The squaws hovered there for a moment longer, peeping through the rails. +Then Hagar--she of much flesh and more temper--grunted a word or two, +and they turned and plodded on to where the house stood hidden away +in its nest of cool green. For a space they stood outside the fence, +peering warily into the shade, instinctively cautious in their manner of +approaching a strange place, and detained also by the Indian etiquette +which demands that one wait until invited to enter a strange camp. + +After a period of waiting which seemed to old Hagar sufficient, she +pulled her blanket tight across her broad hips, waddled to the +gate, pulled it open with self-conscious assurance, and led the way +soft-footedly around the house to where certain faint sounds betrayed +the presence of Phoebe Hart in her stone milk-house. + +At the top of the short flight of wide stone steps they stopped and +huddled silently, until the black shadow of them warned Phoebe of their +presence. She had lived too long in the West to seem startled when she +suddenly discovered herself watched by three pair of beady black eyes, +so she merely nodded, and laid down her butter-ladle to shake hands all +around. + +“How, Hagar? How, Viney? How, Lucy? Heap glad to see you. Bueno +buttermilk--mebbyso you drinkum?” + +However diffident they might be when it came to announcing their +arrival, their bashfulness did not extend to accepting offers of food +or drink. Three brown hands were eagerly outstretched--though it was the +hand of Hagar which grasped first the big tin cup. They not only +drank, they guzzled, and afterward drew a fold of blanket across their +milk-white lips, and grinned in pure animal satisfaction. + +“Bueno. He-e-ap bueno!” they chorused appreciatively, and squatted at +the top of the stone steps, watching Phoebe manipulate the great ball of +yellow butter in its wooden bowl. + +After a brief silence, Hagar shook the tangle of unkempt, black hair +away from her moonlike face, and began talking in a soft monotone, her +voice now and then rising to a shrill singsong. + +“Mebbyso Tom, mebbyso Sharlie, mebbyso Sleeping Turtle all time come +along,” she announced. “Stop all time corral, talk yo' boys. Mebbyso +heap likum drink yo' butter water. Bueno.” + +When Phoebe nodded assent, Hagar went on to the news which had brought +her so soon to the ranch--the news which satisfied both an old grudge +and her love of gossip. + +“Good Injun, him all time heap kay bueno,” she stated emphatically, her +sloe black eyes fixed unwaveringly upon Phoebe's face to see if the stab +was effective. “Good Injun come Hartley, all time drunk likum pig. + +“All time heap yell, heap shoot--kay bueno. Wantum fight +Man-that-coughs. Come all time camp, heap yell, heap shoot some more. I +fetchum dog--Viney dog--heap dragum through sagebrush--dog all time cry, +no can get away--me thinkum kill that dog. Squaws cry--Viney cry--Good +Injun”--Hagar paused here for greater effect--“makum horse all time +buck--ridum in wikiup--Hagar wikiup--all time breakum--no can fix that +wikiup. Good Injun, hee-e-ap kay bueno!” At the last her voice was high +and tremulous with anger. + +“Good Indian mebbyso all same my boy Wally.” Phoebe gave the butter a +vicious slap. “Me heap love Good Indian. You no call Good Indian, you +call Grant. Grant bueno. Heap bueno all time. No drunk, no yell, no +shoot, mebbyso”--she hesitated, knowing well the possibilities of her +foster son--“mebbyso catchum dog--me think no catchum. Grant all same my +boy. All time me likum--heap bueno.” + +Viney and Lucy nudged each other and tittered into their blankets, +for the argument was an old one between Hagar and Phoebe, though the +grievance of Hagar might be fresh. Hagar shifted her blanket and thrust +out a stubborn under lip. + +“Wally boy, heap bueno,” she said; and her malicious old face softened +as she spoke of him, dear as her own first-born. “Jack bueno, mebbyso +Gene bueno, mebbyso Clark, mebbyso Donny all time bueno.” Doubt was in +her voice when she praised those last two, however, because of their +continual teasing. She stopped short to emphasize the damning contrast. +“Good Injun all same mebbyso yo' boy Grant, hee-ee-eap kay bueno. Good +Injun Grant all time DEBBIL!” + +It was at this point that Donny slipped away to report that “Mamma and +old Hagar are scrappin' over Good Injun again,” and told with glee the +tale of his misdeeds as recounted by the squaw. + +Phoebe in her earnestness forgot to keep within the limitations of their +dialect. + +“Grant's a good boy, and a smart boy. There isn't a better-hearted +fellow in the country, if I have got five boys of my own. You think +I like him better than I like Wally, is all ails you, Hagar. You're +jealous of Grant, and you always have been, ever since his father +left him with me. I hope my heart's big enough to hold them all.” She +remembered then that they could not understand half she was saying, and +appealed to Viney. Viney liked Grant. + +“Viney, you tell me. Grant no come Hartley, no drunk, no yell, no +catchum you dog, no ride in Hagar's wikiup? You tell me, Viney.” + +Viney and Lucy bobbed their heads rapidly up and down. Viney, with a +sidelong glance at Hagar, spoke softly. + +“Good Injun Grant, mebbyso home Hartley,” she admitted reluctantly, as +if she would have been pleased to prove Hagar a liar in all things. +“Me thinkum no drunk. Mebbyso ketchum dog--dog kay bueno, mebbyso me +killing. Good Injun Grant no heap yell, no shoot all time--mebbyso no +drunk. No breakum wikiup. Horse all time kay bueno, Hagar--” + +“Shont-isham!” (big lie) Hagar interrupted shrilly then, and Viney +relapsed into silence, her thin face growing sullen under the upbraiding +she received in her native tongue. Phoebe, looking at her attentively, +despaired of getting any nearer the truth from any of them. + +There was a sudden check to Hagar's shrewish clamor. The squaws +stiffened to immobility and listened stolidly, their eyes alone +betraying the curiosity they felt. Off somewhere at the head of the tiny +pond, hidden away in the jungle of green, a voice was singing; a girl's +voice, and a strange voice--for the squaws knew well the few women +voices along the Snake. + +“That my girl,” Phoebe explained, stopping the soft pat--pat of her +butter-ladle. + +“Where ketchum yo' girl?” Hagar forgot her petulance, and became curious +as any white woman. + +“Me ketchum 'way off, where sun come up. In time me have heap +boys--mebbyso want girl all time. My mother's sister's boy have one +girl, 'way off where sun come up. My mother's sister's boy die, his +wife all same die, that girl mebbyso heap sad; no got father, no got +mother--all time got nobody. Kay bueno. That girl send one letter, say +all time got nobody. Me want one girl. Me send one letter, tell that +girl come, be all time my girl. Five days ago, that girl come. Her heap +glad; boys all time heap glad, my man heap glad. Bueno. Mebbyso you glad +me have one girl.” Not that their approval was necessary, or even of +much importance; but Phoebe was accustomed to treat them like spoiled +children. + +Hagar's lip was out-thrust again. “Yo' ketchum one girl, mebbyso yo' no +more likum my boy Wally. Kay bueno.” + +“Heap like all my boys jus' same,” Phoebe hastened to assure her, and +added with a hint of malice, “Heap like my boy Grant all same.” + +“Huh!” Hagar chose to remain unconvinced and antagonistic. “Good Injun +kay bueno. Yo' girl, mebbyso kay bueno.” + +“What name yo' girl?” Viney interposed hastily. + +“Name Evadna Ramsey.” In spite of herself, Phoebe felt a trifle chilled +by their lack of enthusiasm. She went back to her butter-making in +dignified silence. + +The squaws blinked at her stolidly. Always they were inclined toward +suspicion of strangers, and perhaps to a measure of jealousy as well. +Not many whites received them with frank friendship as did the Hart +family, and they felt far more upon the subject than they might put into +words, even the words of their own language. + +Many of the white race looked upon them as beggars, which was bad +enough, or as thieves, which was worse; and in a general way they could +not deny the truth of it. But they never stole from the Harts, and they +never openly begged from the Harts. The friends of the Harts, however, +must prove their friendship before they could hope for better than an +imperturbable neutrality. So they would not pretend to be glad. Hagar +was right--perhaps the girl was no good. They would wait until they +could pass judgment upon this girl who had come to live in the wikiup +of the Harts. Then Lucy, she who longed always for children and had been +denied by fate, stirred slightly, her nostrils aquiver. + +“Mebbyso bueno yo' girl,” she yielded, speaking softly. “Mebbyso see +yo' girl.” + +Phoebe's face cleared, and she called, in mellow crescendo: “Oh, +Va-ad-NIEE?” Immediately the singing stopped. + +“Coming, Aunt Phoebe,” answered the voice. + +The squaws wrapped themselves afresh in their blankets, passed brown +palms smoothingly down their hair from the part in the middle, settled +their braids upon their bosoms with true feminine instinct, and waited. +They heard her feet crunching softly in the gravel that bordered the +pond, but not a head turned that way; for all the sign of life they +gave, the three might have been mere effigies of women. They heard a +faint scream when she caught sight of them sitting there, and their +faces settled into more stolid indifference, adding a hint of antagonism +even to the soft eyes of Lucy, the tender, childless one. + +“Vadnie, here are some new neighbors I want you to get acquainted with.” + Phoebe's eyes besought the girl to be calm. “They're all old friends of +mine. Come here and let me introduce you--and don't look so horrified, +honey!” + +Those incorrigibles, her cousins, would have whooped with joy at her +unmistakable terror when she held out a trembling hand and gasped +faintly: “H-how do you--do?” + +“This Hagar,” Phoebe announced cheerfully; and the old squaw caught the +girl's hand and gripped it tightly for a moment in malicious enjoyment +of her too evident fear and repulsion. + +“This Viney.” + +Viney, reading Evadna's face in one keen, upward glance, kept her hands +hidden in the folds of her blanket, and only nodded twice reassuringly. + +“This Lucy.” + +Lucy read also the girl's face; but she reached up, pressed her hand +gently, and her glance was soft and friendly. So the ordeal was over. + +“Bring some of that cake you baked to-day, honey--and do brace up!” + Phoebe patted her upon the shoulder. + +Hagar forestalled the hospitable intent by getting slowly upon her fat +legs, shaking her hair out of her eyes, and grunting a command to the +others. With visible reluctance Lucy and Viney rose also, hitched their +blankets into place, and vanished, soft-footed as they had come. + +“Oo-oo!” Evadna stared at the place where they were not. “Wild +Indians--I thought the boys were just teasing when they said so--and +it's really true, Aunt Phoebe?” + +“They're no wilder than you are,” Phoebe retorted impatiently. + +“Oh, they ARE wild. They're exactly like in my history--and they don't +make a sound when they go--you just look, and they're gone! That old fat +one--did you see how she looked at me? As if she wanted to--SCALP me, +Aunt Phoebe! She looked right at my hair and--” + +“Well, she didn't take it with her, did she? Don't be silly. I've known +old Hagar ever since Wally was a baby. She took him right to her own +wikiup and nursed him with her own papoose for two months when I was +sick, and Viney stayed with me day and night and pulled me through. Lucy +I've known since she was a papoose. Great grief, child! Didn't you hear +me say they're old friends? I wanted you to be nice to them, because +if they like you there's nothing they won't do for you. If they don't, +there's nothing they WILL do. You might as well get used to them--” + +Out by the gate rose a clamor which swept nearer and nearer until the +noise broke at the corner of the house like a great wave, in a tumult of +red blanket, flying black hair, the squalling of a female voice, and +the harsh laughter of the man who carried the disturbance, kicking and +clawing, in his arms. Fighting his way to the milk-house, he dragged the +squaw along beside the porch, followed by the Indians and all the Hart +boys, a yelling, jeering audience. + +“You tell her shont-isham! Ah-h--you can't break loose, you old +she-wildcat. Quit your biting, will you? By all the big and little +spirits of your tribe, you'll wish--” + +Panting, laughing, swearing also in breathless exclamations, he forced +her to the top of the steps, backed recklessly down them, and came to +a stop in the corner by the door. Evadna had taken refuge there; and he +pressed her hard against the rough wall without in the least realizing +that anything was behind him save unsentient stone. + +“Now, you sing your little song, and be quick about it!” he commanded +his captive sternly. “You tell Mother Hart you lied. I hear she's been +telling you I'm drunk, Mother Hart--didn't you, you old beldam? You say +you heap sorry you all time tellum lie. You say: 'Good Injun, him all +time heap bueno.' Say: 'Good Injun no drunk, no heap shoot, no heap +yell--all time bueno.' Quick, or I'll land you headforemost in that +pond, you infernal old hag!” + +“Good Injun hee-eeap kay bueno! Heap debbil all time.” Hagar might be +short of breath, but her spirit was unconquered, and her under lip bore +witness to her stubbornness. + +Phoebe caught him by the arm then, thinking he meant to make good his +threat--and it would not have been unlike Grant Imsen to do so. + +“Now, Grant, you let her go,” she coaxed. “I know you aren't drunk--of +course, I knew it all the time. I told Hagar so. What do you care what +she says about you? You don't want to fight an old woman, Grant--a man +can't fight a woman--” + +“You tell her you heap big liar!” Grant did not even look at Phoebe, +but his purpose seemed to waver in spite of himself. “You all time kay +bueno. You all time lie.” He gripped her more firmly, and turned his +head slightly toward Phoebe. “You'd be tired of it yourself if she threw +it into you like she does into me, Mother Hart. It's got so I can't ride +past this old hag in the trail but she gives me the bad eye, and mumbles +into her blanket. And if I look sidewise, she yowls all over the country +that I'm drunk. I'm getting tired of it!” He shook the squaw as a puppy +shakes a shoe--shook her till her hair quite hid her ugly old face from +sight. + +“All right--Mother Hart she tellum mebbyso let you go. This time I no +throw you in pond. You heap take care next time, mebbyso. You no tellum +big lie, me all time heap drunk. You kay bueno. All time me tellum +Mother Hart, tellum boys, tellum Viney, Lucy, tellum Charlie and Tom and +Sleeping Turtle you heap big liar. Me tell Wally shont-isham. Him all +time my friend--mebbyso him no likum you no more. + +“Huh. Get out--pikeway before I forget you're a lady!” + +He laughed ironically, and pushed her from him so suddenly that she +sprawled upon the steps. The Indians grinned unsympathetically at her, +for Hagar was not the most popular member of the tribe by any means. +Scrambling up, she shook her witch locks from her face, wrapped herself +in her dingy blanket, and scuttled away, muttering maledictions under +her breath. The watching group turned and followed her, and in a few +seconds the gate was heard to slam shut behind them. Grant stood where +he was, leaning against the milk-house wall; and when they were gone, he +gave a short, apologetic laugh. + +“No need to lecture, Mother Hart. I know it was a fool thing to do; but +when Donny told me what the old devil said, I was so mad for a minute--” + +Phoebe caught him again by the arm and pulled him forward. “Grant! +You're squeezing Vadnie to death, just about! Great grief, I forgot all +about the poor child being here! You poor little--” + +“Squeezing who?” Grant whirled, and caught a brief glimpse of a crumpled +little figure behind him, evidently too scared to cry, and yet not quite +at the fainting point of terror. He backed, and began to stammer an +apology; but she did not wait to hear a word of it. For an instant +she stared into his face, and then, like a rabbit released from its +paralysis of dread, she darted past him and deaf up the stone steps into +the house. He heard the kitchen-door shut, and the click of the lock. +He heard other doors slam suggestively; and he laughed in spite of his +astonishment. + +“And who the deuce might that be?” he asked, feeling in his pocket for +smoking material. + +Phoebe seemed undecided between tears and laughter. “Oh, Grant, GRANT! +She'll think you're ready to murder everybody on the ranch--and you can +be such a nice boy when you want to be! I did hope--” + +“I don't want to be nice,” Grant objected, drawing a match along a +fairly smooth rock. + +“Well, I wanted you to appear at your best; and, instead of that, here +you come, squabbling with old Hagar like--” + +“Yes--sure. But who is the timid lady?” + +“Timid! You nearly killed the poor girl, besides scaring her half to +death, and then you call her timid. I know she thought there was going +to be a real Indian massacre, right here, and she'd be scalped--” + +Wally Hart came back, laughing to himself. + +“Say, you've sure cooked your goose with old Hagar, Grant! She's right +on the warpath, and then some. She'd like to burn yuh alive--she said +so. She's headed for camp, and all the rest of the bunch at her heels. +She won't come here any more till you're kicked off the ranch, as near +as I could make out her jabbering. And she won't do your washing any +more, mum--she said so. You're kay bueno yourself, because you take Good +Indian's part. We're all kay bueno--all but me. She wanted me to quit +the bunch and go live in her wikiup. I'm the only decent one in the +outfit.” He gave his mother an affectionate little hug as he went past, +and began an investigative tour of the stone jars on the cool rock floor +within. “What was it all about, Grant? What did yuh do to her, anyway?” + +“Oh, it wasn't anything. Hand me up a cup of that buttermilk, will you? +They've got a dog up there in camp that I'm going to kill some of these +days--if they don't beat me to it. He was up at the store, and when I +went out to get my horse, he tried to take a leg off me. I kicked him +in the nose and he came at me again, so when I mounted I just dropped +my loop over Mr. Dog. Sleeping Turtle was there, and he said the dog +belonged to Viney, So I just led him gently to camp.” + +He grinned a little at the memory of his gentleness. “I told Viney I +thought he'd make a fine stew, and, they'd better use him up right away +before he spoiled. That's all there was to it. Well, Keno did sink his +head and pitch around camp a little, but not to amount to anything. He +just stuck his nose into old Hagar's wikiup--and one sniff seemed to be +about all he wanted. He didn't hurt anything.” + +He took a meditative bite of cake, finished the buttermilk in three +rapturous swallows, and bethought him of the feminine mystery. + +“If you please, Mother Hart, who was that Christmas angel I squashed?” + +“Vad? Was Vad in on it, mum? I never saw her.” Wally straightened up +with a fresh chunk of cake in his hand. “Was she scared?” + +“Yes,” his mother admitted reluctantly, “I guess she was, all right. +First the squaws--and, poor girl, I made her shake hands all round--and +then Grant here, acting like a wild hyena--” + +“Say, PLEASE don't tell me who she is, or where she belongs, or anything +like that,” Grant interposed, with some sarcasm. “I smashed her flat +between me and the wall, and I scared the daylights out of her; and I'm +told I should have appeared at my best. But who she is, or where she +belongs--” + +“She belongs right here.” Phoebe's tone was a challenge, whether she +meant it to be so or not. “This is going to be her home from now on; and +I want you boys to treat her nicer than you've been doing. She's been +here a week almost; and there ain't one of you that's made friends with +her yet, or tried to, even. You've played jokes on her, and told her +things to scare her--and my grief! I was hoping she'd have a softening +influence on you, and make gentlemen of you. And far as I can make out, +just having her on the place seems to put the Old Harry into every one +of you! It isn't right. It isn't the way I expected my boys would act +toward a stranger--a girl especially. And I did hope Grant would behave +better.” + +“Sure, he ought to. Us boneheads don't know any better--but Grant's +EDUCATED.” Wally grinned and winked elaborately at his mother's back. + +“I'm not educated up to Christmas angels that look as if they'd been +stepped on,” Grant defended himself. + +“She's a real nice little thing. If you boys would quit teasing the life +out of her, I don't doubt but what, in six months or so, you wouldn't +know the girl,” Phoebe argued, with some heat. + +“I don't know the girl now.” Grant spoke dryly. “I don't want to. If I'd +held a tomahawk in one hand and her flowing locks in the other, and +was just letting a war-whoop outa me, she'd look at me--the way she did +look.” He snorted in contemptuous amusement, and gave a little, writhing +twist of his slim body into his trousers. “I never did like blondes,” he +added, in a tone of finality, and started up the steps. + +“You never liked anything that wore skirts,” Phoebe flung after him +indignantly; and she came very close to the truth. + + + +CHAPTER IV. THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL + +Phoebe watched the two unhappily, sighed when they disappeared around +the corner of the house, and set her bowl of butter upon the broad, flat +rock which just missed being overflowed with water, and sighed again. + +“I'm afraid it isn't going to work,” she murmured aloud; for Phoebe, +having lived much of her life in the loneliness which the West means +to women, frequently talked to herself. “She's such a nice little +thing--but the boys don't take to her like I thought they would. I don't +see as she's having a mite of influence on their manners, unless it's to +make them act worse, just to shock her. Clark USED to take off his hat +when he come into the house most every time. And great grief! Now he'd +wear it and his chaps and spurs to the table, if I didn't make him take +them off. She's nice--she's most too nice. I've got to give that girl a +good talking to.” + +She mounted the steps to the back porch, tried the kitchen door, and +found it locked. She went around to the door on the west side, opposite +the gate, found that also secured upon the inside, and passed grimly to +the next. + +“My grief! I didn't know any of these doors COULD be locked!” she +muttered angrily. “They never have been before that I ever heard of.” + She stopped before Evadna's window, and saw, through a slit in the green +blind, that the old-fashioned bureau had been pulled close before it. +“My grief!” she whispered disgustedly, and retraced her steps to +the east side, which, being next to the pond, was more secluded. +She surveyed dryly a window left wide open there, gathered her +brown-and-white calico dress close about her plump person, and crawled +grimly through into the sitting-room, where, to the distress of Phoebe's +order-loving soul, the carpet was daily well-sanded with the tread of +boys' boots fresh from outdoors, and where cigarette stubs decorated +every window-sill, and the stale odor of Peaceful's pipe was never long +absent. + +She went first to all the outer rooms, and unlocked every one of the +outraged doors which, unless in the uproar and excitement of racing, +laughing boys pursuing one another all over the place with much slamming +and good-natured threats of various sorts, had never before barred the +way of any man, be he red or white, came he at noon or at midnight. + +Evadna's door was barricaded, as Phoebe discovered when she turned the +knob and attempted to walk in. She gave the door an indignant push, and +heard a muffled shriek within, as if Evadna's head was buried under her +pillow. + +“My grief! A body'd think you expected to be killed and eaten,” she +called out unsympathetically. “You open this door! Vadnie Ramsey. +This is a nice way to act with my own boys, in my own house! A body'd +think--” + +There was the sound of something heavy being dragged laboriously away +from the barricaded door; and in a minute a vividly blue eye appeared at +a narrow crack. + +“Oh, I don't see how you dare to L-LIVE in such a place, Aunt Phoebe!” + she cried tearfully, opening the door a bit wider. “Those Indians--and +that awful man--” + +“That was only Grant, honey. Let me in. There's a few things I want +to say to you, Vadnie. You promised to help me teach my boys to be +gentle--it's all they lack, and it takes gentle women, honey--” + +“I am gentle,” Evadna protested grievedly. “I've never once forgotten +to be gentle and quiet, and I haven't done a thing to them--but they're +horrid and rough, anyway--” + +“Let me in, honey, and we'll talk it over. Something's got to be done. +If you wouldn't be so timid, and would make friends with them, instead +of looking at them as if you expected them to murder you--I must say, +Vadnie, you're a real temptation; they can't help scaring you when you +go around acting as if you expected to be scared. You--you're TOO--” The +door opened still wider, and she went in. “Now, the idea of a great girl +like you hiding her head under a pillow just because Grant asked old +Hagar to apologize!” + +Evadna sat down upon the edge of the bed and stared unwinkingly at her +aunt. “They don't apologize like that in New Jersey,” she observed, with +some resentment in her voice, and dabbed at her unbelievably blue eyes +with a moist ball of handkerchief. + +“I know they don't, honey.” Phoebe patted her hand reassuringly. “That's +what I want you to help me teach my boys--to be real gentlemen. They're +pure gold, every one of them; but I can't deny they're pretty rough on +the outside sometimes. And I hope you will be--” + +“Oh, I know. I understand perfectly. You just got me out here as a--a +sort of sandpaper for your boys' manners!” Evadna choked over a little +sob of self-pity. “I can just tell you one thing, Aunt Phoebe, that +fellow you call Grant ought to be smoothed with one of those funny axes +they hew logs with.” + +Phoebe bit her lips because she wanted to treat the subject very +seriously. “I want you to promise me, honey, that you will be +particularly nice to Grant; PARTICULARLY nice. He's so alone, and +he's very proud and sensitive, because he feels his loneliness. No one +understands him as I do--” + +“I hate him!” gritted Evadna, in an emphatic whisper which her Aunt +Phoebe thought it wise not to seem to hear. + +Phoebe settled herself comfortably for a long talk. The murmur of her +voice as she explained and comforted and advised came soothingly from +the room, with now and then an interruption while she waited for a tardy +answer to some question. Finally she rose and stood in the doorway, +looking back at a huddled figure on the bed. + +“Now dry your eyes and be a good girl, and remember what you've +promised,” she admonished kindly. “Aunt Phoebe didn't mean to scold you, +honey; she only wants you to feel that you belong here, and she wants +you to like her boys and have them like you. They've always wanted a +sister to pet; and Aunt Phoebe is hoping you'll not disappoint her. +You'll try; won't you, Vadnie?” + +“Y--yes,” murmured Vadnie meekly from the pillow. “I know you will.” + Phoebe looked at her for a moment longer rather wistfully, and turned +away. “I do wish she had some spunk,” she muttered complainingly, not +thinking that Evadna might hear her. “She don't take after the Ramseys +none--there wasn't anything mushy about them that I ever heard of.” + +“Mushy! MUSHY!” Evadna sat up and stared at nothing at all while she +repeated the word under her breath. “She wants me to be gentle--she +preached gentleness in her letters, and told how her boys need it, and +then--she calls it being MUSHY!” + +She reached mechanically for her hair-brush, and fumbled in a tumbled +mass of shining, yellow hair quite as unbelievable in its way as were +her eyes--Grant had shown a faculty for observing keenly when he called +her a Christmas angel--and drew out a half-dozen hairpins, letting them +slide from her lap to the floor. “MUSHY!” she repeated, and shook down +her hair so that it framed her face and those eyes of hers. “I suppose +that's what they all say behind my back. And how can a girl be nice +WITHOUT being mushy?” She drew the brush meditatively through her +hair. “I am scared to death of Indians,” she admitted, with analytical +frankness, “and tarantulas and snakes--but--MUSHY!” + +Grant stood smoking in the doorway of the sitting-room, where he could +look out upon the smooth waters of the pond darkening under the shade of +the poplars and the bluff behind, when Evadna came out of her room. He +glanced across at her, saw her hesitate, as if she were meditating a +retreat, and gave his shoulders a twitch of tolerant amusement that she +should be afraid of him. Then he stared out over the pond again. Evadna +walked straight over to him. + +“So you're that other savage whose manners I'm supposed to smooth, are +you?” she asked abruptly, coming to a stop within three feet of him, and +regarding him carefully, her hands clasped behind her. + +“Please don't tease the animals,” Grant returned, in the same impersonal +tone which she had seen fit to employ--but his eyes turned for a +sidelong glance at her, although he appeared to be watching the trout +rise lazily to the insects skimming over the surface of the water. + +“I'm supposed to be nice to you--par-TIC-ularly nice--because you need +it most. I dare say you do, judging from what I've seen of you. At any +rate, I've promised. But I just want you to understand that I'm not +going to mean one single bit of it. I don't like you--I can't endure +you!--and if I'm nice, it will just be because I've promised Aunt +Phoebe. You're not to take my politeness at its face value, for back of +it I shall dislike you all the time.” + +Grant's lips twitched, and there was a covert twinkle in his eyes, +though he looked around him with elaborate surprise. + +“It's early in the day for mosquitoes,” he drawled; “but I was sure I +heard one buzzing somewhere close.” + +“Aunt Phoebe ought to get a street roller to smooth your manners,” + Evadna observed pointedly. + +“Instead it's as if she hung her picture of a Christmas angel up before +the wolf's den, eh?” he suggested calmly, betraying his Indian blood +in the unconsciously symbolic form of expression. “No doubt the wolf's +nature will be greatly benefited--his teeth will be dulled for his +prey, his voice softened for the nightcry--if he should ever, by chance, +discover that the Christmas angel is there.” + +“I don't think he'll be long in making the discovery.” The blue of +Evadna's eyes darkened and darkened until they were almost black. +“Christmas angel,--well, I like that! Much you know about angels.” + +Grant turned his head indolently and regarded her. + +“If it isn't a Christmas angel--they're always very blue and very +golden, and pinky-whitey--if it isn't a Christmas angel, for the Lord's +sake what is it?” He gave his head a slight shake, as if the problem was +beyond his solving, and flicked the ashes from his cigarette. + +“Oh, I could pinch you!” She gritted her teeth to prove she meant what +she said. + +“It says it could pinch me.” Grant lazily addressed the trout. “I wonder +why it didn't, then, when it was being squashed?” + +“I just wish to goodness I had! Only I suppose Aunt Phoebe--” + +“I do believe it's got a temper. I wonder, now, if it could be a LIVE +angel?” Grant spoke to the softly swaying poplars. + +“Oh, you--there now!” She made a swift little rush at him, nipped his +biceps between a very small thumb and two fingers, and stood back, +breathing quickly and regarding him in a shamed defiance. “I'll show you +whether I'm alive!” she panted vindictively. + +“It's alive, and it's a humming-bird. Angels don't pinch.” Grant laid a +finger upon his arm and drawled his solution of a trivial mystery. +“It mistook me for a honeysuckle, and gave me a peck to make sure.” + He smiled indulgently, and exhaled a long wreath of smoke from his +nostrils. “Dear little humming-birds--so simple and so harmless!” + +“And I've promised to be nice to--THAT!” cried Evadna, in bitterness, +and rushed past him to the porch. + +Being a house built to shelter a family of boys, and steps being a +superfluity scorned by their agile legs, there was a sheer drop of three +feet to the ground upon that side. Evadna made it in a jump, just as the +boys did, and landed lightly upon her slippered feet. + +“I hate you--hate you--HATE YOU!” she cried, her eyes blazing up at his +amused face before she ran off among the trees. + +“It sings a sweet little song,” he taunted, and his laughter followed +her mockingly as she fled from him into the shadows. + +“What's the joke, Good Injun? Tell us, so we can laugh too.” Wally +and Jack hurried in from the kitchen and made for the doorway where he +stood. + +From under his straight, black brows Grant sent a keen glance into the +shade of the grove, where, an instant before, had flickered the white +of Evadna's dress. The shadows lay there quietly now, undisturbed by so +much as a sleepy bird's fluttering wings. + +“I was just thinking of the way I yanked that dog down into old +Wolfbelly's camp,” he said, though there was no tangible reason for +lying to them. “Mister!” he added, his eyes still searching the shadows +out there in the grove, “we certainly did go some!” + + + +CHAPTER V. “I DON'T CARE MUCH ABOUT GIRLS” + +“There's no use asking the Injuns to go on the warpath,” Gene announced +disgustedly, coming out upon the porch where the rest of the boys were +foregathered, waiting for the ringing tattoo upon the iron triangle just +outside the back door which would be the supper summons. “They're too +lazy to take the trouble--and, besides, they're scared of dad. I was +talking to Sleeping Turtle just now--met him down there past the Point +o' Rocks.” + +“What's the matter with us boys going on the warpath ourselves? We don't +need the Injuns. As long as she knows they're hanging around close, it's +all the same. If we could just get mum off the ranch--” + +“If we could kidnap her--say, I wonder if we couldn't!” Clark looked at +the others tentatively. + +“Good Injun might do the rescue act and square himself with her for what +happened at the milk-house,” Wally suggested dryly. + +“Oh, say, you'd scare her to death. There's no use in piling it on quite +so thick,” Jack interposed mildly. “I kinda like the kid sometimes. +Yesterday, when I took her part way up the bluff, she acted almost +human. On the dead, she did!” + +“Kill the traitor! Down with him! Curses on the man who betrays us!” + growled Wally, waving his cigarette threateningly. + +Whereupon Gene and Clark seized the offender by heels and shoulders, and +with a brief, panting struggle heaved him bodily off the porch. + +“Over the cliff he goes--so may all traitors perish!” Wally declaimed +approvingly, drawing up his legs hastily out of the way of Jack's +clutching fingers. + +“Say, old Peppajee's down at the stable with papa,” Donny informed them +breathlessly. “I told Marie to put him right next to Vadnie if he stays +to supper--and, uh course, he will. If mamma don't get next and change +his place, it'll be fun to watch her; watch Vad, I mean. She's scared +plum to death of anything that wears a blanket, and to have one right at +her elbow--wonder where she is--” + +“That girl's got to be educated some if she's going to live in this +family,” Wally observed meditatively. “There's a whole lot she's got to +learn, and the only way to learn her thorough is--” + +“You forget,” Grant interrupted him ironically, “that she's going to +make gentlemen of us all.” + +“Oh, yes--sure. Jack's coming down with it already. You oughta be +quarantined, old-timer; that's liable to be catching.” Wally snorted his +disdain of the whole proceeding. “I'd rather go to jail myself.” + +Evadna by a circuitous route had reached the sitting-room without being +seen or heard; and it was at this point in the conversation that she +tiptoed out again, her hands doubled into tight little fists, and her +teeth set hard together. She did not look, at that moment, in the least +degree “mushy.” + +When the triangle clanged its supper call, however, she came slowly down +from her favorite nook at the head of the pond, her hands filled with +flowers hastily gathered in the dusk. + +“Here she comes--let's get to our places first, so mamma can't change +Peppajee around,” Donny implored, in a whisper; and the group on the +porch disappeared with some haste into the kitchen. + +Evadna was leisurely in her movements that night. The tea had been +poured and handed around the table by the Portuguese girl, Marie, and +the sugar-bowl was going after, when she settled herself and her ruffles +daintily between Grant and a braided, green-blanketed, dignifiedly +loquacious Indian. + +The boys signaled each another to attention by kicking surreptitiously +under the table, but nothing happened. Evadna bowed a demure +acknowledgment when her Aunt Phoebe introduced the two, accepted the +sugar-bowl from Grant and the butter from Peppajee, and went composedly +about the business of eating her supper. She seemed perfectly at +ease; too perfectly at ease, decided Grant, who had an instinct for +observation and was covertly watching her. It was unnatural that she +should rub elbows with Peppajee without betraying the faintest trace of +surprise that he should be sitting at the table with them. + +“Long time ago,” Peppajee was saying to Peaceful, taking up the +conversation where Evadna had evidently interrupted it, “many winters +ago, my people all time brave. All time hunt, all time fight, all time +heap strong. No drinkum whisky all same now.” He flipped a braid back +over his shoulder, buttered generously a hot biscuit, and reached for +the honey. “No brave no more--kay bueno. All time ketchum whisky, get +drunk all same likum hog. Heap lazy. No hunt no more, no fight. Lay +all time in sun, sleep. No sun come, lay all time in wikiup. Agent, him +givum flour, givum meat, givum blanket, you thinkum bueno. He tellum +you, kay bueno. Makum Injun lazy. Makum all same wachee-typo” (tramp). +“All time eat, all time sleep, playum cards all time, drinkum whisky. +Kay bueno. Huh.” The grunt stood for disgust of his tribe, always +something of an affectation with Peppajee. + +“My brother, my brother's wife, my brother's wife's--ah--” He searched +his mind, frowning, for an English word, gave it up, and substituted a +phrase. “All the folks b'longum my brother's wife, heap lazy all time. +Me no likum. Agent one time givum plenty flour, plenty meat, plenty tea. +Huh. Them damn' folks no eatum. All time playum cards, drinkum whisky. +All time otha fella ketchum flour, ketchum meat, ketchum tea--ketchum +all them thing b'longum.” In the rhetorical pause he made there, his +black eyes wandered inadvertently to Evadna's face. And Evadna, the +timid one, actually smiled back. + +“Isn't it a shame they should do that,” she murmured sympathetically. + +“Huh.” Peppajee turned his eyes and his attention to Peaceful, as if the +opinion and the sympathy of a mere female were not worthy his notice. +“Them grub all gone, them Injuns mebbyso ketchum hungry belly.” Evadna +blushed, and looked studiously at her plate. + +“Come my wikiup. Me got plenty flour, plenty meat, plenty tea. Stay all +time my wikiup. Sleepum my wikiup. Sun come up”--he pointed a brown, +sinewy hand toward the east--“eatum my grub. Sun up there”--his finger +indicated the zenith--“eatum some more. Sun go 'way, eatum some more. +Then sleepum all time my wikiup. Bimeby, mebbyso my flour all gone, my +meat mebbyso gone, mebbyso tea--them folks all time eatum grub, me no +ketchum. Me no playum cards, all same otha fella ketchum my grub. Kay +bueno. Better me playum cards mebbyso all time. + +“Bimeby no ketchum mo' grub, no stopum my wikiup. Them folks pikeway. Me +tellum 'Yo' heap lazy, heap kay bueno. Yo' all time eatum my grub, yo' +no givum me money, no givum hoss, no givum notting. Me damn' mad all +time yo'. Yo' go damn' quick!'” Peppajee held out his cup for more tea. +“Me tellum my brother,” he finished sonorously, his black eyes sweeping +lightly the faces of his audience, “yo' no come back, yo'--” + +Evadna caught her breath, as if someone had dashed cold water in her +face. Never before in her life had she heard the epithet unprintable, +and she stared fixedly at the old-fashioned, silver castor which always +stood in the exact center of the table. + +Old Peaceful Hart cleared his throat, glanced furtively at Phoebe, and +drew his hand down over his white beard. The boys puffed their cheeks +with the laughter they would, if possible, restrain, and eyed Evadna's +set face aslant. It was Good Indian who rebuked the offender. + +“Peppajee, mebbyso you no more say them words,” he said quietly. “Heap +kay bueno. White man no tellum where white woman hear. White woman no +likum hear; all time heap shame for her.” + +“Huh,” grunted Peppajee doubtingly, his eyes turning to Phoebe. Times +before had he said them before Phoebe Hart, and she had passed them by +with no rebuke. Grant read the glance, and answered it. + +“Mother Hart live long time in this place,” he reminded him. “Hear bad +talk many times. This girl no hear; no likum hear. You sabe? You no +make shame for this girl.” He glanced challengingly across the table at +Wally, whose grin was growing rather pronounced. + +“Huh. Mebbyso you boss all same this ranch?” Peppajee retorted sourly. +“Mebbyso Peacefu' tellum, him no likum.” + +Peaceful, thus drawn into the discussion, cleared his throat again. + +“Wel-l-l--WE don't cuss much before the women,” he admitted +apologetically “We kinda consider that men's talk. I reckon Vadnie'll +overlook it this time.” He looked across at her beseechingly. “You no +feelum bad, Peppajee.” + +“Huh. Me no makum squaw-talk.” Peppajee laid down his knife, lifted a +corner of his blanket, and drew it slowly across his stern mouth. He +muttered a slighting sentence in Indian. + +In the same tongue Grant answered him sharply, and after that was +silence broken only by the subdued table sounds. Evadna's eyes filled +slowly until she finally pushed back her chair and hurried out into the +yard and away from the dogged silence of that blanketed figure at her +elbow. + +She was scarcely settled, in the hammock, ready for a comforting half +hour of tears, when someone came from the house, stood for a minute +while he rolled a cigarette, and then came straight toward her. + +She sat up, and waited defensively. More baiting, without a doubt--and +she was not in the mood to remember any promises about being a nice, +gentle little thing. The figure came close, stooped, and took her by the +arm. In the half--light she knew him then. It was Grant. + +“Come over by the pond,” he said, in what was almost a command. “I want +to talk to you a little.” + +“Does it occur to you that I might not want to talk t to you?” Still, +she let him help her to her feet. + +“Surely. You needn't open your lips if you don't want to. Just 'lend me +your ears, and be silent that ye may hear.' The boys will be boiling out +on the porch, as usual, in a minute; so hurry.” + +“I hope it's something very important,” Evadna hinted ungraciously. +“Nothing else would excuse this high-handed proceeding.” + +When they had reached the great rock where the pond had its outlet, +and where was a rude seat hidden away in a clump of young willows just +across the bridge, he answered her. + +“I don't know that it's of any importance at all,” he said calmly. “I +got to feeling rather ashamed of myself, is all, and it seemed to me the +only decent thing was to tell you so. I'm not making any bid for your +favor--I don't know that I want it. I don't care much about girls, +one way or the other. But, for all I've got the name of being several +things--a savage among the rest--I don't like to feel such a brute as +to make war on a girl that seems to be getting it handed to her right +along.” + +He tardily lighted his cigarette and sat smoking beside her, the tiny +glow lighting his face briefly now and then. + +“When I was joshing you there before supper,” he went on, speaking low +that he might not be overheard--and ridiculed--from the house, “I didn't +know the whole outfit was making a practice of doing the same thing. +I hadn't heard about the dead tarantula on your pillow, or the rattler +coiled up on the porch, or any of those innocent little jokes. But if +the rest are making it their business to devil the life out of you, +why--common humanity forces me to apologize and tell you I'm out of it +from now on.” + +“Oh! Thank you very much.” Evadna's tone might be considered ironical. +“I suppose I ought to say that your statement lessens my dislike of +you--” + +“Not at all.” Grant interrupted her. “Go right ahead and hate me, if you +feel that way. It won't matter to me--girls never did concern me much, +one way or the other. I never was susceptible to beauty, and that seems +to be a woman's trump card, always--” + +“Well, upon my word!” + +“Sounds queer, does it? But it's the truth, and so what's the use of +lying, just to be polite? I won't torment you any more; and if the boys +rig up too strong a josh, I'm liable to give you a hint beforehand. I'm +willing to do that--my sympathies are always with the under dog, anyway, +and they're five to one. But that needn't mean that I'm--that I--” He +groped for words that would not make his meaning too bald; not even +Grant could quite bring himself to warn a girl against believing him a +victim of her fascinations. + +“You needn't stutter. I'm not really stupid. You don't like me any +better than I like you. I can see that. We're to be as decent as +possible to each other--you from 'common humanity,' and I because I +promised Aunt Phoebe.” + +“We-e-l!--that's about it, I guess.” Grant eyed her sidelong.” Only I +wouldn't go so far as to say I actually dislike you. I never did dislike +a girl, that I remember. I never thought enough about them, one way or +the other.” He seemed rather fond of that statement, he repeated it so +often.” The life I live doesn't call for girls. Put that's neither here +nor there. What I wanted to say was, that I won't bother you any more. I +wouldn't have said a word to you tonight, if you hadn't walked right up +to me and started to dig into me. Of course, I had to fight back--the +man who won't isn't a normal human being.” + +“Oh, I know.” Evadna's tone was resentful. “From Adam down to you, it +has always been 'The woman, she tempted me.' You're perfectly horrid, +even if you have apologized. 'The woman, she tempted me,' and--” + +“I beg your pardon; the woman didn't,” he corrected blandly. “The woman +insisted on scrapping. That's different.” + +“Oh, it's different! I see. I have almost forgotten something I ought +to say, Mr. Imsen. I must thank you for--well, for defending me to that +Indian.” + +“I didn't. Nobody was attacking you, so I couldn't very well defend you, +could I? I had to take a fall out of old Peppajee, just on principle. I +don't get along very well with my noble red cousins. I wasn't doing it +on your account, in particular.” + +“Oh, I see.” She rose rather suddenly from the bench. “It wasn't even +common humanity, then--” + +“Not even common humanity,” he echoed affirmatively. “Just a chance I +couldn't afford to pass up, of digging into Peppajee.” + +“That's different.” She laughed shortly and left him, running swiftly +through the warm dusk to the murmur of voices at the house. + +Grant sat where she left him, and smoked two cigarettes meditatively +before he thought of returning to the house. When he finally did get +upon his feet, he stretched his arms high above his head, and stared for +a moment up at the treetops swaying languidly just under the stars. + +“Girls must play the very deuce with a man if he ever lets them get on +his mind,” he mused. “I see right now where a fellow about my size and +complexion had better watch out.” But he smiled afterward, as if he did +not consider the matter very serious, after all. + + + +CHAPTER VI. THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL PLAYS GHOST + +At midnight, the Peaceful Hart ranch lay broodily quiet under its +rock-rimmed bluff. Down in the stable the saddle-horses were but +formless blots upon the rumpled bedding in their stalls--except +Huckleberry, the friendly little pinto with the white eyelashes and the +blue eyes, and the great, liver-colored patches upon his sides, and the +appetite which demanded food at unseasonable hours, who was now munching +and nosing industriously in the depths of his manger, and making a good +deal of noise about it. + +Outside, one of the milch cows drew a long, sighing breath of content +with life, lifted a cud in mysterious, bovine manner, and chewed +dreamily. Somewhere up the bluff a bobcat squalled among the rocks, +and the moon, in its dissipated season of late rising, lifted itself +indolently up to where it could peer down upon the silent ranch. + +In the grove where the tiny creek gurgled under the little stone bridge, +someone was snoring rhythmically in his blankets, for the boys had +taken to sleeping in the open air before the earliest rose had opened +buds in the sunny shelter of the porch. Three feet away, a sleeper +stirred restlessly, lifted his head from the pillow, and slapped +half-heartedly at an early mosquito that was humming in his ear. He +reached out, and jogged the shoulder of him who snored. + +“Say, Gene, if you've got to sleep at the top of your voice, you better +drag your bed down into the orchard,” he growled. “Let up a little, +can't yuh?” + +“Ah, shut up and let a fellow sleep!” mumbled Gene, snuggling the covers +up to his ears. + +“Just what I want YOU to do. You snore like a sawmill. Darn it, you've +got to get out of the grove if yuh can't--” + +“Ah-h-EE-EE!” wailed a voice somewhere among the trees, the sound rising +weirdly to a subdued crescendo, clinging there until one's flesh went +creepy, and then sliding mournfully down to silence. + +“What's that?” The two jerked themselves to a sitting position, and +stared into the blackness of the grove. + +“Bobcat,” whispered Clark, in a tone which convinced not even himself. + +“In a pig's ear,” flouted Gene, under his breath. He leaned far over and +poked his finger into a muffled form. “D'yuh hear that noise, Grant?” + +Grant sat up instantly. “What's the matter?” he demanded, rather +ill-naturedly, if the truth be told. + +“Did you hear anything--a funny noise, like--” + +The cry itself finished the sentence for him. It came from nowhere, +it would seem, since they could see nothing; rose slowly to a subdued +shriek, clung there nerve-wrackingly, and then wailed mournfully down to +silence. Afterward, while their ears were still strained to the sound, +the bobcat squalled an answer from among the rocks. + +“Yes, I heard it,” said Grant. “It's a spook. It's the wail of a lost +spirit, loosed temporarily from the horrors of purgatory. It's sent as a +warning to repent you of your sins, and it's howling because it hates to +go back. What you going to do about it?” + +He made his own intention plain beyond any possibility of +misunderstanding. He lay down and pulled the blanket over his shoulders, +cuddled his pillow under his head, and disposed himself to sleep. + +The moon climbed higher, and sent silvery splinters of light quivering +down among the trees. A frog crawled out upon a great lily--pad and +croaked dismally. + +Again came the wailing cry, nearer than before, more subdued, and for +that reason more eerily mournful. Grant sat up, muttered to himself, and +hastily pulled on some clothes. The frog cut himself short in the middle +of a deep-throated ARR-RR-UMPH and dove headlong into the pond; and the +splash of his body cleaving the still surface of the water made Gene +shiver nervously. Grant reached under his pillow for something, and +freed himself stealthily from a blanketfold. + +“If that spook don't talk Indian when it's at home, I'm very much +mistaken,” he whispered to Clark, who was nearest. “You boys stay here.” + +Since they had no intention of doing anything else, they obeyed him +implicitly and without argument, especially as a flitting white +figure appeared briefly and indistinctly in a shadow-flecked patch of +moonlight. Crouching low in the shade of a clump of bushes, Grant stole +toward the spot. + +When he reached the place, the thing was not there. Instead, he glimpsed +it farther on, and gave chase, taking what precautions he could against +betraying himself. Through the grove and the gate and across the road +he followed, in doubt half the time whether it was worth the trouble. +Still, if it was what he suspected, a lesson taught now would probably +insure against future disturbances of the sort, he thought, and kept +stubbornly on. Once more he heard the dismal cry, and fancied it held a +mocking note. + +“I'll settle that mighty quick,” he promised grimly, as he jumped a +ditch and ran toward the place. + +Somewhere among the currant bushes was a sound of eery laughter. He +swerved toward the place, saw a white form rise suddenly from the very +ground, as it seemed, and lift an arm with a slow, beckoning gesture. +Without taking aim, he raised his gun and fired a shot at it. The arm +dropped rather suddenly, and the white form vanished. He hurried up to +where it had stood, knelt, and felt of the soft earth. Without a doubt +there were footprints there--he could feel them. But he hadn't a match +with him, and the place was in deep shade. + +He stood up and listened, thought he heard a faint sound farther along, +and ran. There was no use now in going quietly; what counted most was +speed. + +Once more he caught sight of the white form fleeing from him like the +very wraith it would have him believe it. Then he lost it again; and +when he reached the spot where it disappeared, he fell headlong, his +feet tangled in some white stuff. He swore audibly, picked himself up, +and held the cloth where the moon shone full upon it. It looked like a +sheet, or something of the sort, and near one edge was a moist patch of +red. He stared at it dismayed, crumpled the cloth into a compact bundle, +tucked it under his arm, and ran on, his ears strained to catch some +sound to guide him. + +“Well, anyhow, I didn't kill him,” he muttered uneasily as he crawled +through a fence into the orchard. “He's making a pretty swift get-away +for a fellow that's been shot.” + +In the orchard the patches of moonlight were larger, and across one +of them he glimpsed a dark object, running wearily. Grant repressed an +impulse to shout, and used the breath for an extra burst of speed. The +ghost was making for the fence again, as if it would double upon its +trail and reach some previously chosen refuge. Grant turned and ran also +toward the fence, guessing shrewdly that the fugitive would head for the +place where the wire could be spread about, and a beaten trail led from +there straight out to the road which passed the house. It was the short +cut from the peach orchard; and it occurred to him that this particular +spook seemed perfectly familiar with the byways of the ranch. Near the +fence he made a discovery that startled him a little. + +“It's a squaw, by Jove!” he cried when he caught an unmistakable flicker +of skirts; and the next moment he could have laughed aloud if he had not +been winded from the chase. The figure reached the fence before him, and +in the dim light he could see it stoop to pass through. Then it seemed +as if the barbs had caught in its clothing and held it there. It +struggled to free itself; and in the next minute he rushed up and +clutched it fast. + +“Why don't you float over the treetops?” he panted ironically. +“Ghosts have no business getting their spirit raiment tangled up in a +barbed-wire fence.” + +It answered with a little exclamation, with a sob following close upon +it. There was a sound of tearing cloth, and he held his captive upright, +and with a merciless hand turned her face so that the moonlight struck +it full. They stared at each other, breathing hard from more than the +race they had run. + +“Well--I'll--be--” Grant began, in blank amazement. + +She wriggled her chin in his palm, trying to free herself from his +pitiless staring. Failing that, she began to sob angrily without any +tears in her wide eyes. + +“You--shot me, you brute!” she cried accusingly at last. “You--SHOT me!” + And she sobbed again. + +Before he answered, he drew backward a step or two, sat down upon the +edge of a rock which had rolled out from a stone-heap, and pulled her +down beside him, still holding her fast, as if he half believed her +capable of soaring away over the treetops, after all. + +“I guess I didn't murder you--from the chase you gave me. Did I hit you +at all?” + +“Yes, you did! You nearly broke my arm--and you might have killed me, +you big brute! Look what you did--and I never harmed you at all!” She +pushed up a sleeve, and held out her arm accusingly in the moonlight, +disclosing a tiny, red furrow where the skin was broken and still +bleeding. “And you shot a big hole right through Aunt Phoebe's sheet!” + she added, with tearful severity. + +He caught her arm, bent his head over it--and for a moment he was +perilously near to kissing it; an impulse which astonished him +considerably, and angered him more. He dropped the arm rather +precipitately; and she lifted it again, and regarded the wound with +mournful interest. + +“I'd like to know what right you have to prowl around shooting at +people,” she scolded, seeing how close she could come to touching the +place with her fingertips without producing any but a pleasurable pain. + +“Just as much right as you have to get up in the middle of the night +and go ahowling all over the ranch wrapped up in a sheet,” he retorted +ungallantly. + +“Well, if I want to do it, I don't see why you need concern yourself +about it. I wasn't doing it for your benefit, anyway.” + +“Will you tell me what you DID do it for? Of all the silly tomfoolery--” + +An impish smile quite obliterated the Christmas-angel look for an +instant, then vanished, and left her a pretty, abused maiden who is +grieved at harsh treatment. + +“Well, I wanted to scare Gene,” she confessed. “I did, too. I just know +he's a cowardy-cat, because he's always trying to scare ME. It's Gene's +fault--he told me the grove is haunted. He said a long time ago, before +Uncle Hart settled here, a lot of Indians waylaid a wagon-train here +and killed a girl, and he says that when the moon is just past the full, +something white walks through the grove and wails like a lost soul in +torment. He says sometimes it comes and moans at the corner of the house +where my room is. I just know he was going to do it himself; but I guess +he forgot. So I thought I'd see if he believed his own yarns. I was +going to do it every night till I scared him into sleeping in the house. +I had a perfectly lovely place to disappear into, where he couldn't +trace me if he took to hunting around--only he wouldn't dare.” She +pulled down her sleeve very carefully, and then, just as carefully, she +pushed it up again, and took another look. + +“My best friend TOLD me I'd get shot if I came to Idaho,” she reminded +herself, with a melancholy satisfaction. + +“You didn't get shot,” Grant contradicted for the sake of drawing more +sparks of temper where temper seemed quaintly out of place, and stared +hard at her drooping profile. “You just got nicely missed; a bullet that +only scrapes off a little skin can't be said to hit. I'd hate to hit a +bear like that.” + +“I believe you're wishing you HAD killed me! You might at least have +some conscience in the matter, and be sorry you shot a lady. But you're +not. You just wish you had murdered me. You hate girls--you said so. And +I don't know what business it is of yours, if I want to play a joke on +my cousin, or why you had to be sleeping outside, anyway. I've a perfect +right to be a ghost if I choose--and I don't call it nice, or polite, or +gentlemanly for you to chase me all over the place with a gun, trying +to kill me! I'll never speak to you again as long as I live. When I say +that I mean it. I never liked you from the very start, when I first saw +you this afternoon. Now I hate and despise you. I suppose I oughtn't +to expect you to apologize or be sorry because you almost killed me. I +suppose that's just your real nature coming to the surface. Indians love +to hurt and torture people! I shouldn't have expected anything else of +you, I suppose. I made the mistake of treating you like a white man.” + +“Don't you think you're making another mistake right now?” Grant's whole +attitude changed, as well as his tone. “Aren't you afraid to push the +white man down into the dirt, and raise up--the INDIAN?” + +She cast a swift, half-frightened glance up into his face and the eyes +that glowed ominously in the moonlight. + +“When people make the blunder of calling up the Indian,” he went on +steadily, “they usually find that they have to deal with--the Indian.” + +Evadna looked at him again, and turned slowly white before her temper +surged to the surface again. + +“I didn't call up the Indian,” she defended hotly; “but if the Indian +wants to deal with me according to his nature--why, let him! But you +don't ACT like other people! I don't know another man who wouldn't have +been horrified at shooting me, even such a tiny little bit; but you +don't care at all. You never even said you were sorry.” + +“I'm not in the habit of saying all I think and feel.” + +“You were quick enough to apologize, after supper there, when you hadn't +really done anything; and now, when one would expect you to be at least +decently sorry, you--you--well, you act like the savage you are! There, +now! It may not be nice to say it, but it's the truth.” + +Grant smiled bitterly. “All men are savages under the skin,” he said. +“How do YOU know what I think and feel? If I fail to come through with +the conventional patter, I am called an Indian--because my mother was +a half-breed.” He threw up his head proudly, let his eyes rest for a +moment upon the moon, swimming through a white river of clouds just over +the tall poplar hedge planted long ago to shelter the orchard from the +sweeping west winds; and, when he looked down at her again, he caught a +glimpse of repentant tears in her eyes, and softened. + +“Oh, you're a girl, and you demand the usual amount of poor-pussy talk,” + he told her maliciously. “So I'm sorry. I'm heartbroken. If it will +help any, I'll even kiss the hurt to make it well--and I'm not a kissing +young man, either, let me tell you.” + +“I'd die before I'd let you touch me!” Her repentance, if it was that, +changed to pure rage. She snatched the torn sheet from him and turned +abruptly toward the fence. He followed her, apparently unmoved by her +attitude; placed his foot upon the lower wire and pressed it into the +soft earth, lifted the one next above it as high as it would go, and +thus made it easier for her to pass through. She seemed to hesitate +for a moment, as though tempted to reject even that slight favor, then +stooped, and went through. + +As the wires snapped into place, she halted and looked back at him. + +“Maybe I've been mean--but you're been meaner,” she summed up, in +self-justification. “I suppose the next thing you will do will be to +tell the boys. Well, I don't care what you do, so long as you never +speak to me again. Go and tell them if you want to--tell. TELL, do you +hear? I don't want even the favor of your silence!” She dexterously +tucked the bundle of white under the uninjured arm, caught the loose +folds of her skirt up in her hands, and ran away up the path, not once +stopping to see whether he still followed her. + +Grant did not follow. He stood leaning against the fence-post, and +watched her until her flying form grew indistinct in the shade of the +poplar hedge; watched it reappear in a broad strip of white moonlight, +still running; saw it turn, slacken speed to a walk, and then lose +itself in the darkness of the grove. + +Five minutes, ten minutes, he stood there, staring across the level bit +of valley lying quiet at the foot of the jagged-rimmed bluff standing +boldly up against the star-flecked sky. Then he shook himself +impatiently, muttered something which had to do with a “doddering fool,” + and retraced his steps quickly through the orchard, the currant bushes, +and the strawberry patch, jumped the ditch, and so entered the grove and +returned to his blankets. + +“We thought the spook had got yuh, sure.” Gene lifted his head +turtlewise and laughed deprecatingly. “We was just about ready to start +out after the corpse, only we didn't know but what you might get excited +and take a shot at us in the dark. We heard yuh shoot--what was it? Did +you find out?” + +“It wasn't anything,” said Grant shortly, tugging at a boot. + +“Ah--there was, too! What was it you shot at?” Clark joined in the +argument from the blackness under the locust tree. + +“The moon,” Grant told him sullenly. “There wasn't anything else that I +could see.” + +“And that's a lie,” Gene amended, with the frankness of a +foster-brother. “Something yelled like--” + +“You never heard a screech-owl before, did you, Gene?” Grant crept +between his blankets and snuggled down, as if his mind held nothing more +important than sleep. + +“Screech-owl my granny! You bumped into something you couldn't +handle--if you want to know what _I_ think about it,” Clark guessed +shrewdly. “I wish now I'd taken the trouble to hunt the thing down; it +didn't seem worth while getting up. But I leave it to Gene if you ain't +mad enough to murder whatever it was. What was it?” + +He waited a moment without getting a reply. + +“Well, keep your teeth shut down on it, then, darn yuh!” he growled. +“That's the Injun of it--I know YOU! Screech-owl--huh! You said when you +left it was an Indian--and that's why we didn't take after it ourselves. +We don't want to get the whole bunch down on us like they are on +you--and if there was one acting up around here, we knew blamed well it +was on your account for what happened to-day. I guess you found out, all +right. I knew the minute you heaved in sight that you was just about as +mad as you can get--and that's saying a whole lot. If it WAS an Indian, +and you killed him, you better let us--” + +“Oh, for the lord's sake, WILL YOU SHUT UP!” Grant raised to an elbow, +glared a moment, and lay down again. + +The result proved the sort of fellow he was. Clark shut up without even +trailing off into mumbling to himself, as was his habit when argument +brought him defeat. + + + +CHAPTER VII. MISS GEORGIE HOWARD, OPERATOR + +“Where is the delightful Mr. Good Indian off to?” Evadna stopped +drumming upon the gatepost and turned toward the person she heard coming +up behind her, who happened to be Gene. He stopped to light a match +upon the gate and put his cigarette to work before he answered her; and +Evadna touched tentatively the wide, blue ribbon wound round her arm and +tied in a bow at her elbow, and eyed him guardedly. + +“Straight up, he told me,” Gene answered sourly. “He's sore over +something that happened last night, and he didn't seem to have any talk +to give away this morning. He can go to the dickens, for all I care.” + +“WHAT--happened last night?” Evadna wore her Christmas-angel expression; +and her tone was the sweet, insipid tone of childlike innocence. + +Gene hesitated. It seemed a sheer waste of opportunity to tell her the +truth when she would believe a falsehood just as readily; but, since the +truth happened to be quite as improbable as a lie, he decided to speak +it. + +“There was a noise when the moon had just come up--didn't you hear it? +The ghost I told you about. Good Injun went after it with a gun, and I +guess they mixed, all right, and he got the worst of it. He was sure on +the fight when he came back, and he's pulled out this morning--” + +“Do you mean to tell me--did you see it, really?” + +“Well, you ask Clark, when you see him,” Gene hinted darkly. “You just +ask him what was in the grove last night. Ask him what he HEARD.” He +moved closer, and laid his hand impressively upon her arm. Evadna winced +perceptibly. “What yuh jumping for? You didn't see anything, did you?” + +“No; but--was there REALLY something?” Evadna freed herself as +unobtrusively as possible, and looked at him with wide eyes. + +“You ask Clark. He'll tell you--maybe. Good Injun's scared clean off the +ranch--you can see that for yourself. He said he couldn't be hired to +spend another night here. He thinks it's a bad sign. That's the Injun of +it. They believe in spirits and signs and things.” + +Evadna turned thoughtful. “And didn't he tell you what he--that is, if +he found out--you said he went after it--” + +“He wouldn't say a blamed thing about it,” Gene complained sincerely. +“He said there wasn't anything--he told us it was a screech-owl.” + +“Oh!” Evadna gave a sigh of relief. “Well, I'm going to ask Clark what +it was--I'm just crazy about ghost stories, only I never would DARE +leave the house after dark if there are funny noises and things, +really. I think you boys must be the bravest fellows, to sleep out +there--without even your mother with you!” + +She smiled the credulous smile of ignorant innocence and pulled the gate +open. + +“Jack promised to take me up to Hartley to-day,” she explained over her +shoulder. “When I come back, you'll show me just where it was, won't +you, Gene? You don't suppose it would walk in the grove in the daytime, +do you? Because I'm awfully fond of the grove, and I do hope it will be +polite enough to confine its perambulations entirely to the conventional +midnight hour.” + +Gene did not make any reply. Indeed, he seemed wholly absorbed in +staring after her and wondering just how much or how little of it she +meant. + +Evadna looked back, midway between the gate and the stable, and, when +she saw him standing exactly as she had left him, she waved her hand and +smiled. She was still smiling when she came up to where Jack was giving +those last, tentative twitches and pats which prove whether a saddle is +properly set and cinched; and she would not say what it was that amused +her. All the way up the grade, she smiled and grew thoughtful by turns; +and, when Jack mentioned the fact that Good Indian had gone off mad +about something, she contented herself with the simple, unqualified +statement that she was glad of it. + +Grant's horse dozed before the store, and Grant himself sat upon a bench +in the narrow strip of shade on the porch. Evadna, therefore, refused +absolutely to dismount there, though her errand had been a post-office +money order. Jack was already on the ground when she made known her +decision; and she left him in the middle of his expostulations and rode +on to the depot. He followed disapprovingly afoot; and, when she brought +her horse to a stand, he helped her from the saddle, and took the bridle +reins with an air of weary tolerance. + +“When you get ready to go home, you can come to the store,” he said +bluntly. “Huckleberry wouldn't stand here if you hog-tied him. Just +remember that if you ever ride up here alone--it might save you a walk +back. And say,” he added, with a return of his good-natured grin, “it +looks like you and Good Injun didn't get acquainted yesterday. I thought +I saw mum give him an introduction to you--but I guess I made a mistake. +When you come to the store, don't let me forget, and I'll do it myself.” + +“Oh, thank you, Jack--but it isn't necessary,” chirped Evadna, and left +him with the smile which he had come to regard with vague suspicion of +what it might hide of her real feelings. + +Two squaws sat cross-legged on the ground in the shade of the little +red depot; and them she passed by hastily, her eyes upon them watchfully +until she was well upon the platform and was being greeted joyfully +by Miss Georgie Howard, then in one of her daily periods of intense +boredom. + +“My, my, but you're an angel of deliverance--and by rights you should +have a pair of gauze wings, just to complete the picture,” she cried, +leading her inside and pushing her into a beribboned wicker rocker. “I +was just getting desperate enough to haul in those squaws out there +and see if I couldn't teach 'em whist or something.” She sat down +and fingered her pompadour absently. “And that sure would have been +interesting,” she added musingly. + +“Don't let me interrupt you,” Evadna began primly. “I only came for a +money order--Aunt Phoebe's sending for--” + +“Never mind what you came for,” Miss Georgie cut in decisively, and +laughed. “The express agent is out. You can't get your order till we've +had a good talk and got each other tagged mentally--only I've tagged you +long ago.” + +“I thought you were the express agent. Aunt Phoebe said--” + +“Nice, truthful Aunt Phoebe! I am, but I'm out--officially. I'm several +things, my dear; but, for the sake of my own dignity and self-respect, +I refuse to be more than one of them at a time. When I sell a ticket +to Shoshone, I'm the ticket agent, and nothing else. Telegrams, I'm the +operator. At certain times I'm the express agent. I admit it. But this +isn't one of the times.” + +She stopped and regarded her visitor with whimsical appraisement. +“You'll wait till the agent returns, won't you?” And added, with a +grimace: “You won't be in the way--I'm not anything official right now. +I'm a neighbor, and this is my parlor--you see, I planted you on that +rug, with the books at your elbow, and that geranium also; and you're in +the rocker, so you're really and truly in my parlor. I'm over the line +myself, and you're calling on me. Sabe? That little desk by the safe is +the express office, and you can see for yourself that the agent is out.” + +“Well, upon my word!” Evadna permitted herself that much emotional +relief. Then she leaned her head against the cherry-colored head-rest +tied to the chair with huge, cherry-colored bows, and took a deliberate +survey of the room. + +It was a small room, as rooms go. One corner was evidently the telegraph +office, for it held a crude table, with the instruments clicking +spasmodically, form pads, letter files, and mysterious things which +piqued her curiosity. Over it was a railroad map and a makeshift +bulletin board, which seemed to give the time of certain trains. +And small-paned windows gave one sitting before the instruments an +unobstructed view up and down the track. In the corner behind the door +was a small safe, with door ajar, and a desk quite as small, with, +“Express Office: Hours, 8 A.M. to 6 P.M.” on a card above it. + +Under a small window opening upon the platform was another little table, +with indications of occasional ticket-selling upon it. And in the end of +the room where she sat were various little adornments--“art” calendars, +a few books, fewer potted plants, a sewing-basket, and two rugs upon the +floor, with a rocker for each. Also there was a tiny, square table, with +a pack of cards scattered over it. + +“Exactly. You have it sized up correctly, my dear.” Miss Georgie Howard +nodded her--head three times, and her eyes were mirthful. “It's a game. +I made it a game. I had to, in self-defense. Otherwise--” She waved +a hand conspicuous for its white plumpness and its fingers tapering +beautifully to little, pink nails immaculately kept. “I took at the +job and the place just as it stands, without anything in the way of +mitigation. Can you see yourself holding it down for longer than a week? +I've been here a month.” + +“I think,” Evadna ventured, “it must be fun.” + +“Oh, yes. It's fun--if you make fun OF it. However, before we settle +down for a real visit, I've a certain duty to perform, if you will +excuse my absence for a moment. Incidentally,” she added, getting lazily +out of the chair, “it will illustrate just how I manage my system.” + +Her absence was purely theoretical. She stepped off the rug, went to the +“express office,” and took a card from the desk. When she had stood it +upright behind the inkwell, Evadna read in large, irregular capitals: + +“OUT. WILL BE BACK LATER.” + +Miss Georgie Howard paid no attention to the little giggle which went +with the reading, but stepped across to the ticket desk and to the +telegraph table, and put similar cards on display. Then she came back to +the rug, plumped down in her rocker with a sigh of relief, and reached +for a large, white box--the five pounds of chocolates which she had sent +for. + +“I never eat candy when I'm in the office,” she observed soberly. “I +consider it unprofessional. Help yourself as liberally as your digestion +will stand--and for Heaven's sake, gossip a little! Tell me all +about that bunch of nifty lads I see cavorting around the store +occasionally--and especially about the polysyllabic gentleman who seems +to hang out at the Peaceful Hart ranch. I'm terribly taken with him. +He--excuse me, chicken. There's a fellow down the line hollering his +head off. Wait till I see what he wants.” + +Again she left the rug, stepped to the telegraph instrument, and +fingered the key daintily until she had, with the other hand, turned +down the “out” card. Then she threw the switch, rattled an impatient +reply, and waited, listening to the rapid clicking of the sounder. Her +eyes and her mouth hardened as she read. + +“Cad!” she gritted under her breath. Her fingers were spiteful as they +clicked the key in answer. She slammed the current off, set up the “out” + notice again, kicked the desk chair against the wall, and came back to +the “parlor” breathing quickly. + +“I think it must be perfectly fascinating to talk that way to persons +miles off,” said Evadna, eying the chittering sounder with something +approaching awe. “I watched your fingers, and tried to imagine what it +was they were saying--but I couldn't even guess.” + +Miss Georgie Howard laughed queerly. “No, I don't suppose you could,” + she murmured, and added, with a swift glance at the other: “They said, +'You go to the devil.'” She held up the offending hand and regarded it +intently. “You wouldn't think it of them, would you? But they have to +say things sometimes--in self-defense. There are two or three fresh +young men along the line that can't seem to take a hint unless you knock +them in the head with it.” + +She cast a malevolent look at the clicking instrument. “He's trying to +square himself,” she observed carelessly. “But, unfortunately, I'm out. +He seems on the verge of tears, poor thing.” + +She poked investigatingly among the chocolates, and finally selected a +delectable morsel with epicurean care. + +“You haven't told me about the polysyllabic young man,” she reminded. +“He has held my heart in bondage since he said to Pete Hamilton +yesterday in the store--ah--” She leaned and barely reached a slip +of paper which was lying upon a row of books. “I wrote it down so I +wouldn't forget it,” she explained parenthetically. “He said to Pete, +in the store, just after Pete had tried to say something funny with the +usual lamentable failure--um--'You are mentally incapable of recognizing +the line of demarcation between legitimate persiflage and objectionable +familiarity.' Now, I want to know what sort of a man, under fifty and +not a college professor, would--or could--say that without studying it +first. It sounded awfully impromptu and easy--and yet he looks--well, +cowboyish. What sort of a young man is he?” + +“He's a perfectly horrid young man.” Evadna leaned to help herself to +more chocolates. “He--well, just to show you how horrid, he calls me +a--a Christmas angel! And--” + +“Did he!” Miss Georgie eyed her measuringly between bites. “Tag him +as being intelligent, a keen observer, with the ability to express +himself--” She broke off, and turned her head ungraciously toward the +sounder, which seemed to be repeating something over and over with a +good deal of insistence. “That's Shoshone calling,” she said, frowning +attentively. “They've got an old crank up there in the office--I'd know +his touch among a million--and when he calls he means business. I'll +have to speak up, I suppose.” She sighed, tucked a chocolate into her +cheek, and went scowling to the table. “Can't the idiot see I'm out?” + she complained whimsically. “What's that card for, I wonder?” + +She threw the switch, rattled a reply, and then, as the sounder settled +down to a steady click-clickety-click-click, she drew a pad toward her, +pulled up the chair with her foot, sat down, and began to write the +message as it came chattering over the wire. When it was finished and +the sounder quiet, her hand awoke to life upon the key. She seemed to be +repeating the message, word for word. When she was done, she listened, +got her answer, threw off the switch with a sweep of her thumb, and +fumbled among the papers on the table until she found an envelope. She +addressed it with a hasty scrawl of her pencil, sealed it with a vicious +little spat of her hand, and then sat looking down upon it thoughtfully. + +“I suppose I've got to deliver that immediately, at once, without +delay,” she said. “There's supposed to be an answer. Chicken, some queer +things happen in this business. Here's that weak-eyed, hollow-chested +Saunders, that seems to have just life enough to put in about ten hours +a day reading 'The Duchess,' getting cipher messages like the hero of a +detective story. And sending them, too, by the way. We operators are not +supposed to think; but all the same--” She got her receipt-book, filled +rapidly a blank line, tucked it under her arm, and went up and tapped +Evadna lightly upon the head with the envelope. “Want to come along? Or +would you rather stay here? I won't be more than two minutes.” + +She was gone five; and she returned with a preoccupied air which lasted +until she had disposed of three chocolates and was carefully choosing a +fourth. + +“Chicken,” she said then, quietly, “do you know anything about your +uncle and his affairs?” And added immediately: “The chances are ten to +one you don't, and wouldn't if you lived there till you were gray?” + +“I know he's perfectly lovely,” Evadna asserted warmly. “And so is Aunt +Phoebe.” + +“To be sure.” Miss Georgie smiled indulgently. “I quite agree with you. +And by the way, I met that polysyllabic cowboy again--and I discovered +that, on the whole, my estimate was incorrect. He's emphatically +monosyllabic. I said sixteen nice things to him while I was waiting for +Pete to wake up Saunders; and he answered in words of one syllable; one +word, of one syllable. I'm beginning to feel that I've simply got to +know that young man. There are deeps there which I am wild to explore. +I never met any male human in the least like him. Did you? So +absolutely--ah--inscrutable, let us say.” + +“That's just because he's part Indian,” Evadna declared, with the +positiveness of youth and inexperience. “It isn't inscrutability, but +stupidity. I simply can't bear him. He's brutal, and rude. He told +me--told me, mind you--that he doesn't like women. He actually warned +me against thinking his politeness--if he ever is polite, which I +doubt--means more than just common humanity. He said he didn't want me +to misunderstand him and think he liked me, because he doesn't. He's a +perfect savage. I simply loathe him!” + +“I'd certainly see that he repented, apologized, and vowed eternal +devotion,” smiled Miss Georgie. “That should be my revenge.” + +“I don't want any revenge. I simply want nothing to do with him. I don't +want to speak to him, even.” + +“He's awfully good--looking,” mused Miss Georgie. + +“He looks to me just like an Indian. He ought to wear a blanket, like +the rest.” + +“Then you're no judge. His eyes are dark; but they aren't snaky, my +dear. His hair is real wavy, did you notice? And he has the dearest, +firm mouth. I noticed it particularly, because I admire a man who's +a man. He's one. He'd fight and never give up, once he started. And I +think”--she spoke hesitatingly--“I think he'd love--and never give up; +unless the loved one disappointed him in some way; and then he'd be +strong enough to go his way and not whine about it. I do hate a whiner! +Don't you?” + +A shadow fell upon the platform outside the door, and Saunders appeared, +sidling deprecatingly into the room. He pulled off his black, slouched +hat and tucked it under his arm, smoothed his lank, black hair, ran his +palm down over his lank, unshaven face with a smoothing gesture, and +sidled over to the telegraph table. + +“Here's the answer to that message,” he said, in a limp tone, without +any especial emphasis or inflection. “If you ain't too busy, and could +send it right off--it's to go C.O.D. and make 'em repeat it, so as to be +sure--” + +“Certainly, Mr. Saunders.” Miss Georgie rose, the crisp, businesslike +operator, and went to the table. She took the sheet of paper from him +with her finger tips, as if he were some repulsive creature whose touch +would send her shuddering, and glanced at the message. “Write it on the +regular form,” she said, and pushed a pad and pencil toward him. “I have +to place it on file.” Whereupon she turned her back upon him, and stood +staring down the railroad track through the smoke-grimed window until a +movement warned her that he was through. + +“Very well--that is all,” she said, after she had counted the words +twice. “Oh--you want to wait for the repeat.” + +She laid her fingers on the key and sent the message in a whirl of +chittering little sounds, waited a moment while the sounder spoke, +paused, and then began a rapid clicking, which was the repeated message, +and wrote it down upon its form. + +“There--if it's correct, that's all,” she told him in a tone of +dismissal, and waited openly for him to go. Which he did, after a sly +glance at Evadna, a licking of pale lips, as if he would speak but +lacked the courage, and a leering grin at Miss Georgie. + +He was no sooner over the threshold than she slammed the door shut, +in spite of the heat. She walked to the window, glanced down the track +again, turned to the table, and restlessly arranged the form pads, +sticking the message upon the file. She said something under her breath, +snapped the cover on the inkwell, sighed, patted her pompadour, and +finally laughed at her own uneasiness. + +“Whenever that man comes in here,” she observed impatiently, “I always +feel as if I ought to clean house after him. If ever there was a human +toad--or snake, or--ugh! And what does he mean--sending twenty-word +messages that don't make sense when you read them over, and getting +others that are just a lot of words jumbled together, hit or miss? I +wish--only it's unprofessional to talk about it--but, just the same, +there's some nasty business brewing, and I know it. I feel guilty, +almost, every time I send one of those cipher messages.” + +“Maybe he's a detective,” Evadna hazarded. + +“Maybe.” Miss Georgie's tone, however, was extremely skeptical. “Only, +so far as I can discover, there's never been anything around here to +detect. Nobody has been murdered, or robbed, or kidnapped that I ever +heard of. Pete Hamilton says not. And--I wonder, now, if Saunders could +be watching somebody! Wouldn't it be funny, if old Pete himself turned +out to be a Jesse James brand of criminal? Can you imagine Pete doing +anything more brutal than lick a postage stamp?” + +“He might want to,” Evadna guessed shrewdly, “but it would be too much +trouble.” + +“Besides,” Miss Georgie went on speculating, “Saunders never does +anything that anyone ever heard of. Sweeps out the store, they say--but +I'd hate to swear to that. _I_ never could catch it when it looked +swept--and brings the mail sack over here twice a day, and gets one +to take back. And reads novels. Of course, the man's half dead with +consumption; but no one would object to that, if these queer wires +hadn't commenced coming to him.” + +“Why don't you turn detective yourself and find out?” Plainly, Evadna +was secretly laughing at her perturbed interest in the matter. + +“Thanks. I'm too many things already, and I haven't any false hair or +dark lantern. And, by the way, I'm going to have the day off, +Sunday. Charlie Green is coming up to relieve me. And--couldn't we do +something?” She glanced wearily around the little office. “Honest, I'd +go crazy if I stayed here much longer without a play spell. I want to +get clear out, away from the thing--where I can't even hear a train +whistle.” + +“Then you shall come down to the ranch the minute you can get away, +and we'll do something or go somewhere. The boys said they'd take me +fishing--but they only propose things so they can play jokes on me, +it seems to me. They'd make me fall in the river, or something, I just +know. But if you'd like to go along, there'd be two of us--” + +“Chicken, we'll go. I ought to be ashamed to fish for an invitation the +way I did, but I'm not. I haven't been down to the Hart ranch yet; and +I've heard enough about it to drive me crazy with the desire to see it. +Your Aunt Phoebe I've met, and fallen in love with--that's a matter of +course. She told me to visit her just any time, without waiting to be +invited especially. Isn't she the dearest thing? Oh! that's a train +order, I suppose--sixteen is about due. Excuse me, chicken.” + +She was busy then until the train came screeching down upon the station, +paused there while the conductor rushed in, got a thin slip of paper for +himself and the engineer, and rushed out again. When the train grumbled +away from the platform and went its way, it left man standing there, a +fish-basket slung from one shoulder, a trout rod carefully wrapped in +its case in his hand, a box which looked suspiciously like a case of +some bottled joy at his feet, and a loose-lipped smile upon his face. + +“Howdy, Miss Georgie?” he called unctuously through the open door. + +Miss Georgie barely glanced at him from under her lashes, and her +shoulders indulged themselves in an almost imperceptible twitch. + +“How do you do, Mr. Baumberger?” she responded coolly, and very, very +gently pushed the door shut just as he had made up his mind to enter. + + + +CHAPTER VIII. THE AMIABLE ANGLER + +Baumberger--Johannes was the name he answered to when any of his family +called, though to the rest of the world he was simply Baumberger--was +what he himself called a true sport. Women, he maintained, were very +much like trout; and so, when this particular woman calmly turned +her back upon the smile cast at her, he did not linger there angling +uselessly, but betook himself to the store, where his worldly position, +rather than his charming personality, might be counted upon to bring him +his meed of appreciation. + +Good Indian and Jack, sitting side by side upon the porch and saying +very little, he passed by with a careless nod, as being not worth his +attention. Saunders, glancing up from the absorbing last chapter of +“The Brokenhearted Bride,” also received a nod, and returned it +apathetically. Pete Hamilton, however, got a flabby handshake, a wheezy +laugh, and the announcement that he was down from Shoshone for a good, +gamy tussle with that four-pounder he had lost last time. + +“And I don't go back till I get him--not if I stay here a week,” he +declared, with jocular savagery. “Took half my leader and my pet fly--I +got him with a peacock-bodied gray hackle that I revised to suit my own +notions--and, by the great immortal Jehosaphat, he looked like a whale +when he jumped up clear of the riffle, turned over, and--” His flabby, +white hand made a soaring movement to indicate the manner in which the +four-pounder had vanished. + +“Better take a day off and go with me, Pete,” he suggested, getting an +unwieldy-looking pipe from the pocket of his canvas fishing-coat, and +opening his eyes at a trout-fly snagged in the mouthpiece. “Now, how +did that fly come there?” he asked aggrievedly, while he released it +daintily for all his fingers looked so fat and awkward. He stuck the +pipe in the corner of his mouth, and held up the fly with that interest +which seems fatuous to one who has no sporting blood in his veins. + +“Last time I used that fly was when I was down here three weeks ago--the +day I lost the big one. Ain't it a beauty, eh? Tied it myself. And, by +the great immortal Jehosaphat, it fetches me the rainbows, too. Good +mind to try it on the big one. Don't see how I didn't miss it out of my +book--I must be getting absent-minded. Sign of old age, that. Failing +powers and the like.” He shook his head reprovingly and grinned, as if +he considered the idea something of a joke. “Have to buck up--a lawyer +can't afford to grow absent-minded. He's liable to wake up some day and +find himself without his practice.” + +He got his fly-book from the basket swinging at his left hip, opened +it, turned the leaves with the caressing touch one gives to a cherished +thing, and very carefully placed the fly upon the page where it +belonged; gazed gloatingly down at the tiny, tufted hooks, with their +frail-looking five inches of gut leader, and then returned the book +fondly to the basket. + +“Think I'll go on down to the Harts',” he said, “so as to be that much +closer to the stream. Daylight is going to find me whipping the riffles, +Peter. You won't come along? You better. Plenty of--ah--snake medicine,” + he hinted, chuckling so that the whole, deep chest of him vibrated. “No? +Well, you can let me have a horse, I suppose--that cow-backed sorrel +will do--he's gentle, I know. I think I'll go out and beg an invitation +from that Hart boy--never can remember those kids by name--Gene, is it, +or Jack?” + +He went out upon the porch, laid a hand upon Jack's shoulder, and beamed +down upon him with what would have passed easily for real affection +while he announced that he was going to beg supper and a bed at the +ranch, and wanted to know, as a solicitous after-thought, if Jack's +mother had company, or anything that would make his presence a burden. + +“Nobody's there--and, if there was, it wouldn't matter,” Jack assured +him carelessly. “Go on down, if you want to. It'll be all right with +mother.” + +“One thing I like about fishing down here,” chuckled Baumberger, his fat +fingers still resting lightly upon Jack's shoulder, “is the pleasure of +eating my fish at your house. There ain't another man, woman, or child +in all Idaho can fry trout like your mother. You needn't tell her I +said so--but it's a fact, just the same. She sure is a genius with the +frying-pan, my boy.” + +He turned and called in to Pete, to know if he might have the sorrel +saddled right away. Since Pete looked upon Baumberger with something of +the awed admiration which he would bestow upon the President, he felt +convinced that his horses were to be congratulated that any one of them +found favor in his eyes. + +Pete, therefore, came as near to roaring at Saunders as his good nature +and his laziness would permit, and waited in the doorway until Saunders +had, with visible reluctance, laid down his book and started toward the +stable. + +“Needn't bother to bring the horse down here, my man,” Baumberger called +after him. “I'll get him at the stable and start from there. Well, wish +me luck, Pete--and say! I'll expect you to make a day of it with me +Sunday. No excuses, now. I'm going to stay over that long, anyhow. +Promised myself three good days--maybe more. A man's got to break away +from his work once in a while. If I didn't, life wouldn't be worth +living. I'm willing to grind--but I've got to have my playtime, too. +Say, I want you to try this rod of mine Sunday. You'll want one like it +yourself, if I'm any good at guessing. Just got it, you know--it's the +one I was talking to yuh about last time I was down. + +“W-ell--I reckon my means of conveyance is ready for me--so long, Peter, +till Sunday. See you at supper, boys.” + +He hooked a thumb under the shoulder-strap of his basket, pulled it to a +more comfortable position, waved his hand in a farewell, which included +every living thing within sight of him, and went away up the narrow, +winding trail through the sagebrush to the stable, humming something +under his breath with the same impulse of satisfaction with life which +sets a cat purring. + +Some time later, he appeared, in the same jovial mood, at the Hart +ranch, and found there the welcome which he had counted upon--the +welcome which all men received there upon demand. + +When Evadna and Jack rode up, they found Mr. Baumberger taking his ease +in Peaceful's armchair on the porch, discussing, with animated gravity, +the ins and outs of county politics; his fishing-basket lying on its +flat side close to his chair, his rod leaning against the house at +his elbow, his heavy pipe dragging down one corner of his loose-lipped +mouth; his whole gross person surrounded by an atmosphere of prosperity +leading the simple life transiently and by choice, and of lazy enjoyment +in his own physical and mental well-being. + + + +CHAPTER IX. PEPPAJEE JIM “HEAP SABES” + +Peppajee Jim had meditated long in the shade of his wikiup, and now, +when the sun changed from a glaring ball of intense, yellow heat to a +sullen red disk hanging low over the bluffs of Snake River, he rose, +carefully knocked the ashes from his little stone pipe, with one +mechanical movement of his arms, gathered his blanket around him, pushed +a too-familiar dog from him with a shove of moccasined foot, and stalked +away through the sagebrush. + +On the brow of the hill, just where the faint footpath dipped into a +narrow gully at the very edge, almost, of the bluff, he stopped, and +lifted his head for an unconsciously haughty stare at his surroundings. + +Beneath him and half a mile or so up the river valley, the mellow green +of Peaceful's orchard was already taking to itself the vagueness of +evening shadows. Nearer, the meadow of alfalfa and clover lay like a +soft, green carpet of velvet, lined here and there with the irrigation +ditches which kept it so. And in the center of the meadow, a small +inclosure marked grimly the spot where lay the bones of old John Imsen. +All around the man-made oasis of orchards and meadows, the sage and the +sand, pushed from the river by the jumble of placer pits, emphasized by +sharp contrast what man may do with the most unpromising parts of the +earth's surface, once he sets himself heart and muscle to the task. + +With the deliberation of his race, Peppajee stood long minutes +motionless, gazing into the valley before he turned with a true Indian +shrug and went down into the gully, up the steep slope beyond, and +then, after picking his way through a jumble of great bowlders, came +out eventually into the dust-ridden trail of the white man. Down that he +walked, erect, swift, purposeful, his moccasins falling always with the +precision of a wild animal upon the best footing among the loose +rocks, stubs of sage-roots, or patches of deep dust and sand beside the +wagon-road, his sharp, high-featured face set in the stony calm which +may hide a tumult of elemental passions beneath and give no sign. + +Where the trail curved out sharply to round the Point o' Rocks, he left +it, and kept straight on through the sage, entered a rough pass through +the huge rock tongue, and came out presently to the trail again, a scant +two hundred yards from the Hart haystacks. When he reached the stable, +he stopped and looked warily about him, but there was no sight or sound +of any there save animals, and he went on silently to the house, his +shadow stretching long upon the ground before him until it merged into +the shade of the grove beyond the gate, and so was lost for that day. + +“Hello, Peppajee,” called Wally over his cigarette. “Just in time for +supper.” + +Peppajee grunted, stopped in the path two paces from the porch, folded +his arms inside his blanket, and stood so while his eyes traveled slowly +and keenly around the group lounging at ease above him. Upon the bulky +figure of Baumberger they dwelt longest, and while he looked his face +hardened until nothing seemed alive but his eyes. + +“Peppajee, this my friend, Mr. Baumberger. You heap sabe +Baumberger--come all time from Shoshone, mebbyso catchum heap many +fish.” Peaceful's mild, blue eyes twinkled over his old meerschaum. +He knew the ways of Indians, and more particularly he knew the ways of +Peppajee; Baumberger, he guessed shrewdly, had failed to find favor in +his eyes. + +“Huh!” grunted Peppajee non-commitally, and made no motion to +shake hands, thereby confirming Peaceful's suspicion. “Me heap sabe +Man-that-catchum-fish.” After which he stood as before, his arms folded +tightly in his blanket, his chin lifted haughtily, his mouth a straight, +stern line of bronze. + +“Sit down, Peppajee. Bimeby eat supper,” Peaceful invited pacifically, +while Baumberger chuckled at the Indian's attitude, which he attributed +to racial stupidity. + +Peppajee did not even indicate that he heard or, hearing, understood. + +“Bothered much with Injuns?” Baumberger asked carelessly, putting away +his pipe. “I see there's quite a camp of 'em up on the hill. Hope you've +got good watchdogs--they're a thieving lot. If they're a nuisance, Hart, +I'll see what can be done about slapping 'em back on their reservation, +where they belong. I happen to have some influence with the agent.” + +“I guess you needn't go to any trouble about it,” Peaceful returned +dryly. “I've had worse neighbors.” + +“Oh--if you're stuck on their company!” laughed Baumberger wheezily. +“'Every fellow to his taste, as the old woman said when she kissed her +cow.' There may be good ones among the lot,” he conceded politely when +he saw that his time-worn joke had met with disfavor, even by the boys, +who could--and usually did--laugh at almost anything. “They all look +alike to me, I must admit; I never had any truck with 'em.” + +“No, I guess not,” Peaceful agreed in his slow way, holding his pipe +three inches from his face while he eyed Peppajee quizzically. “Don't +pay to have any truck with 'em while you feel that way about it.” + He smoothed down his snow-white beard with his free hand, pushed the +pipe-stem between his teeth, and went on smoking. + +“I never liked the breed, any way you look at 'em,” Baumberger stated +calmly. + +“Say, you'll queer yourself good and plenty, if you keep on,” Wally +interrupted bluntly. “Peppajee's ears aren't plugged with cotton--are +they, Jim?” + +Neither Peppajee nor Baumberger made reply of any sort, and Peaceful +turned his mild eyes reproachfully toward his untactful son. But the +supper summons clanged insistently from the iron triangle on the back +porch and saved the situation from becoming too awkward. Even Baumberger +let his tilted chair down upon its four legs with a haste for which his +appetite was not alone responsible, and followed the boys into the house +as if he were glad to escape from the steady, uncompromising stare of +the Indian. + +“Better come and eat, Peppajee,” Peaceful lingered upon the porch to +urge hospitably. “You no get mad. You come eat supper.” + +“No!” Peppajee jerked the word out with unmistakable finality. “No eat. +Bimeby mebbyso makum big talk yo'.” + +Peaceful studied his face, found it stern and unyielding, and nodded +assent. “All right. I eat, then I talk with you.” He turned somewhat +reluctantly and followed the others inside, leaving Peppajee to pass the +time away as pleased him best. + +Peppajee stood still for a moment listening to the clatter of dishes +from the kitchen, and then with dignity end deliberation seated himself +upon the lowest step of the porch, and, pulling his blanket tight around +him, resettled his disreputable old sombrero upon his head and stared +fixedly at the crimson glow which filled all the west and made even the +rugged bluff a wonderful thing of soft, rose tints and shadows of royal +purple. Peaceful, coming out half an hour after with Baumberger at his +heels, found him so and made a movement to sit down beside him. But +Peppajee rose and stalked majestically to the gate, then turned and +confronted the two. + +“I talk yo'. Mebbyso no talk Man-with-big-belly.” He waited impassively. + +“All right, Jim.” Peaceful turned apologetically toward his guest. +“Something he wants to tell me, Baumberger; kinda private, I guess. I'll +be back in a minute, anyway.” + +“Now don't mind me at all,” Baumberger protested generously. “Go ahead +just as if I wasn't here--that's what'll please me best. I hope I ain't +so much of a stranger you've got to stand on ceremony. Go on, and find +out what the old buck wants; he's got something on his mind, that's +sure. Been stealing fruit, maybe, and wants to square himself before you +catch him at it.” He laughed his laziest, and began leisurely to fill +his pipe. + +Peppajee led the way to the stable, where he stopped short and faced +Peaceful, his arms folded, one foot thrust forward in the pose he +affected when about to speak of matters important. + +“Long time ago, when yo' hair black,” he began deliberately, with a +sonorous lingering upon his vowels, “yo' all time my frien'. I yo' +frien' all same. Yo' no likum otha white man. Yo' all time bueno. Yo' +house all same my wikiup. Me come eat at yo' house, talk yo' all same +brotha. Yo' boys all same my boys--all time my frien'. Me speakum all +time no lie, mebbyso.” + +“No,” Peaceful assented unhesitatingly, “you no tell lies, Peppajee. We +good friends, many years.” + +“Huh! Man-that-catchum-fish, him no yo' frien'. Shont-isham. All time +him speakum lies--tellum frien' yo', no frien'. Yo' no more tellum stop +yo' wikiup. Kay bueno. Yo' thinkum frien'. All time him have bad heart +for yo'. Yo' got ranch. Got plenty hay, plenty apple, plenty all thing +for eat. All time him think bad for yo'. All time him likum steal yo' +ranch.” + +Peaceful laughed indulgently. “You no sabe,” he explained. “Him like +my ranch. Him say, long time ago, pay much money for my ranch. Me no +sell--me like for keep all time. Baumberger good man. Him no steal my +ranch. Me got one paper from government--you sabe?--one paper say ranch +all time b'longum me all same. Big white chief say ranch b'longum me all +time. I die, ranch b'longum my boys. You sabe?” + +Peppajee considered. “Me sabe,” he said at length. “Me sabe paper, sabe +ranch all time b'longum yo'. All same, him like for ketchum yo' ranch. +Me hear much talk, him talk Man-that-coughs, tellum him ketchum ranch. +Much white man come, so--” He lifted one hand with thumb and fingers +outspread, made a downward gesture, and then raised three fingers. +“Catchum ranch.” + +Peaceful shook his head while he smiled. “No can do that. Mebbyso much +men come, heap fight, mebbyso killum me, ranch all same b'longum my +boys. Men that fights go to jail, mebbyso hangum.” He indicated by signs +his exact meaning. + +Peppajee scowled, and shook his head stubbornly. “Me heap sabe. All +same, ketchum yo' ranch. Man-that-catchum-fish kay bueno. Yo' thinkum +frien', yo' damfool. Him all same rattlesnake. Plenty foolum yo'. Yo' +see. Yo' thinkum Peppajee Jim heap big fool. Peaceful Hart, him all time +one heap big damfool. Him ketchum yo' ranch. Yo' see.” He stopped and +stared hard at the dim bulk of the grove, whence came the faint odor of +smoke from Baumberger's pipe. + +“Yo' be smart man,” he added grimly, “yo' all same kickum dat mans +off yo' ranch.” For emphasis he thrust out a foot vigorously in the +direction of the house and the man he maligned, and turned his face +toward camp. Peaceful watched until the blanketed form merged into the +dusk creeping over the valley, and when it disappeared finally into the +short cut through the sage, he shook his gray head in puzzlement over +the absurd warning, and went back to talk politics with Baumberger. + + + +CHAPTER X. MIDNIGHT PROWLERS + +Came midnight and moonlight together, and with them came also Good +Indian riding somewhat sullenly down the trail to the ranch. Sullen +because of Evadna's attitude, which seemed to him permanently +antagonistic, and for very slight cause, and which made the ranch an +unpleasant abiding place. + +He decided that he would not stop at the ranch, but would go on up +the valley to where one Abuer Hicks lived by himself in a half-dugout, +half-board shack, and by mining a little where his land was untillable, +and farming a little where the soil took kindly to fruit and grasses, +managed to exist without too great hardship. The pension he received for +having killed a few of his fellow-men at the behest of his government +was devoted solely to liquid relief from the monotony of his life, +and welcome indeed was the man who brought him a bottle of joy between +times. Wherefore Good Indian had thoughtfully provided himself with a +quart or so and rode with his mind at ease so far as his welcome at the +Hicks dwelling place was concerned. + +Once again the Peaceful Hart ranch lay in brooding silence under the +shadow of the bluff. A few crickets chirped shrilly along the trail, and +from their sudden hush as he drew near marked unerringly his passing. +Along the spring-fed creek the frogs croaked a tuneless medley before +him, and, like the crickets, stopped abruptly and waited in absolute +silence to take up their night chant again behind him. His horse stepped +softly in the deep sand of the trail, and, when he found that his rider +refused to let him stop at the stable-door, shook his head in mute +displeasure, and went quietly on. As he neared the silent house, the +faint creak of saddle-leather and the rattle of spur-chains against his +iron stirrups were smothered in the whispering of the treetops in the +grove, so that only the quick hushing of night noises alone betrayed him +to any wakeful ear. + +He was guilty of staring hard at that corner of the house where he knew +Evadna slept, and of scowling over the vague disquiet which the thought +of her caused him. No girl had ever troubled his mind before. It annoyed +him that the face and voice of Evadna obtruded, even upon his thoughts +of other things. + +The grove was quiet, and he could hear Gene's unmistakable snore over +by the pond--the only sound save the whispering of the trees, which +went on, unmindful of his approach. It was evident, he thought, that +the ghost was effectually laid--and on the heels of that, as he rode out +from the deep shade of the grove and on past the garden to the meadows +beyond, he wondered if, after all, it was again hardily wandering +through the night; for he thought he glimpsed a figure which flitted +behind a huge rock a few rods in advance of him, and his eyes were not +used to playing him tricks. + +He gave a twitch of his fingers upon the reins, and turned from the +trail to investigate. He rode up to the rock, which stood like an island +of shade in that sea of soft moonlight, and, peering into the shadows, +spoke a guarded challenge: + +“Who's that?” + +A figure detached itself without sound from the blot of darkness there, +and stood almost at his stirrup. + +“Yo' Good Injun--me likum for talk yo'.” + +Good Indian was conscious of a distinct disappointment, though he kept +it from his voice when he answered: + +“Oh, it's you, Peppajee. What you do here? Why you no sleepum yo' +wikiup?” + +Peppajee held up a slim, brown hand for silence, and afterward rested it +upon the saddle-fork. + +“Yo' heap frien' Peaceful. Me heap frien' all same. Mebbyso we talk. +Yo' get down. No can see yo', mebbyso; yo' no likum bad man for se--” He +stepped back a pace, and let Good Indian dismount; then with a gesture +he led him back into the shadow of the rock. + +“Well, what's the row?” Good Indian asked impatiently, and curiously as +well. + +Peppajee spoke more hastily than was usual. “Me watchum +Man-that-catchum-fish. Him hee-eeap kay bueno. Me no sabe why him walk, +walk in night--me heap watchum.” + +“You mean Baumberger? He's all right. He comes down here to catchum many +fish--trout, up in the Malad, you sabe. Heap friend Peaceful. You no +likum?” + +“Kay bueno.” Peppajee rested a forefinger upon Good Indian's arm. “Sun +up there,” he pointed high in the west. “Me go all same Hartley. Come +stable--Pete stable--me walkum close--no makum noise. Me hear talk. +Stoppum--no can see--me hear much bad talk. All time me hear, heap +likum for steal dis ranch. Me no sabe”--his tone was doubtful for a +space--“all same, me hear stealum this ranch. Man, you callum--” + +“Baumberger?” suggested Grant. + +“Him. All same Baumberga, him talk Man-that-coughs. All time say +stealum ranch. Makum much bad talk, them mans. Me come ranch, me tellum +Peaceful, him all time laugh, me. All time shakum head. Mebbyso thinkum +I lie--shont-isham!” + +“What more you do?” Good Indian, at least, did not laugh. + +“Me go camp. Me thinkum, thinkum all time. Dat man have bad heart. Kay +bueno. No can sleep--thinkum mebbyso do bad for Peaceful. Come ranch, +stop all time dark, all time heap watchum. Bimeby, mebbyso man--all same +yo' callum Baumberga--him come, look, so--” He indicated, by a great +craning of neck in all directions, the wariness of one who goes by +stealth. “Him walk still all time, go all time ova there.” He swept his +arm toward the meadows. “Me go still, for watchum. Yo' come, mebbyso +make heap much noise--kay bueno. Dat mans, him hear, him heap scare. +Me tellum, yo' mebbyso go still.” He folded his arms with a gesture of +finality, and stood statue-like in the deep gloom beside the rock. + +Good Indian fingered his horse's mane while he considered the queer +story. There must be something in it, he thought, to bring Peppajee +from his blankets at midnight and to impel him, unfriendly as he usually +seemed, to confide his worry to him at once and without urging. And yet, +to steal the Peaceful Hart ranch--the idea was ludicrous. Still, there +was no harm in looking around a bit. He sought a sagebrush that suited +his purpose, tied his horse to it, stooped, and took the clanking +Mexican spurs from his heels, and touched Peppajee on the shoulder. + +“All right,” he murmured close to his ear, “we go see.” + +Without a word, Peppajee turned, and stole away toward the meadows, +keeping always in the shadow of rock or bush, silent-footed as a +prowling bobcat. Close behind him, not quite so silent because of his +riding-boots, which would strike now and then upon a rock, however +careful he was of his footing, went Good Indian. + +So they circled the meadow, came into sand and sage beyond, sought there +unavailingly, went on to the orchard, and skirted it, keen of eye and +ear, struck quietly through it, and came at last to the place where, +the night before, Grant had overtaken Evadna--and it surprised him not a +little to feel his heart pounding unreasonably against his ribs when he +stopped beside the rock where they had sat and quarreled. + +Peppajee looked back to see why Grant paused there, and then, wrapping +his blanket tightly around him, crawled through the fence, and went on, +keeping to the broad belt of shade cast upon the ground by the row +of poplars. Where the shade stopped abruptly, and beyond lay white +moonlight with the ranch buildings blotching it here and there, he +stopped and waited until Good Indian stood close beside him. Even then +he did not speak, but, freeing an arm slowly from the blanket folds, +pointed toward the stable. + +Grant looked, saw nothing, stared harder, and so; feeling sure there +must be something hidden there, presently believed that a bit of the +shadow at that end which was next the corral wavered, stopped, and then +moved unmistakably. All the front of the stable was distinctly visible +in the white light, and, while they looked, something flitted across it, +and disappeared among the sage beyond the trail. + +Again they waited; two minutes, three minutes, five. Then another shadow +detached itself slowly from the shade of the stable, hesitated, walked +out boldly, and crossed the white sand on the path to the house. +Baumberger it was, and he stopped midway to light his pipe, and so, +puffing luxuriously, went on into the blackness of the grove. + +They heard him step softly upon the porch, heard also the bovine sigh +with which he settled himself in the armchair there. They caught the +aromatic odor of tobacco smoke ascending, and knew that his presence +there had all at once become the most innocent, the most natural +thing in the world; for any man, waking on such a night, needs no +justification for smoking a nocturnal pipe upon the porch while he gazes +dreamily out upon the moon-bathed world around him. + +Peppajee touched Grant's arm, and turned back, skirting the poplars +again until they were well away from the house, and there was no +possibility of being heard. He stopped there, and confronted the other. + +“What for you no stoppum stable?” he questioned bluntly. “What for you +no stoppum ranch, for sleepum?” + +“I go for stoppum Hicks' ranch,” said Good Indian, without any attempt +at equivocation. + +Peppajee grunted. “What for yo' no stoppum all same Peaceful?” + +Good Indian scorned a subterfuge, and spoke truly. “That girl, Evadna, +no likum me. All time mad me. So I no stoppum ranch, no more.” + +Peppajee grinned briefly and understandingly, and nodded his head. “Me +heap sabe. Yo' all time heap like for catchum that girl, be yo' squaw. +Bimeby that girl heap likum yo'. Me sabe.” He stood a moment staring at +the stars peeping down from above the rim-rock which guarded the bluff. +“All same, yo' no go stoppum Hicks,” he commanded. “Yo' stoppum dis +ranch all time. Yo' all time watchum man--yo' callum Baumberga.” He +seemed to remember and speak the name with some difficulty. “Where +him go, yo' go, for heap watchum. All time mebbyso me watchum +Man-that-coughs. Me no sabe catchum ranch--all same, me watchum. Them +mans heap kay bueno. Yo' bet yo' life!” + +A moment he stood there after he was through speaking, and then he was +not there. Good Indian did not hear him go, though he had stood +beside him; neither could he, catching sight of a wavering shadow, say +positively that there went Peppajee. + +He waited for a space, stole back to where he could hear any sound +from the porch even if he could not see, and when he was certain that +Baumberger had gone back to his bed, he got his horse, took him by a +roundabout way to the stable, and himself slept in a haystack. At least, +he made himself a soft place beside one, and lay there until the sun +rose, and if he did not sleep it was not his fault, for he tried hard +enough. + +That is how Good Indian came to take his usual place at the breakfast +table, and to touch elbows with Evadna and to greet her with punctilious +politeness and nothing more. That is why he got out his fishing-tackle +and announced that he thought he would have a try at some trout himself, +and so left the ranch not much behind Baumberger. That is why he +patiently whipped the Malad riffles until he came up with the portly +lawyer from Shoshone, and found him gleeful over a full basket and +bubbling with innocent details of this gamy one and that one still +gamier. They rode home together, and together they spent the hot +afternoon in the cool depths of the grove. + +By sundown Good Indian was ready to call himself a fool and Peppajee Jim +a meddlesome, visionary old idiot. Steal the Peaceful Hart ranch? The +more he thought of it, the more ridiculous the thing seemed. + + + +CHAPTER XI. “YOU CAN'T PLAY WITH ME” + +Good Indian was young, which means that he was not always logical, +nor much given to looking very far into the future except as he was +personally concerned in what he might see there. By the time Sunday +brought Miss Georgie Howard and the stir of preparation for the fishing +trip, he forgot that he had taken upon himself the responsibility of +watching the obviously harmless movements of Baumberger, or had taken +seriously the warnings of Peppajee Jim; or if he did not forget, he at +least pushed it far into the background of his mind with the assertion +that Peppajee was a meddlesome old fool and Baumberger no more designing +than he appeared--which was not at all. + +What did interest him that morning was the changeful mood of Evadna; +though he kept his interest so well hidden that no one suspected it--not +even the young lady herself. It is possible that if Evadna had known +that Good Indian's attitude of calm oblivion to her moods was only a +mask, she might have continued longer her rigorous discipline of averted +face and frigid tones. + +As it was, she thawed toward him as he held himself more aloof, until +she actually came to the point of addressing him directly, with a +flicker of a smile for good measure; and, although he responded with +stiff civility, he felt his blood pulse faster, and suddenly conceived +the idea that women are like the creatures of the wild. If one is very +quiet, and makes no advance whatever, the hunted thing comes closer and +closer, and then a sudden pounce--he caught his breath. After that he +was wary and watchful and full of his purpose. + +Within ten minutes Evadna walked into the trap. They had started, and +were fifty yards up the trail, when Phoebe shouted frantically after +them. And because she was yet a timid rider and feared to keep the pace +set by the others, it was Evadna who heard and turned back to see what +was the trouble. Aunt Phoebe was standing beside the road, waving a +flask. + +“It's the cream for your coffee,” she cried, going to meet Evadna. “You +can slip it into your jacket-pocket, can't you, honey? Huckleberry is so +steady--and you won't do any wild riding like the boys.” + +“I've got my veil and a box of bait and two handkerchiefs and a piece of +soap,” the girl complained, reaching down for the bottle, nevertheless. +“But I can carry it in my hand till I overtake somebody to give it to.” + +The somebody proved to be Good Indian, who had found it necessary to +stop and inspect carefully the left forefoot of his horse, without +appearing aware of the girl's approach. She ambled up at Huckleberry's +favorite shuffling gait, struck him with her whip--a blow which would +not have perturbed a mosquito--when he showed a disposition to stop +beside Grant, and then, when Huckleberry reluctantly resumed his pacing, +pulled him up, and looked back at the figure stooped over the hoof he +held upon his knee. He was digging into the caked dirt inside the hoof +with his pocketknife, and, though Evadna waited while she might have +spoken a dozen words, he paid not the slightest attention--and that in +spite of the distinct shadow of her head and shoulders which lay at his +feet. + +“Oh--Grant,” she began perfunctorily, “I'm sorry to trouble you--but do +you happen to have an empty pocket?” + +Good Indian gave a final scrape with his knife, and released the foot, +which Keno immediately stamped pettishly into the dust. He closed the +knife, after wiping the blade upon his trousers leg, and returned it to +his pocket before he so much as glanced toward her. + +“I may have. Why?” He picked up the bridle-reins, caught the +saddle-horn, and thrust his toe into the stirrup. From under his +hat-brim he saw that she was pinching her under lip between her teeth, +and the sight raised his spirits considerably. + +“Oh, nothing. Aunt Phoebe called me back, and gave me a bottle of cream, +is all. I shall have to carry it in my hand, I suppose.” She twitched +her shoulders, and started Huckleberry off again. She had called him +Grant, instead of the formal Mr. Imsen she had heretofore clung to, and +he had not seemed to notice it even. + +He mounted with perfectly maddening deliberation, but for all that he +overtook her before she had gone farther than a few rods, and he pulled +up beside her with a decision which caused Huckleberry to stop +also; Huckleberry, it must be confessed, was never known to show any +reluctance in that direction when his head was turned away from home. He +stood perfectly still while Good Indian reached out a hand. + +“I'll carry it--I'm more used to packing bottles,” he announced gravely. + +“Oh, but if you must carry it in your hand, I wouldn't dream of--” She +was holding fast the bottle, and trying to wear her Christmas-angel +look. + +Good Indian laid hold of the flask, and they stood there stubbornly +eying each other. + +“I thought you wanted me to carry it,” he said at last, pulling harder. + +“I merely asked if you had an empty pocket.” Evadna clung the tighter. + +“Now, what's the use--” + +“Just what I was thinking!” Evadna was so impolite as to interrupt him. + +Good Indian was not skilled in the management of women, but he knew +horses, and to his decision he added an amendment. Instinctively he +followed the method taught him by experience, and when he fancied he +saw in her eyes a sign of weakening, he followed up the advantage he had +gained. + +“Let go--because I'm going to have it anyway, now,” he said quietly, +and took the flask gently from her hands. Then he smiled at her for +yielding, and his smile was a revelation to the girl, and brought the +blood surging up to her face. She rode meekly beside him at the pace +he himself set--which was not rapid, by any means. He watched her with +quick, sidelong glances, and wondered whether he would dare say what he +wanted to say--or at least a part of it. + +She was gazing with a good deal of perseverance at the trail, down +the windings of which the others could be seen now and then galloping +through the dust, so that their progress was marked always by a +smothering cloud of gray. Then she looked at Grant unexpectedly, met one +of his sharp glances, and flushed hotly again. + +“How about this business of hating each other, and not speaking except +to please Aunt Phoebe?” he demanded, with a suddenness which startled +himself. He had been thinking it, but he hadn't intended to say it until +the words spoke themselves. “Are we supposed to keep on acting the fool +indefinitely?” + +“I was not aware that I, at least, was acting the fool,” she retorted, +with a washed-out primness. + +“Oh, I can't fight the air, and I'm not going to try. What I've got +to say, I prefer to say straight from the shoulder. I'm sick of this +standing off and giving each other the bad eye over nothing. If we're +going to stay on the same ranch, we might as well be friends. What do +you say?” + +For a time he thought she was not going to say anything. She was staring +at the dust-cloud ahead, and chewing absently at the corner of her under +lip, and she kept it up so long that Good Indian began to scowl and call +himself unseemly names for making any overture whatever. But, just as he +turned toward her with lips half opened for a bitter sentence, he saw a +dimple appear in the cheek next to him, and held back the words. + +“You told me you didn't like me,” she reminded, looking at him briefly, +and afterward fumbling her reins. “You can't expect a girl--” + +“I suppose you don't remember coming up to me that first night, and +calling me names, and telling me how you hated me, and--and winding up +by pinching me?” he insinuated with hypocritical reproach, and felt of +his arm. “If you could see the mark--” he hinted shamelessly. + +Evadna replied by pushing up her sleeve and displaying a scratch at +least an inch in length, and still roughened and red. “I suppose you +don't remember trying to MURDER me?” she inquired, sweetly triumphant. +“If you could shoot as well as Jack, I'd have been killed very likely. +And you'd be in jail this minute,” she added, with virtuous solemnity. + +“But you're not killed, and I'm not in jail.” + +“And I haven't told a living soul about it--not even Aunt Phoebe,” + Evadna remarked, still painfully virtuous. “If I had--” + +“She'd have wondered, maybe, what you were doing away down there in +the middle of the night,” Good Indian finished. “I didn't tell a soul, +either, for that matter.” + +They left the meadowland and the broad stretch of barren sand and sage, +and followed, at a leisurely pace, the winding of the trail through +the scarred desolation where the earth had been washed for gold. Evadna +stared absently at the network of deep gashes, evidently meditating +very seriously. Finally she turned to Grant with an honest impulse of +friendliness. + +“Well, I'm sure I'm willing to bury the tomahawk--er--that is, I mean--” + She blushed hotly at the slip, and stammered incoherently. + +“Never mind.” His eyes laughed at her confusion. “I'm not as bad as +all that; it doesn't hurt my feelings to have tomahawks mentioned in my +presence.” + +Her cheeks grew redder, if that were possible, but she made no attempt +to finish what she had started to say. + +Good Indian rode silent, watching her unobtrusively and wishing he knew +how to bring the conversation by the most undeviating path to a certain +much-desired conclusion. After all, she was not a wild thing, but a +human being, and he hesitated. In dealing with men, he had but +one method, which was to go straight to the point regardless of +consequences. So he half turned in the saddle and rode with one foot +free of the stirrup that he might face her squarely. + +“You say you're willing to bury the tomahawk; do you mean it?” His +eyes sought hers, and when they met her glance held it in spite of her +blushes, which indeed puzzled him. But she did not answer immediately, +and so he repeated the question. + +“Do you mean that? We've been digging into each other pretty +industriously, and saying how we hate each other--but are you willing +to drop it and be friends? It's for you to say--and you've got to say it +now.” + +Evadna hung up her head at that. “Are you in the habit of laying down +the law to everyone who will permit it?” she evaded. + +“Am I to take it for granted you meant what you said?” He stuck +stubbornly to the main issue. “Girls seem to have a way of saying +things, whether they mean anything or not. Did you?” + +“Did I what?” She was wide-eyed innocence again. + +Good Indian muttered something profane, and kicked his horse in the +ribs. When it had taken no more than two leaps forward, however, he +pulled it down to a walk again, and his eyes boded ill for the misguided +person who goaded him further. He glanced at the girl sharply. + +“This thing has got to be settled right now, without any more fooling +or beating about the bush,” he said--and he said it so quietly that she +could scarcely be blamed for not realizing what lay beneath. She was +beginning to recover her spirits and her composure, and her whole +attitude had become demurely impish. + +“Settle it then, why don't you?” she taunted sweetly. “I'm sure I +haven't the faintest idea what there is to settle--in that solemn +manner. I only know we're a mile behind the others, and Miss Georgie +will be wondering--” + +“You say I'm to settle it, the way I want it settled?” + +If Evadna did not intend anything serious, she certainly was a fool not +to read aright his ominously calm tone and his tensely quiet manner. She +must have had some experience in coquetry, but it is very likely that +she had never met a man just like this one. At all events, she tilted +her blonde head, smiled at him daringly, and then made a little grimace +meant to signify her defiance of him and his unwarranted earnestness. + +Good Indian leaned unexpectedly, caught her in his arms, and kissed her +three times upon her teasing, smiling mouth, and while she was gasping +for words to voice her amazement he drew back his head, and gazed +sternly into her frightened eyes. + +“You can't play with ME,” he muttered savagely, and kissed her again. +“This is how I settle it. You've made me want you for mine. It's got to +be love or--hate now. There isn't anything between, for me and you.” His +eyes passed hungrily from her quivering lips to her eyes, and the glow +within his own made her breath come faster. She struggled weakly to free +herself, and his clasp only tightened jealously. + +“If you had hated me, you wouldn't have stopped back there, and spoken +to me,” he said, the words coming in a rush. “Women like to play with +love, I think. But you can't play with me. I want you. And I'm going to +have you. Unless you hate me. But you don't. I'd stake my life on it.” + And he kissed her again. + +Evadna reached up, felt for her hat, and began pulling it straight, +and Good Indian, recalled to himself by the action, released her with +manifest reluctance. He felt then that he ought never to let her go out +of his arms; it was the only way, it seemed to him, that he could +be sure of her. Evadna found words to express her thoughts, and her +thoughts were as wholly conventional as was the impulse to straighten +her hat. + +“We've only known each other a week!” she cried tremulously, while +her gloved fingers felt inquiringly for loosened hairpins. “You've no +right--you're perfectly horrid! You take everything for granted--” + +Good Indian laughed at her, a laugh of pure, elemental joy in life and +in love. + +“A man's heart does not beat by the calendar. Nature made the heart to +beat with love, ages before man measured time, and prattled of hours and +days and weeks,” he retorted. “I'm not the same man I was a week ago. +Nor an hour ago. What does it matter, I am--the man I am NOW.” He +looked at her more calmly. “An hour ago,” he pointed out, “I didn't +dream I should kiss you. Nor you, that you would let me do it.” + +“I didn't! I couldn't help myself. You--oh, I never saw such a--a +brute!” The tears in her eyes were, perhaps, tears of rage at the +swiftness with which he had mastered the situation and turned it in a +breath from the safe channel of petty argument. She struck Huckleberry a +blow with her whip which sent that astonished animal galloping down the +slope before them, his ears laid back and his white eyelashes blinking +resentment against the outrage. + +Good Indian laughed aloud, spurred Keno into a run, and passed her with +a scurry of dust, a flash of white teeth and laughing black eyes, and a +wave of his free hand in adieu. He was still laughing when he overtook +the others, passed by the main group, and singled out Jack, his +particular chum. He refused to explain either his hurry or his mirth +further than to fling out a vague sentence about a race, and thereafter +he ambled contentedly along beside Jack in the lead, and told how he had +won a hundred and sixty dollars in a crap game the last time he was in +Shoshone, and how he had kept on until he had “quit ten dollars in +the hole.” The rest of the boys, catching a few words here and there, +crowded close, and left the two girls to themselves, while Good Indian +recounted in detail the fluctuations of the game; how he had seesawed +for an hour, winning and losing alternately; and how his luck had +changed suddenly just when he had made up his mind to play a five-dollar +gold piece he had in his hand and quit. + +“I threw naturals three times in succession,” he said, “and let my bets +ride. Then I got Big Dick, made good, and threw another natural. I was +seeing those Spanish spurs and that peach of a headstall in Fernando's +by that time; seeing them on Keno and me--they're in the window yet, +Jack, and I went in when I first hit town and looked them over and +priced them; a hundred and fifty, just about what we guessed he'd +hold them at. And say, those conchos--you remember the size of 'em, +Jack?--they're solid silver, hammered out and engraved by hand. Those +Mexicans sure do turn out some fine work on their silver fixings!” He +felt in his pocket for a match. + +“Pity I didn't let well enough alone,” he went on. “I had the price of +the outfit, and ten dollars over. But then I got hoggish. I thought I +stood a good chance of making seven lucky passes straight--I did once, +and I never got over it, I guess. I was going to pinch down to ten--but +I didn't; I let her ride. And SHOT CRAPS!” + +He drew the match along the stamped saddle-skirt behind the cantle, +because that gave him a chance to steal a look behind him without being +caught in the act. Good, wide hat-brims have more uses than to shield +one's face from the sun. He saw that Evadna was riding in what looked +like a sulky silence beside her friend, but he felt no compunction for +what he had done; instead he was exhilarated as with some heady wine, +and he did not want to do any thinking about it--yet. He did not even +want to be near Evadna. He faced to the front, and lighted his cigarette +while he listened to the sympathetic chorus from the boys. + +“What did you do then?” asked Gene. + +“Well, I'd lost the whole blamed chunk on a pair of measly aces,” he +said. “I was pretty sore by that time, I'm telling you! I was down +to ten dollars, but I started right in to bring back that hundred +and sixty. Funny, but I felt exactly as if somebody had stolen that +headstall and spurs right out of my hand, and I just had to get it +back pronto. I started in with a dollar, lost it on craps--sixes, that +time--sent another one down the same trail trying to make Little Joe +come again, third went on craps, fourth I doubled on nine, lost 'em both +on craps--say, I never looked so many aces and sixes in the face in my +life! It was sure kay bueno, the luck I had that night. I got up broke, +and had to strike Riley for money to get out of town with.” + +So for a time he managed to avoid facing squarely this new and very +important factor which must henceforth have its place in the problem of +his life. + + + +CHAPTER XII. “THEM DAMN SNAKE” + +Three hundred yards up the river, in the shade of a huge bowlder, round +an end of which the water hurried in a green swirl that it might the +sooner lie quiet in the deep, dark pool below, Good Indian, picking his +solitary way over the loose rocks, came unexpectedly upon Baumberger, +his heavy pipe sagging a corner of his flabby mouth, while he +painstakingly detached a fly from his leader, hooked it into the proper +compartment of his fly-book, and hesitated over his selection of another +to take its place. Absorption was writ deep on his gross countenance, +and he recognized the intruder by the briefest of flickering glances and +the slightest of nods. + +“Keep back from that hole, will yuh?” he muttered, jerking his head +toward the still pool. “I ain't tried it yet.” + +Good Indian was not particularly interested in his own fishing. The +sight of Baumberger, bulking there in the shade with his sagging cheeks +and sagging pipe, his flopping old hat and baggy canvas fishing-coat, +with his battered basket slung over his slouching shoulder and sagging +with the weight of his catch; the sloppy wrinkles of his high, rubber +boots shining blackly from recent immersion in the stream, caught his +errant attention, and stayed him for a few minutes to watch. + +Loosely disreputable looked Lawyer Baumberger, from the snagged hole +in his hat-crown where a wisp of graying hair fluttered through, to the +toes of his ungainly, rubber-clad feet; loosely disreputable, but not +commonplace and not incompetent. Though his speech might be a slovenly +mumble, there was no purposeless fumbling of the fingers that chose a +fly and knotted it fast upon the leader. There was no bungling movement +of hand or foot when he laid his pipe upon the rock, tiptoed around the +corner, sent a mechanical glance upward toward the swaying branches of +an overhanging tree, pulled out his six feet of silk line with a sweep +of his arm, and with a delicate fillip, sent the fly skittering over the +glassy center of the pool. + +Good Indian, looking at him, felt instinctively that a part, at least, +of the man's nature was nakedly revealed to him then. It seemed scarcely +fair to read the lust of him and the utter abandonment to the hazard of +the game. Pitiless he looked, with clenched teeth just showing +between the loose lips drawn back in a grin that was half-snarl, +half-involuntary contraction of muscles sympathetically tense. + +That was when a shimmering thing slithered up, snapped at the fly, and +flashed away to the tune of singing reel and the dance of the swaying +rod. The man grew suddenly cruel and crafty and full of lust; and Good +Indian, watching him, was conscious of an inward shudder of repulsion. +He had fished all his life--had Good Indian--and had found joy in +the sport. And here was he inwardly condemning a sportsman who stood +self-revealed, repelling, hateful; a man who gloated over the struggle +of something alive and at his mercy; to whom sport meant power indulged +with impunity. Good Indian did not try to put the thing in words, but he +felt it nevertheless. + +“Brute!” he muttered aloud, his face eloquent of cold disgust. + +At that moment Baumberger drew the tired fish gently into the shallows, +swung him deftly upon the rocks, and laid hold of him greedily. + +“Ain't he a beaut?” he cried, in his wheezy chuckle. “Wait a minute +while I weigh him. He'll go over a pound, I'll bet money on it.” + Gloatingly he held it in his hands, removed the hook, and inserted under +the gills the larger one of the little scales he carried inside his +basket. + +“Pound and four ounces,” he announced, and slid the fish into his +basket. He was the ordinary, good-natured, gross Baumberger now. He +reached for his pipe, placed it in his mouth, and held out a hand to +Good Indian for a match. + +“Say, young fella, have you got any stand-in with your noble red +brothers?” he asked, after he had sucked life into the charred tobacco. + +“Cousins twice or three times removed, you mean,” said Good Indian +coldly, too proud and too lately repelled to meet the man on friendly +ground. “Why do you ask?” + +Baumberger eyed him speculatively while he smoked, and chuckled to +himself. + +“One of 'em--never mind placing him on his own p'ticular limb of the +family tree--has been doggin' me all morning,” he said at last, and +waved a fishy hand toward the bluff which towered high above them. “Saw +him when I was comin' up, about sunrise, pokin' along behind me in the +sagebrush. Didn't think anything of that--thought maybe he was hunting +or going fishing--but he's been sneakin' around behind me ever since. I +don't reckon he's after my scalp--not enough hair to pay--but I'd like +to know what the dickens he does mean.” + +“Nothing probably,” Good Indian told him shortly, his eyes nevertheless +searching the rocks for a sight of the watcher. + +“Well, I don't much like the idea,” complained Baumberger, casting an +eye aloft in fear of snagging his line when he made another cast. “He +was right up there a few minutes ago.” He pointed his rod toward a +sun-ridden ridge above them. “I got a flicker of his green blanket when +he raised up and scowled down at me. He ducked when he saw me turn my +head--looked to me like the surly buck that blew in to the ranch the +night I came; Jim something-or-other. By the great immortal Jehosaphat!” + he swore humorously, “I'd like to tie him up in his dirty blanket and +heave him into the river--only it would kill all the fish in the Malad.” + +Good Indian laughed. + +“Oh, I know it's funny, young fella,” Baumberger growled. “About as +funny as being pestered by a mosquito buzzing under your nose when +you're playing a fish that keeps cuttin' figure eights in a hole the +size uh that one there.” + +“I'll go up and take a look,” Good Indian offered carelessly. + +“Well, I wish you would. I can't keep my mind on m' fishing--just +wondering what the deuce he's after. And say! You tell him I'll stand +him on his off ear if I catch him doggie' me ag'in. Folks come with +yuh?” he remembered to ask as he prepared for another cast into the +pool. + +“They're down there getting a campfire built, ready to fry what fish +they catch,” Good Indian informed him, as he turned to climb the bluff. +“They're going to eat dinner under that big ledge by the rapids. You +better go on down.” + +He stood for a minute, and watched Baumberger make a dexterous cast, +which proved fruitless, before he began climbing up the steep slope of +jumbled bowlders upon which the bluff itself seemed to rest. He was +not particularly interested in his quest, but he was in the mood for +purposeless action; he still did not want to think. + +He climbed negligently, scattering loose rocks down the hill behind +him. He had no expectation of coming upon Peppajee--unless Peppajee +deliberately put himself in his way--and so there was no need of +caution. He stopped once, and stood long minutes with his head turned to +catch the faint sound of high-keyed laughter and talk which drifted +up to him. If he went higher, he thought, he might get a glimpse of +them--of her, to tell his thought honestly. Whereupon he forgot all +about finding and expostulating with Peppajee, and thought only a point +of the ridge which would give him a clear view downstream. + +To be sure, he might as easily have retraced his steps and joined the +group, and seen every changing look in her face. But he did not want +to be near her when others were by; he wanted her to himself, or not at +all. So he went on, while the sun beat hotly down upon him and the rocks +sent up dry waves of heat like an oven. + +A rattlesnake buzzed its strident warning between two rocks, but before +he turned his attention to the business of killing it, the snake had +crawled leisurely away into a cleft, where he could not reach it with +the stones he threw. His thoughts, however, were brought back to his +surroundings so that he remembered Peppajee. He stood still, and scanned +carefully the jumble of rocks and bowlders which sloped steeply down to +the river, looking for a betraying bit of color or dirty gray hat-crown. + +“But I could look my eyes out and welcome, if he didn't want to be +seen,” he concluded, and sat down while he rolled a cigarette. “And +I don't know as I want to see him, anyway.” Still, he did not move +immediately. He was in the shade, which was a matter for congratulation +on such a day. He had a cigarette between his lips, which made +for comfort; and he still felt the exhilarating effects of his +unpremeditated boldness, without having come to the point of sober +thinking. He sat there, and blew occasional mouthfuls of smoke into +the quivering heat waves, and stared down at the river rushing over the +impeding rocks as if its very existence depended upon reaching as soon +as possible the broader sweep of the Snake. + +He finished the first cigarette, and rolled another from sheer force of +habit rather than because he really wanted one. He lifted one foot, and +laid it across his knee, and was drawing a match along the sole of his +boot when his eyes chanced to rest for a moment upon a flutter of green, +which showed briefly around the corner of a great square rock poised +insecurely upon one corner, as if it were about to hurl its great bulk +down upon the river it had watched so long. He held the blazing match +poised midway to its destination while he looked; then he put it to the +use he had meant it for, pulled his hat-brim down over his right eye and +ear to shield them from the burn of the sun, and went picking his way +idly over to the place. + +“HUL-lo!” he greeted, in the manner of one who refuses to acknowledge +the seriousness of a situation which confronts him suddenly. “What's the +excitement?” + +There was no excitement whatever. There was Peppajee, hunched up against +the rock in that uncomfortable attitude which permits a man to come +at the most intimate relations with the outside of his own ankle, upon +which he was scowling in seeming malignity. There was his hunting-knife +lying upon a flat stone near to his hand, with a fresh red blotch upon +the blade, and there was his little stone pipe clenched between his +teeth and glowing red within the bowl. Also there was the ankle, purple +and swollen from the ligature above it--for his legging was off and torn +into strips which formed a bandage, and a splinter of rock was twisted +ingeniously in the wrappings for added tightness. From a crisscross of +gashes a sluggish, red stream trickled down to the ankle-bone, and from +there drip-dropped into a tiny, red pool in the barren, yellow soil. + +“Catchum rattlesnake bite?” queried Good Indian inanely, as is the habit +of the onlooker when the scene shouts forth eloquently its explanation, +and questions are almost insultingly superfluous. + +“Huh!” grunted Peppajee, disdaining further speech upon the subject, and +regarded sourly the red drip. + +“Want me to suck it?” ventured Good Indian unenthusiastically, eying the +wound. + +“Huh!” Peppajee removed the pipe, his eyes still upon his ankle. “Plenty +blood come, mebbyso.” To make sure, however, he kneaded the swollen +flesh about the wound, thus accelerating slightly the red drip. + +Then deliberately he took another turn with the rock, sending the +buckskin thongs deeper into the flesh, and held the burning pipe against +the skin above the wound until Good Indian sickened and turned away his +head. When he looked again, Peppajee was sucking hard at the pipe, and +gazing impersonally at the place. He bent again, and hid the glow of his +pipe against his ankle. His thin lips tightened while he held it there, +but the lean, brown fingers were firm as splinters of the rock behind +him. When the fire cooled, he fanned it to life again with his breath, +and when it winked redly at him he laid it grimly against his flesh. + +So, while Good Indian stood and looked on with lips as tightly drawn +as the other's, he seared a circle around the wound--a circle which bit +deep and drew apart the gashes like lips opened for protest. He regarded +critically his handiwork, muttered a “Bueno” under his breath, knocked +the ashes from his pipe, and returned it to some mysterious hiding-place +beneath his blanket. Then he picked up his moccasin. + +“Them damn' snake, him no speakum,” he observed disgustedly. “Heap fool +me; him biteum”--he made a stabbing gesture with thumb and finger in +the air by way of illustration--“then him go quick.” He began gingerly +trying to force the moccasin upon his foot, his mouth drawn down with +the look of one who considers that he has been hardly used. + +“How you get home?” Good Indian's thoughts swung round to practical +things. “You got horse?” + +Peppajee shook his head, reached for his knife, and slit the moccasin +till it was no more than a wrapping. “Mebbyso heap walk,” he stated +simply. + +“Mebbyso you won't do anything of the kind,” Good Indian retorted. “You +come down and take a horse. What for you all time watchum Baumberger?” + he added, remembering then what had brought them both upon the bluff. +“Baumberger all time fish--no more.” He waved his hand toward the Malad. +“Baumberger bueno--catchum fish--no more.” + +Peppajee got slowly and painfully upon his feet--rather, upon one foot. +When Good Indian held out a steadying arm, he accepted it, and leaned +rather heavily. + +“Yo' eyes sick,” said Peppajee, and grinned sardonically. “Yo' eyes +see all time Squaw-with-sun-hair. Fillum yo' eyes, yo' see notting. Yo' +catchum squaw, bimeby mebbyso see plenty mo'. Me no catchum sick eye. +Mebbyso me see heap plenty.” + +“What you see, you all time watchum Baumberger?” + +But Peppajee, hobbling where he must walk, crawling where he might, +sliding carefully where a slanting bowlder offered a few feet of smooth +descent, and taking hold of Good Indian's offered arm when necessity +impelled him, pressed his thin lips together, and refused to answer. So +they came at last to the ledge beside the rapids, where a thin wisp of +smoke waved lazily in the vagrant breeze which played with the ripples +and swayed languidly the smaller branches of the nearby trees. + +Only Donny was there, sitting disgruntled upon the most comfortable +rock he could find, sulking because the others had taken all the +fishing-tackle that was of any account, and had left him to make shift +with one bent, dulled hook, a lump of fat pork, and a dozen feet of +line. + +“And I can catch more fish than anybody in the bunch!” he began +complainingly and without preface, waving a dirty hand contemptuously at +the despised tackle when the two came slowly up. “That's the way it goes +when you take a lot of girls along! They've got to have the best rods +and tackle, and all they'll do will be to snag lines and lose leaders +and hooks, and giggle alla squeal. Aw--DARN girls!” + +“And I'm going to pile it on still thicker, Donny!” Good Indian grinned +down at him. “I'm going to swipe your Pirate Chief for a while, till I +take Peppajee into camp. He's gentle, and Peppajee's got a snake-bite. +I'll be back before you get ready to go home.” + +“I'm ready to go home right now,” growled Donny, sinking his chin +between his two palms. “But I guess the walkin' ain't all taken up.” + +Good Indian regarded him frowningly, gave a little snort, and turned +away. Donny in that mood was not to be easily placated, and certainly +not to be ignored. He went over to the little flat, and selected Jack's +horse, saddled him, and discovered that it had certain well-defined race +prejudices, and would not let Peppajee put foot to the stirrup. Keno +he knew would be no more tractable, so that he finally slapped Jack's +saddle on Huckleberry, and so got Peppajee mounted and headed toward +camp. + +“You tell Jack I borrowed his saddle and Huckleberry,” he called out to +the drooping little figure on the rock. “But I'll get back before they +want to go home.” + +But Donny was glooming over his wrongs, and neither heard nor wanted +to hear. Having for his legacy a temper cumulative in its heat, he was +coming rapidly to the point where he, too, started home, and left no +word or message behind; a trivial enough incident in itself, but one +which opened the way for some misunderstanding and fruitless speculation +upon the part of Evadna. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. CLOUD-SIGN VERSUS CUPID + +Few men are ever called upon by untoward circumstance to know the +sensations caused by rattlesnake bite, knife gashes, impromptu +cauterization, and, topping the whole, the peculiar torture of congested +veins and swollen muscles which comes from a tourniquet. The +feeling must be unpleasant in the extreme, and the most morbid of +sensation-seekers would scarcely put himself in the way of that +particular experience. + +Peppajee Jim, therefore, had reason in plenty for glowering at the world +as he saw it that day. He held Huckleberry rigidly down to his laziest +amble that the jar of riding might be lessened, kept his injured foot +free from the stirrup, and merely grunted when Good Indian asked him +once how he felt. + +When they reached the desolation of the old placer-pits, however, he +turned his eyes from the trail where it showed just over Huckleberry's +ears, and regarded sourly the deep gashes and dislodged bowlders which +told where water and the greed of man for gold had raged fiercest. Then, +for the first time during the whole ride, he spoke. + +“All time, yo' sleepum,” he said, in the sonorous, oracular tone which +he usually employed when a subject held his serious thought. “Peaceful +Hart, him all same sleepum. All same sleepum 'longside snake. No seeum +snake, no thinkum mebbyso catchum bite.” He glanced down at his own +snake-bitten foot. “Snake bite, make all time much hurt.” His eyes +turned, and dwelt sharply upon the face of Good Indian. + +“Yo' all time thinkum Squaw-with-sun-hair. Me tell yo' for watchum, yo' +no think for watchum. Baumberga, him all same snake. Yo' think him all +time catchum fish. HUH! Yo' heap big fool, yo' thinkum cat. Rattlesnake, +mebbyso sleepum in sun one time. Yo' no thinkum bueno, yo' seeum sleep +in sun. Yo' heap sabe him all time kay bueno jus' same. Yo' heap sabe +yo' come close, him biteum. Mebbyso biteum hard, for killum yo' all +time.” He paused, then drove home his point like the true orator. +“Baumberga catchum fish. All same rattlesnake sleepum in sun. Kay +bueno.” + +Good Indian jerked his mind back from delicious recollection of one +sweet, swift-passing minute, and half opened his lips for reply. But +he did not speak; he did not know what to say, and it is ill-spent +time--that passed in purposeless speech with such as Peppajee. Peppajee +roused himself from meditation brief as it seemed deep, lifted a lean, +brown hand to push back from his eyes a fallen lock of hair, and pointed +straight away to the west. + +“Las' night, sun go sleepum. Clouds come all same blanket, sun wrappum +in blanket. Cloud look heap mad--mebbyso make much storm. Bimeby much +mens come in cloud, stand so--and so--and so.” With pointing finger he +indicated a half circle. “Otha man come, heap big man. Stoppum 'way off, +all time makeum sign, for fight. Me watchum. Me set by fire, watchum +cloud makeum sign. Fire smoke look up for say, 'What yo' do all time, +mebbyso?' Cloud man shakeum hand, makeum much sign. Fire smoke heap sad, +bend down far, lookum me, lookum where cloud look. All time lookum for +Peaceful Hart ranch. Me lay down for sleepum, me dream all time much +fight. All time bad sign come. Kay bueno.” Peppajee shook his head +slowly, his leathery face set in deep, somber lines. + +“Much trouble come heap quick,” he said gravely, hitching his blanket +into place upon his shoulder. “Me no sabe--all same, heap trouble come. +Much mens, mebbyso much fight, much shootum--mebbyso kill. Peaceful Hart +him all time laugh me. All same, me sabe smoke sign, sabe cloud sign, +sabe--Baumberga. Heap ka-a-ay bueno!” + +Good Indian's memory dashed upon him a picture of bright moonlight and +the broody silence of a night half gone, and of a figure forming sharply +and suddenly from the black shadow of the stable and stealing away into +the sage, and of Baumberger emerging warily from that same shadow and +stopping to light his pipe before he strolled on to the house and to the +armchair upon the porch. + +There might be a sinister meaning in that picture, but it was so well +hidden that he had little hope of ever finding it. Also, it occurred to +him that Peppajee, usually given over to creature comforts and the idle +gossip of camp and the ranches he visited, was proving the sincerity of +his manifest uneasiness by a watchfulness wholly at variance with his +natural laziness. On the other hand, Peppajee loved to play the oracle, +and a waving wisp of smoke, or the changing shapes in a wind-riven cloud +meant to him spirit-sent prophecies not to be ignored. + +He turned the matter over in his mind, was the victim of uneasiness for +five minutes, perhaps, and then drifted off into wondering what Evadna +was doing at that particular moment, and to planning how he should +manage to fall behind with her when they all rode home, and so make +possible other delicious moments. He even took note of certain sharp +bends in the trail, where a couple riding fifty yards, say, behind a +group would be for the time being quite hidden from sight and to +all intents and purposes alone in the world for two minutes, or +three--perhaps the time might be stretched to five. + +The ranch was quiet, with even the dogs asleep in the shade. Peppajee +insisted in one sentence upon going straight on to camp, so they did not +stop. Without speaking, they plodded through the dust up the grade, left +it, and followed the dim trail through the sagebrush and rocks to the +Indian camp which seemed asleep also, except where three squaws were +squatting in the sharply defined, conical shadow of a wikiup, mumbling +desultorily the gossip of their little world, while their fingers +moved with mechanical industry--one shining black head bent over a +half-finished, beaded moccasin, another stitching a crude gown of +bright-flowered calico, and the third braiding her hair afresh with +leisurely care for its perfect smoothness. Good Indian took note of +the group before it stirred to activity, and murmured anxiety over the +bandaged foot of Peppajee. + +“Me no can watchum more, mebbyso six days. Yo' no sleepum all time +yo' walk--no thinkum all time squaw. Mebbyso yo' think for man-snake. +Mebbyso yo' watchum,” Peppajee said, as he swung slowly down from +Huckleberry's back. + +“All right. I'll watchum plenty,” Good Indian promised lightly, gave a +glance of passing, masculine interest at the squaw who was braiding her +hair, and who was young and fresh-cheeked and bright-eyed and slender, +forgot her the instant his eyes left her, and made haste to return to +the Malad and the girl who held all his thoughts and all his desire. + +That girl was sitting upon the rock which Donny had occupied, and she +looked very much as if she were sulking, much as Donny had sulked. She +had her chin in a pink palm and was digging little holes in the sand +with the tip of her rod, which was not at all beneficial to the rod and +did not appear even to interest the digger; for her wonderfully blue +eyes were staring at the green-and-white churn of the rapids, and +her lips were pursed moodily, as if she did not even see what she was +looking at so fixedly. + +Good Indian's eyes were upon her while he was dismounting, but he did +not go to her immediately. Instead, he busied himself with unsaddling, +and explained to the boys just why he had left so unaccountably. +Secretly he was hoping that Evadna heard the explanation, and he raised +his voice purposely. But Evadna was not listening, apparently; and, if +she had been, the noise of the rapids would have prevented her hearing +what he said. + +Miss Georgie Howard was frying fish and consistently snubbing +Baumberger, who hulked loosely near the campfire, and between puffs +at his pipe praised heavily her skill, and professed to own a ravenous +appetite. Good Indian heard him as he passed close by them, and heard +also the keen thrust she gave in return; and he stopped and half +turned, looking at her with involuntary appreciation. His glance took +in Baumberger next, and he lifted a shoulder and went on. Without +intentionally resorting to subterfuge, he felt an urge to wash his +hands, and he chose for his ablutions that part of the river's edge +which was nearest Evadna. + +First he stooped and drank thirstily, his hat pushed back, while his +lips met full the hurrying water, clear and cold, yet with the chill it +had brought from the mountain springs which fed it, and as he lifted his +head he looked full at her. + +Evadna stared stonily over him to where the water boiled fastest. He +might have been one of the rocks, for all the notice she took of him. + +Good Indian frowned with genuine puzzlement, and began slowly to wash +his hands, glancing at her often in hope that he might meet her eyes. +When she did not seem to see him at all, the smile of a secret shared +joyously with her died from his own eyes, and when he had dried his +hands upon his handkerchief he cast aside his inward shyness in the +presence of the Hart boys and Miss Georgie and Baumberger, and went +boldly over to her. + +“Aren't you feeling well?” he asked, with tender proprietorship in his +tone. + +“I'm feeling quite well, thank you,” returned Evadna frigidly, +neglecting to look at him. + +“What is the matter, then? Aren't you having a good time?” + +“I'm enjoying myself very much--except that your presence annoys me. I +wish you'd go away.” + +Good Indian turned on his heel and went; he felt that at last Evadna was +looking at him, though he would not turn to make sure. And his instinct +told him withal that he must ignore her mood if he would win her from +it. With a freakish impulse, he headed straight for the campfire and +Miss Georgie, but when he came up to her the look she gave him of +understanding, with sympathy to soften it, sent him away again without +speaking. + +He wandered back to the river's edge--this time some distance from +where Evadna sat--and began throwing pebbles at the black nose of a +wave-washed bowlder away toward the other side. Clark and Gene, loitered +up, watched him lazily, and, picking up other pebbles, started to do +the same thing. Soon all the boys were throwing at the bowlder, and were +making a good deal of noise over the various hits and misses, and the +spirit of rivalry waxed stronger and stronger until it was like any +other game wherein full-blooded youths strive against one another for +supremacy. They came to the point of making bets, at first extravagant +and then growing more and more genuinely in earnest, for we're gamblers +all, at heart. + +Miss Georgie burned a frying-panful of fish until they sent up an acrid, +blue smoke, while she ran over to try her luck with a stone or two. Even +Baumberger heaved himself up from where he was lounging, and strolled +over to watch. But Evadna could not have stuck closer to her rock if she +had been glued there, and if she had been blind and deaf she would not +have appeared more oblivious. + +Good Indian grew anxious, and then angry. The savage stirred within +him, and counseled immediate and complete mastery of her--his woman. +But there was the white man of him who said the thought was brutal and +unchivalrous, and reminded the savage that one must not look upon a +woman as a chattel, to be beaten or caressed, as the humor seized the +master. And, last of all, there was the surface of him laughing with the +others, jeering at those who fell short of the mark, and striving his +utmost to be first of them all in accuracy. + +He even smiled upon Miss Georgie when she hit the bowlder fairly, and, +when the stench of the burning fish drifted over to them, he gave his +supply of pebbles into her two hands, and ran to the rescue. He caught +Evadna in the act of regarding him sidelong, just as a horse sometimes +will keep an eye on the man with the rope in a corral; so he knew she +was thinking of him, at least, and was wondering what he meant to do +next, and the savage in him laughed and lay down again, knowing himself +the master. + +What he did was to throw away the burnt fish, clean the frying-pan, and +start more sizzling over the fire, which he kicked into just the right +condition. He whistled softly to himself while he broke dry sticks +across his knee for the fire, and when Miss Georgie cried out that she +had made three hits in succession, he called back: “Good shot!” and +took up the tune where he had left off. Never, for one instant, was he +unconscious of Evadna's secret watchfulness, and never, for one instant, +did he let her see that she was in his thoughts. + +He finished frying the fish, set out the sandwiches and doughnuts, and +pickled peaches and cheese, and pounded upon a tin plate to announce +that dinner was ready. He poured the coffee into the cups held out to +him, and got the flask of cream from a niche between two rocks at the +water's edge. He said “Too bad,” when it became generally known that the +glare of the sun upon the water had given Evadna a headache, and he said +it exactly as he would have spoken if Jack, for instance, had upset the +sugar. + +He held up the broken-handled butcher knife that was in the camp kit, +and declaimed tragically: “Is this a dagger that I see before me?” and +much more of the kind that was eery. He saw the reluctant dimple which +showed fleetingly in Evadna's cheek, and also the tears which swelled +her eyelids immediately after, but she did not know that he saw them, +though another did. + +He was taken wholly by surprise when Miss Georgie, walking past him +afterward on her way to an enticing pool, nipped his arm for attention +and murmured: + +“You're doing fine--only don't overdo it. She's had just about all she +can stand right now. Give her a chance to forgive you--and let her think +she came out ahead! Good luck!” Whereupon she finished whatever she +pretended to have been doing to her fishing-tackle, and beckoned Wally +and Jack to come along. + +“We've just got to catch that big one,” she laughed, “so Mr. Baumberger +can go home and attend to his own business!” It took imagination to feel +sure there had been a significant accent on the last of the sentence, +and Baumberger must have been imaginative. He lowered his head like +a bull meditating assault, and his leering eyes shot her a glance of +inquiry and suspicion. But Miss Georgie Howard met his look with a smile +that was nothing more than idle amusement. + +“I'd like nothing better than to get that four-pounder on my line,” she +added. “It would be the joke of the season--if a woman caught him.” + +“Bet you couldn't land him,” chuckled Baumberger, breathing a sigh which +might have been relief, and ambled away contentedly. “I may not see you +folks again till supper,” he bethought him to call back. “I'm going to +catch a dozen more--and then I thought I'd take 'em up to Pete Hamilton; +I'm using his horse, yuh see, and--” He flung out a hand to round off +the sentence, turned, and went stumbling over a particularly rocky +place. + +Miss Georgie stood where she was, and watched him with her mouth twisted +to one side and three perpendicular creases between her eyebrows. When +he was out of sight, she glanced at Evadna--once more perched sulkily +upon the rock. + +“Head still bad, chicken?” she inquired cheerfully. “Better stay here in +the shade--I won't be gone long.” + +“I'm going to fish,” said Evadna, but she did not stir, not even when +Miss Georgie went on, convoyed by all the Hart boys. + +Good Indian had volunteered the information that he was going to fish +downstream, but he was a long time in tying his leader and fussing with +his reel. His preparations were finished just when the last straggler +of the group was out of sight. Then he laid down his rod, went over to +Evadna, took her by the arm, and drew her back to the farther shelter of +the ledge. + +“Now, what's the trouble?” he asked directly. “I hope you're not trying +to make yourself think I was only--You know what I meant, don't you? And +you said yes. You said it with your lips, and with your eyes. Did you +want more words? Tell me what it is that bothers you.” + +There was a droop to Evadna's shoulders, and a tremble to her mouth. +She would not look at him. She kept her eyes gazing downward, perhaps +to hide tears. Good Indian waited for her to speak, and when it seemed +plain that she did not mean to do so, he yielded to his instinct and +took her in his arms. + +“Sweetheart!” he murmured against her ear, and it was the first time +he had ever spoken the word to any woman. “You love me, I know it. You +won't say it, but I know you do. I should have felt it this morning if +you hadn't cared. You--you let me kiss you. And--” + +“And after that you--you rode off and left me--and you went away by +yourself, just as if--just as if nothing had happened, and you've acted +ever since as if--” She bit her lips, turned her face away from him, +plucked at his hands to free herself from his clasping arms, and then +she laid her face down against him, and sobbed. + +Good Indian tried his best to explain his mood and his actions that +day, and if he did not make himself very clear--which could scarcely +be expected, since he did not quite understand it himself--he at least +succeeded in lifting from her the weight of doubt and of depression. + +They were astonished when Wally and Jack and Miss Georgie suddenly +confronted them and proved, by the number of fish which they carried, +that they had been gone longer than ten minutes or so. They were red as +to their faces, and embarrassed as to manner, and Good Indian went away +hurriedly after the horses, without meeting the quizzical glances of the +boys, or replying t to certain pointed remarks which they fired after +him. + +“And he's the buckaroo that's got no use for girls!” commented Wally, +looking after him, and ran his tongue meditatively along the loose edge +of his cigarette. “Kid, I wish you'd tell me how you done it. It worked +quick, anyhow.” + +“And thorough,” grinned Jack. “I was thinking some of falling in love +with you myself, Vad. Soon as some of the shine wore off, and you got so +you acted like a real person.” + +“I saw it coming, when it first heaved in sight,” chirped Miss Georgie, +in a more cheerful tone than she had used that day; in too cheerful a +tone to be quite convincing, if any one there had been taking notice of +mere tones. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. THE CLAIM-JUMPERS + +“Guess that bobcat was after my ducks again, last night,” commented +Phoebe Hart, when she handed Baumberger his cup of coffee. “The way the +dogs barked all night--didn't they keep you awake?” + +“Never slept better in my life,” drawled Baumberger, his voice sliding +upward from the first word to the last. His blood-shot eyes, however, +rather gave the lie to his statement. “I'm going to make one more try, +'long about noon, for that big one--girls didn't get him, I guess, for +all their threats, or I'd heard about it. And I reckon I'll take the +evening train home. Shoulda gone yesterday, by rights. I'd like to get +a basket uh fish to take up with me. Great coffee, Mrs. Hart, and such +cream I never did see. I sure do hate to leave so many good things +and go back to a boardin' house. Look at this honey, now!” He sighed +gluttonously, leaning slightly over the table while he fed. + +“Dogs were barking at something down in the orchard,” Wally volunteered, +passing over Baumberger's monologue. “I was going down there, but it was +so dark--and I thought maybe it was Gene's ghost. That was before the +moon came up. Got any more biscuits, mum?” + +“My trap wasn't sprung behind the chicken-house,” said Donny. “I looked, +first thing.” + +“Dogs,” drawled Baumberger, his enunciation muffled by the food in his +mouth, “always bark. And cats fight on shed-roofs. Next door to where I +board there's a dog that goes on shift as regular as a policeman. Every +night at--” + +“Oh, Aunt Phoebe!” Evadna, crisp and cool in a summery dress of some +light-colored stuff, and looking more than ever like a Christmas angel +set a-flutter upon the top of a holiday fir in a sudden gust of wind, +threw open the door, rushed halfway into the room, and stopped beside +the chair of her aunt. Her hands dropped to the plump shoulder of the +sitter. “Aunt Phoebe, there's a man down at the farther end of the +strawberry patch! He's got a gun, Aunt Phoebe, and he's camped there, +and when he heard me he jumped up and pointed the gun straight at me!” + +“Why, honey, that can't be--you must have seen an Indian prowling after +windfalls off the apricot trees there. He wouldn't hurt you.” Phoebe +reached up, and caught the hands in a reassuring clasp. + +Evadna's eyes strayed from one face to another around the table till +they rested upon Good Indian, as having found sanctuary there. + +“But, Aunt Phoebe, he was WASN'T. He was a white man. And he has a camp +there, right by that tree the lightning peeled the bark off. I was close +before I saw him, for he was sitting down and the currant bushes were +between. But I went through to get round where Uncle Hart has been +irrigating and it's all mud, and he jumped up and pointed the gun AT me. +Just as if he was going to shoot me. And I turned and ran.” Her fingers +closed upon the hand of her aunt, but her eyes clung to Good Indian, as +though it was to him she was speaking. + +“Tramp,” suggested Baumberger, in a tone of soothing finality, as when +one hushes the fear of a child. “Sick the dogs on him. He'll go--never +saw the hobo yet that wouldn't run from a dog.” He smiled leeringly up +at her, and reached for a second helping of honey. + +Good Indian pulled his glance from Evadna, and tried to bore through +the beefy mask which was Baumberger's face, but all he found there was +a gross interest in his breakfast and a certain indulgent sympathy for +Evadna's fear, and he frowned in a baffled way. + +“Who ever heard of a tramp camped in our orchard!” flouted Phoebe. “They +don't get down here once a year, and then they always come to the house. +You couldn't know there WAS any strawberry patch behind that thick row +of trees--or a garden, or anything else.” + +“He's got a row of stakes running clear across the patch,” Evadna +recalled suddenly. “Just like they do for a new street, or a railroad, +or something. And--” + +Good Indian pushed back his chair with a harsh, scraping noise, +and rose. He was staring hard at Baumberger, and his whole face had +sharpened till it had the cold, unyielding look of an Indian. And +suddenly Baumberger raised his head and met full that look. For two +breaths their eyes held each other, and then Baumberger glanced casually +at Peaceful. + +“Sounds queer--must be some mistake, though. You must have seen +something, girl, that reminded you of stakes. The stub off a +sagebrush maybe?” He ogled her quite frankly. “When a little girl gets +scared--Sick the dogs on him,” he advised the family collectively, +his manner changing to a blustering anxiety that her fright should be +avenged. + +Evadna seemed to take his tone as a direct challenge. “I was scared, but +I know quite well what I saw. He wasn't a tramp. He had a regular camp, +with a coffee-pot and frying-pan and blankets. And there a line of +stakes across the strawberry patch.” + +Before, the breakfast had continued to seem an important incident +temporarily suspended. Now Peaceful Hart laid hand to his beard, eyed +his wife questioningly, let his glance flicker over the faces of his +sons, and straightened his shoulders unconsciously. Good Indian was at +the door, his mouth set in a thin, straight, fighting line. Wally and +Jack were sliding their chairs back from the table preparing to follow +him. + +“I guess it ain't anything much,” Peaceful opined optimistically. “They +can't do anything but steal berries, and they're most gone, anyhow. Go +ask him what he wants, down there.” The last sentence was but feeble +sort of fiction that his boys would await his commands; as a matter of +fact, they were outside before he spoke. + +“Take the dogs along,” called out Baumberger, quite as futilely, for not +one of the boys was within hearing. + +Until they heard footsteps returning at a run, the four stayed where +they were. Baumberger rumbled on in a desultory sort of way, which might +have caused an observant person to wonder where was his lawyer training, +and the deep cunning and skill with which he was credited, for his words +were as profitless and inconsequential as an old woman's. He talked +about tramps, and dogs that barked o' nights, and touched gallantly upon +feminine timidity and the natural, protective instincts of men. + +Peaceful Hart may have heard half of what he said--but more likely he +heard none of it. He sat drawing his white beard through his hand, and +his mild, blue eyes were turned often to Phoebe in mute question. Phoebe +herself was listening, but not to Baumberger; she was permitting Evadna +to tuck in stray locks of her soft, brown hair, but her face was turned +to the door which opened upon the porch. At the first clatter of running +footsteps on the porch, she and Peaceful pushed back their chairs +instinctively. + +The runner was Donny, and every freckle stood out distinctly upon his +face. + +“There's four of 'em, papa!” he shouted, all in one breath. “They're +jumpin' the ranch for placer claims. They said so. Each one's got a +claim, and they're campin' on the corners, so they'll be close together. +They're goin' to wash gold. Good Injun--” + +“Oh!” screamed Evadna suddenly. “Don't let him--don't let them hurt him, +Uncle Hart!” + +“Aw, they ain't fightin',” Donny assured her disgustedly. “They're +chewin' the rag down there, is all. Good Injun knows one of 'em.” + +Peaceful Hart stood indecisively, and stared, one and gripping the back +of his chair. His lips were working so that his beard bristled about his +mouth. + +“They can't do nothing--the ranch belongs to me,” he said, his eyes +turning rather helplessly to Baumberger. “I've got my patent.” + +“Jumping our ranch!--for placer claims!” Phoebe stood up, leaning hard +upon the table with both hands. “And we've lived here ever since Clark +was a baby!” + +“Now, now, let's not get excited over this,” soothed Baumberger, getting +out of his chair slowly, like the overfed glutton he was. He picked up a +crisp fragment of biscuit, crunched it between his teeth, and chewed +it slowly. “Can't be anything serious--and if it is, why--I'm here. A +lawyer right on the spot may save a lot of trouble. The main thing is, +let's not get excited and do something rash. Those boys--” + +“Not excited?--and somebody jumping--our--ranch?” Phoebe's soft eyes +gleamed at him. She was pale, so that her face had a peculiar, ivory +tint. + +“Now, now!” Baumberger put out a puffy hand admonishingly. “Let's keep +cool--that's half the battle won. Keep cool.” He reached for his pipe, +got out his twisted leather tobacco pouch, and opened it with a twirl of +his thumb and finger. + +“You're a lawyer, Mr. Baumberger,” Peaceful turned to him, still +helpless in his manner. “What's the best thing to be done?” + +“Don't--get--excited.” Baumberger nodded his head for every word. +“That's what I always say when a client comes to me all worked up. We'll +go down there and see just how much there is to this, and--order 'em +off. Calmly, calmly! No violence--no threats--just tell 'em firmly and +quietly to leave.” He stuffed his pipe carefully, pressing down the +tobacco with the tip of a finger. “Then,” he added with slow emphasis, +“if they don't go, after--say twenty-four hours' notice--why, we'll +proceed to serve an injunction.” He drew a match along the back of his +chair, and lighted his pipe. + +“I reckon we'd better go and look after those boys of yours,” he +suggested, moving toward the door rather quickly, for all his apparent +deliberation. “They're inclined to be hot-headed, and we must have no +violence, above all things. Keep it a civil matter right through. Much +easier to handle in court, if there's no violence to complicate the +case.” + +“They're looking for it,” Phoebe reminded him bluntly. “The man had a +gun, and threw down on Vadnie.” + +“He only pointed it at me, auntie,” Evadna corrected, ignorant of the +Western phrase. + +The two women followed the men outside and into the shady yard, where +the trees hid completely what lay across the road and beyond the double +row of poplars. Donny, leaning far forward and digging his bare toes +into the loose soil for more speed, raced on ahead, anxious to see and +hear all that took place. + +“If the boys don't stir up a lot of antagonism,” Baumberger kept urging +Peaceful and Phoebe, as they hurried into the garden, “the matter ought +to be settled without much trouble. You can get an injunction, and--” + +“The idea of anybody trying to hold our place for mineral land!” + Phoebe's indignation was cumulative always, and was now bubbling into +wrath. “Why, my grief! Thomas spent one whole summer washing every +likely spot around here. He never got anything better than colors on +this ranch--and you can get them anywhere in Idaho, almost. And to come +right into our garden, in the right--and stake a placer claim!” Her +anger seemed beyond further utterance. “The idea!” she finished weakly. + +“Well--but we mustn't let ourselves get excited,” soothed Baumberger, +the shadow of him falling darkly upon Peaceful and Phoebe as he strode +along, upon the side next the sun. Peppajee would have called that an +evil thing, portending much trouble and black treachery. + +“That's where people always blunder in a thing like this. A little +cool-headedness goes farther than hard words or lead. And,” he added +cheeringly, “it may be a false alarm, remember. We won't borrow trouble. +We'll just make sure of our ground, first thing we do.” + +“It's always easy enough to be calm over the other fellow's trouble,” + said Phoebe sharply, irritated in an indefinable way by the oily +optimism of the other. “It ain't your ox that's gored, Mr. Baumberger.” + +They skirted the double row of grapevines, picked their way over a spot +lately flooded from the ditch, which they crossed upon two planks laid +side by side, went through an end of the currant patch, made a detour +around a small jungle of gooseberry bushes, and so came in sight of the +strawberry patch and what was taking place near the lightning-scarred +apricot tree. Baumberger lengthened his stride, and so reached the spot +first. + +The boys were grouped belligerently in the strawberry patch, just +outside a line of new stakes, freshly driven in the ground. Beyond that +line stood a man facing them with a.45-.70 balanced in the hollow of +his arm. In the background stood three other men in open spaces in the +shrubbery, at intervals of ten rods or so, and they also had rifles +rather conspicuously displayed. They were grinning, all three. The man +just over the line was listening while Good Indian spoke; the voice of +Good Indian was even and quiet, as if he were indulging in casual small +talk of the country, but that particular claim-jumper was not smiling. +Even from a distance they could see that he was fidgeting uncomfortably +while he listened, and that his breath was beginning to come jerkily. + +“Now, roll your blankets and GIT!” Good Indian finished sharply, and +with the toe of his boot kicked the nearest stake clear of the loose +soil. He stooped, picked it up, and cast it contemptuously from him. It +landed three feet in front of the man who had planted it, and he jumped +and shifted the rifle significantly upon his arm, so that the butt of it +caressed his right shoulder-joint. + +“Now, now, we don't want any overt acts of violence here,” wheezed +Baumberger, laying hand upon Good Indian's shoulder from behind. Good +Indian shook off the touch as if it were a tarantula upon him. + +“You go to the devil,” he advised chillingly. + +“Tut, tut!” Baumberger reproved gently. “The ladies are within hearing, +my boy. Let's get at this thing sensibly and calmly. Violence only makes +things worse. See how quiet Wally and Jack and Clark and Gene are! THEY +realize how childishly spiteful it would be for them to follow your +example. They know better. They don't want--” + +Jack grinned, and hitched his gun into plainer view. “When we start in, +it won't be STICKS we're sending to His Nibs,” he observed placidly. +“We're just waiting for him to ante.” + +“This,” said Baumberger, a peculiar gleam coming into his leering, +puffy-lidded eyes, and a certain hardness creeping into his voice, “this +is a matter for your father and me to settle. It's just-a-bide-beyond +you youngsters. This is a civil case. Don't foolishly make it come under +the criminal code. But there!” His voice purred at them again. “You +won't. You're all too clear-headed and sensible.” + +“Oh, sure!” Wally gave his characteristic little snort. “We're only just +standing around to see how fast the cabbages grow!” + +Baumberger advanced boldly across the dead line. + +“Stanley, put down that gun, and explain your presence here and your +object,” he rumbled. “Let's get at this thing right end to. First, what +are you doing here?” + +The man across the line did not put down his rifle, except that he let +the butt of it drop slightly away from his shoulder so that the sights +were in alignment with an irrigating shovel thrust upright into the +ground ten feet to one side of the group. His manner lost little of its +watchfulness, and his voice was surly with defiance when he spoke. But +Good Indian, regarding him suspiciously through half-closed lids, would +have sworn that a look of intelligence flashed between those two. There +was nothing more than a quiver of his nostrils to betray him as he moved +over beside Evadna--for the pure pleasure of being near her, one would +think; in reality, while the pleasure was there, that he might see both +Baumberger's face and Stanley's without turning more than his eyes. + +“All there is to it,” Stanley began blustering, “you see before yuh. +I've located twenty acres here as a placer claim. That there's the +northwest corner--ap-prox'm'tley--close as I could come by sightin'. +Your fences are straight with yer land, and I happen to sabe all yer +corners. I've got a right here. I believe this ground is worth more for +the gold that's in it than for the turnips you can make grow on top--and +that there makes mineral land of it, and as such, open to entry. That's +accordin' to law. I ain't goin' to build no trouble--but I sure do +aim to defend my prope'ty rights if I have to. I realize yuh may think +diffrunt from me. You've got a right to prove, if yuh can, that all this +ain't mineral land. I've got jest as much right to prove it is.” + +He took a breath so deep it expanded visibly his chest--a broad, +muscular chest it was--and let his eyes wander deliberately over his +audience. + +“That there's where _I_ stand,” he stated, with arrogant self-assurance. +His mouth drew down at the corners in a smile which asked plainly what +they were going to do about it, and intimated quite as plainly that he +did not care what they did, though he might feel a certain curiosity as +an onlooker. + +“I happen to know--” Peaceful began, suddenly for him. But Baumberger +waved him into silence. + +“You'll have to prove there's gold in paying quantities here,” he stated +pompously. + +“That's what I aim to do,” Stanley told him imperturbably. + +“_I_ proved, over fifteen years ago, that there WASN'T,” Peaceful +drawled laconically, and sucked so hard upon his pipe that his cheeks +held deep hollows. + +Stanley grinned at him. “Sorry I can't let it go at that,” he said +ironically. “I reckon I'll have to do some washin' myself, though, +before I feel satisfied there ain't.” + +“Then you haven't panned out anything yet?” Phoebe caught him up. + +Stanley's eyes flickered a questioning glance at Baumberger, and +Baumberger puffed out his chest and said: + +“The law won't permit you to despoil this man's property without good +reason. We can serve an injunction--” + +“You can serve and be darned.” Stanley's grin returned, wider than +before. + +“As Mr. Hart's legal adviser,” Baumberger began, in the tone he employed +in the courtroom--a tone which held no hint of his wheezy chuckle or his +oily reassurance--“I hereby demand that you leave this claim which +you have staked out upon Thomas Hart's ranch, and protest that your +continued presence here, after twenty-four hours have expired, will be +looked upon as malicious trespass, and treated as such.” + +Stanley still grinned. “As my own legal adviser,” he returned calmly, “I +hereby declare that you can go plumb to HEL-ena.” Stanley evidently felt +impelled to adapt his vocabulary to feminine ears, for he glanced at +them deprecatingly and as if he wished them elsewhere. + +If either Stanley or Baumberger had chanced to look toward Good Indian, +he might have wondered why that young man had come, of a sudden, to +resemble so strongly his mother's people. He had that stoniness of +expression which betrays strong emotion held rigidly in check, with +which his quivering nostrils and the light in his half-shut eyes +contrasted strangely. He had missed no fleeting glance, no guarded tone, +and he was thinking and weighing and measuring every impression as +it came to him. Of some things he felt sure; of others he was half +convinced; and there was more which he only suspected. And all the +while he stood there quietly beside Evadna, his attitude almost that of +boredom. + +“I think, since you have been properly notified to leave,” said +Baumberger, with the indefinable air of a lawyer who gathers up his +papers relating to one case, thrusts them into his pocket, and turns his +attention to the needs of his next client, “we'll just have it out +with these other fellows, though I look upon Stanley,” he added half +humorously, “as a test case. If he goes, they'll all go.” + +“Better say he's a TOUGH case,” blurted Wally, and turned on his +heel. “What the devil are they standing around on one foot for, making +medicine?” he demanded angrily of Good Indian, who unceremoniously left +Evadna and came up with him. “I'D run him off the ranch first, and do +my talking about it afterward. That hunk uh pork is kicking up a lot uh +dust, but he ain't GETTING anywhere!” + +“Exactly.” Good Indian thrust both hands deep into his trousers pockets, +and stared at the ground before him. + +Wally gave another snort. “I don't know how it hits you, Grant--but +there's something fishy about it.” + +“Ex-actly.” Good Indian took one long step over the ditch, and went on +steadily. + +Wally, coming again alongside, turned his head, and regarded him +attentively. + +“Injun's on top,” he diagnosed sententiously after a minute. “Looks +like he's putting on a good, thick layer uh war-paint, too.” He waited +expectantly. “You might hand me the brush when you're through,” he +hinted grimly. “I might like to get out after some scalps myself.” + +“That so?” Good Indian asked inattentively, and went on without waiting +for any reply. They left the garden, and went down the road to the +stable, Wally passively following Grant's lead. Someone came hurrying +after them, and they turned to see Jack. The others had evidently stayed +to hear the legal harangue to a close. + +“Say, Stanley says there's four beside the fellows we saw,” Jack +announced, rather breathlessly, for he had been running through the +loose, heavy soil of the garden to overtake them. “They've located +twenty acres apiece, he says--staked 'em out in the night and stuck up +their notices--and everyone's going to STICK. They're all going to put +in grizzlies and mine the whole thing, he told dad. He just the same as +accused dad right out of covering up valuable mineral land on purpose. +And he says the law's all on their side.” He leaned hard against the +stable, and drew his fingers across his forehead, white as a girl's when +he pushed back his hat. “Baumberger,” he said cheerlessly, “was +still talking injunction when I left, but--” He flung out his hand +contemptuously. + +“I wish dad wasn't so--” began Wally moodily, and let it go at that. + +Good Indian threw up his head with that peculiar tightening of lips +which meant much in the way of emotion. + +“He'll listen to Baumberger, and he'll lose the ranch listening,” he +stated distinctly. “If there's anything to do, we've got to do it.” + +“We can run 'em off--maybe,” suggested Jack, his fighting instincts +steadied by the vivid memory of four rifles held by four men, who looked +thoroughly capable of using them. + +“This isn't a case of apple-stealing,” Good Indian quelled sharply, and +got his rope from his saddle with the manner of a man who has definitely +made up his mind. + +“What CAN we do, then?” Wally demanded impatiently. + +“Not a thing at present.” Good Indian started for the little pasture, +where Keno was feeding and switching methodically at the flies. “You +fellows can do more by doing nothing to-day than if you killed off the +whole bunch.” + +He came back in a few minutes with his horse, and found the two still +moodily discussing the thing. He glanced at them casually, and went +about the business of saddling. + +“Where you going?” asked Wally abruptly, when Grant was looping up the +end of his latigo. + +“Just scouting around a little,” was the unsatisfactory reply he got, +and he scowled as Good Indian rode away. + + + +CHAPTER XV. SQUAW-TALK-FAR-OFF HEAP SMART + +Good Indian spoke briefly with the good-looking young squaw, who had a +shy glance for him when he came up; afterward he took hold of his hat +by the brim, and ducked through the low opening of a wikiup which she +smilingly pointed out to him. + +“Howdy, Peppajee? How you foot?” he asked, when his unaccustomed eyes +discerned the old fellow lying back against the farther wall. + +“Huh! Him heap sick all time.” Having his injury thus brought afresh +to his notice, Peppajee reached down with his hands, and moved the foot +carefully to a new position. + +“Last night,” Good Indian began without that ceremony of long waiting +which is a part of Indian etiquette, “much men come to Hart ranch. +Eight.” He held up his two outspread hands, with the thumbs tucked +inside his palms. “Come in dark, no seeum till sun come back. Makeum +camp. One man put sticks in ground, say that part belong him. Twenty +acres.” He flung up his hands, lowered them, and immediately raised +them again. “Eight men do that all same. Have guns, grub, blankets--stop +there all time. Say they wash gold. Say that ranch have much gold, +stake placer claims. Baumberger”--he saw Peppajee's eyelids draw +together--“tell men to go away. Tell Peaceful he fight those men--in +court. You sabe. Ask Great Father to tell those men they go away, no +wash gold on ranch.” He waited. + +There is no hurrying the speech of an Indian. Peppajee smoked stolidly, +his eyes half closed and blinking sleepily. The veneer of white men's +ways dropped from him when he entered his own wikiup, and he would not +speak quickly. + +“Las' night--mebbyso yo' watchum?” he asked, as one who holds his +judgment in abeyance. + +“I heap fool. I no watch. I let those men come while I think of--a girl. +My eyes sleep.” Good Indian was too proud to parry, too bitter with +himself to deny. He had not said the thing before, even to himself, +but it was in his heart to hate his love, because it had cost this +catastrophe to his friends. + +“Kay bueno.” Peppajee's voice was harsh. But after a time he spoke more +sympathetically. “Yo' no watchum. Yo' let heap trouble come. This day +yo' heart bad, mebbyso. This day yo' no thinkum squaw all time. Mebbyso +yo' thinkum fight, no sabe how yo' fight.” + +Grant nodded silently. It would seem that Peppajee understood, even +though his speech was halting. At that moment much of the unfounded +prejudice, which had been for a few days set aside because of bigger +things, died within him. He had disliked Peppajee as a pompous egotist +among his kind. His latent antagonism against all Indians because they +were unwelcomely his blood relatives had crystallized here and there +against; certain individuals of the tribe. Old Hagar he hated coldly. +Peppajee's staginess irritated him. In his youthful arrogance he had not +troubled to see the real man of mettle under that dingy green blanket. +Now he looked at Peppajee with a startled sense that he had never known +him at all, and that Peppajee was not only a grimy Indian--he was also a +man. + +“Me no sabe one thing. One otha thing me sabe. Yo' no b'lieve Baumberga +one frien'. Him all same snake. Them mens come, Baumberga tellum come +all time. All time him try for foolum Peaceful. Yo' look out. Yo' no +sleepum mo'. All time yo' watchum.” + +“I come here,” said Good Indian; “I think you mebbyso hear talk, you +tell me. My heart heap sad, I let this trouble come. I want to kill +that trouble. Mebbyso make my friends laugh, be heap glad those men no +stealum ranch. You hear talk, mebbyso you tell me now.” + +Peppajee smoked imperturbably what time his dignity demanded. At length +he took the pipe from his mouth, stretched out his arm toward Hartley, +and spoke in his sonorous tone, calculated to add weight to his words. + +“Yo' go speakum Squaw-talk-far-off,” he commanded. “All time makum +talk--talk--” He drummed with his fingers upon his left forearm. +“Mebbyso heap sabe. Heap sabe Baumberga kay bueno. He thinkum sabe +stealum ranch. All time heap talk come Man-that-coughs, come all same +Baumberga. Heap smart, dat squaw.” A smile laid its faint light upon +his grim old lips, and was gone. “Thinkum yo' heap bueno, dat squaw. All +time glad for talkum yo'. Yo' go.” + +Good Indian stood up, his head bent to avoid scraping his hat against +the sloping roof of the wikiup. + +“You no hear more talk all time you watch?” he asked, passing over Miss +Georgie's possible aid or interest in the affair. + +“Much talkum--no can hear. All time them damn' Baumberga shut door--no +talkum loud. All time Baumberga walkum in dark. Walkum where apples +grow, walkum grass, walkum all dat ranch all time. All time me heap +watchum. Snake come, bitum foot--no can watchum mo'. Dat time, much +mens come. Yo' sabe. Baumberga all time talkum, him heap frien' +Peacefu'--heap snake all time. Speakum two tongue Yo' no b'lievum. All +time heap big liar, him. Yo' go, speakum Squaw-talk-far-off. Bueno, dat +squaw. Heap smart, all same mans. Yo' go. Pikeway.” He settled back with +a gesture of finality, and so Good Indian left him. + +Old Hagar shrilled maledictions after him when he passed through the +littered camp on his way back to where he had left his horse, but for +once he was deaf to her upbraidings. Indeed, he never heard her--or if +he did, her clamor was to him as the yelping of the dogs which filled +his ears, but did not enter his thoughts. + +The young squaw smiled at him shy-eyed as he went by her, and though +his physical eyes saw her standing demurely there in the shade of her +wikiup, ready to shrink coyly away from too bold a glance, the man-mind +of him was blind and took no notice. He neither heard the baffled +screaming of vile epithets when old Hagar knew that her venom could not +strike through the armor of his preoccupation, nor saw the hurt look +creep into the soft eyes of the young squaw when his face did not turn +toward her after the first inattentive glance. + +Good Indian was thinking how barren had been his talk with Peppajee, and +was realizing keenly how much he had expected from the interview. It is +frequently by the depth of our disappointment only that we can rightly +measure the height of our hope. He had come to Peppajee for something +tangible, some thing that might be called real evidence of the +conspiracy he suspected. He had got nothing but suspicion to match his +own. As for Miss Georgie Howard-- + +“What can she do?” he thought resentfully, feeling as if he had been +offered a willow switch with which to fight off a grizzly. It seemed to +him that he might as sensibly go to Evadna herself for assistance, +and that, even his infatuation was obliged to admit, would be idiotic. +Peppajee, he told himself when he reached his horse, was particularly +foolish sometimes. + +With that in his mind, he mounted--and turned Keno's head toward +Hartley. The distance was not great--little more than half a mile--but +when he swung from the saddle in the square blotch of shade east by +the little, red station house upon the parched sand and cinders, Keno's +flanks were heaving like the silent sobbing of a woman with the pace his +master's spurred heels had required of him. + +Miss Georgie gave her hair a hasty pat or two, pushed a novel out of +sight under a Boise newspaper, and turned toward him with a breezily +careless smile when he stepped up to the open door and stopped as if he +were not quite certain of his own mind, or of his welcome. + +He was secretly thinking of Peppajee's information that Miss Georgie +thought he was “bueno,” and he was wondering if it were true. Not that +he wanted it to be true! But he was man enough to look at her with a +keener interest than he had felt before. And Miss Georgie, if one might +judge by her manner, was woman enough to detect that interest and +to draw back her skirts, mentally, ready for instant flight into +unapproachableness. + +“Howdy, Mr. Imsen?” she greeted him lightly. “In what official capacity +am I to receive you, please? Do YOU want to send a telegram?” The accent +upon the pronoun was very faint, but it was there for him to notice if +he liked. So much she helped him. She was a bright young woman indeed, +that she saw he wanted help. + +“I don't believe I came to see you officially at all,” he said, and +his eyes lighted a little as he looked at her. “Peppajee Jim told me to +come. He said you're a 'heap smart squaw, all same mans.'” + +“Item: One pound of red-and-white candy for Peppajee Jim next time I see +him.” Miss Georgie laughed--but she also sat down so that her face was +turned to the window. “Are you in urgent need of a heap smart squaw?” + she asked. “I thought”--she caught herself up, and then went recklessly +on--“I thought yesterday that you had found one!” + +“It's brains I need just now.” After the words were out, Good Indian +wanted to swear at himself for seeming to belittle Evadna. “I mean,” + he corrected quickly--“do you know what I mean? I'll tell you what has +happened, and if you don't know then, and can't help me, I'll just have +to apologize for coming, and get out.” + +“Yes, I think you had better tell me why you need me particularly. I +know the chicken's perfect, and doesn't lack brains, and you didn't mean +that she does. You're all stirred up over something. What's wrong?” Miss +Georgie would have spoken in just that tone if she had been a man or if +Grant had been a woman. + +So Good Indian told her. + +“And you imagine that it's partly your fault, and that it wouldn't have +happened if you had spent more time keeping your weather eye open, and +not so much making love?” Miss Georgie could be very blunt, as well as +keen. “Well, I don't see how you could prevent it, or what you could +have done--unless you had kicked old Baumberger into the Snake. He's the +god in this machine. I'd swear to that.” + +Good Indian had been fiddling with his hat and staring hard at a pile of +old ties just outside the window. He raised his head, and regarded her +steadily. It was beginning to occur to him that there was a good deal to +this Miss Georgie, under that offhand, breezy exterior. He felt himself +drawn to her as a person whom he could trust implicitly. + +“You're right as far as I'm concerned,” he owned, with his queer, +inscrutable smile. “I think you're also right about him. What makes you +think so, anyway?” + +Miss Georgie twirled a ring upon her middle finger for a moment before +she looked up at him. + +“Do you know anything about mining laws?” she asked, and when he swung +his head slightly to one side in a tacit negative, she went on: “You say +there are eight jumpers. Concerted action, that. Premeditated. My daddy +was a lawyer,” she threw in by way of explanation. “I used to help him +in the office a good deal. When he--died, I didn't know enough to go +on and be a lawyer myself, so I took to this.” She waved her hand +impatiently toward the telegraph instrument. + +“So it's like this: Eight men can take placer claims--can hold them, you +know--for one man. That's the limit, a hundred and sixty acres. Those +eight men aren't jumping that ranch as eight individuals; they're in the +employ of a principal who is engineering the affair. If I were going to +shy a pebble at the head mogul, I'd sure try hard to hit our corpulent +friend with the fishy eye. And that,” she added, “is what all these +cipher messages for Saunders mean, very likely. Baumberger had to have +someone here to spy around for him and perhaps help him choose--or at +least get together--those eight men. They must have come in on the night +train, for I didn't see them. I'll bet they're tough customers, every +mother's son of them! Fighters down to the ground, aren't they?” + +“I only saw four. They were heeled, and ready for business, all right,” + he told her. “Soon as I saw what the game was, and that Baumberger was +only playing for time and a free hand, I pulled out. I thought Peppajee +might give me something definite to go on. He couldn't, though.” + +“Baumberger's going to steal that ranch according to law, you see,” Miss +Georgie stated with conviction. “They've got to pan out a sample of gold +to prove there's pay dirt there, before they can file their claims. And +they've got to do their filing in Shoshone. I suppose their notices are +up O.K. I wonder, now, how they intend to manage that? I believe,” she +mused, “they'll have to go in person--I don't believe Baumberger can do +that all himself legally. I've got some of daddy's law-books over in my +trunk, and maybe I can look it up and make sure. But I know they haven't +filed their claims yet. They've GOT to take possession first, and +they've got to show a sample of ore, or dust, it would be in this case. +The best thing to do--” She drew her eyebrows together, and she +pinched her under lip between her thumb and forefinger, and she +stared abstractedly at Good Indian. “Oh, hurry up, Grant!” she cried +unguardedly. “Think--think HARD, what's best to do!” + +“The only thing I can think of,” he scowled, “is to kill that--” + +“And that won't do, under the circumstances,” she cut in airily. +“There'd still be the eight. I'd like,” she declared viciously, “to put +rough-on-rats in his dinner, but I intend to refrain from doing as I'd +like, and stick to what's best.” + +Good Indian gave her a glance of grateful understanding. “This thing +has hit me hard,” he confided suddenly. “I've been holding myself in all +day. The Harts are like my own folks. They're all I've had, and she's +been--they've all been--” Then the instinct of repression walled in his +emotion, and he let the rest go in a long breath which told Miss +Georgie all she needed to know. So much of Good Indian would never find +expression in speech; all that was best of him would not, one might be +tempted to think. + +“By the way, is there any pay dirt on that ranch?” Miss Georgie kept +herself rigidly to the main subject. + +“No, there isn't. Not,” he added dryly, “unless it has grown gold in +the last few years. There are colors, of course. All this country +practically can show colors, but pay dirt? No!” + +“Look out,” she advised him slowly, “that pay dirt doesn't grow over +night! Sabe?” + +Good Indian's eyes spoke admiration of her shrewdness. + +“I must be getting stupid, not to have thought of that,” he said. + +“Can't give me credit for being 'heap smart'?” she bantered. “Can't +even let me believe I thought of something beyond the ken of the average +person? Not,” she amended ironically, “that I consider YOU an average +person! Would you mind”--she became suddenly matter of fact--“waiting +here while I go and rummage for a book I want? I'm almost sure I have +one on mining laws. Daddy had a good deal of that in his business, being +in a mining country. We've got to know just where we stand, it seems to +me, because Baumberger's going to use the laws himself, and it's with +the law we've got to fight him.” + +She had to go first and put a stop to the hysterical chattering of +the sounder by answering the summons. It proved to be a message for +Baumberger, and she wrote it down in a spiteful scribble which left it +barely legible. + +“Betraying professional secrets, but I don't care,” she exclaimed, +turning swiftly toward him. “Listen to this: + +“'How's fishing? Landed the big one yet? Ready for fry?”' + +She threw it down upon the table with a pettish gesture that was +wholly feminine. “Sounds perfectly innocent, doesn't it? Too perfectly +innocent, if you ask me.” She stared out of the window abstractedly, +her brows pinched together and her lips pursed with a corner between her +teeth, much as she had stared after Baumberger the day before; and when +she spoke she seemed to have swung her memory back to him then. + +“He came up yesterday--with fish for Pete, he SAID, and of course he +really did have some--and sent a wire to Shoshone. I found it on file +when I came back. That was perfectly innocent, too. It was: + +“'Expect to land big one to-night. Plenty of small fry. Smooth trail.' + +“I've an excellent memory, you see.” She laughed shortly. “Well, I'll +go and hunt up that book, and we'll proceed to glean the wisdom of the +serpent, so that we won't be compelled to remain as harmless as the +dove! You won't mind waiting here?” + +He assured her that he would not mind in the least, and she ran out +bareheaded into the hot sunlight. Good Indian leaned forward a little in +his chair so that he could watch her running across to the shack where +she had a room or two, and he paid her the compliment of keeping her +in his thoughts all the time she was gone. He felt, as he had done with +Peppajee, that he had not known Miss Georgie at all until to-day, and he +was a bit startled at what he was finding her to be. + +“Of course,” she laughed, when she rustled in again like a whiff of +fresh air, “I had to go clear to the bottom of the last trunk I looked +in. Lucky I only have three to my name, for it would have been in the +last one just the same, if I'd had two dozen and had ransacked them all. +But I found it, thank Heaven!” + +She came eagerly up to him--he was sitting in the beribboned rocker +dedicated to friendly callers, and had the rug badly rumpled with his +spurs, which he had forgotten to remove--and with a sweep of her forearm +she cleared the little table of novel, newspaper, and a magazine and +deck of cards, and barely saved her box of chocolates from going bottom +up on the floor. + +“Like candy? Help yourself, if you do,” she said, and tucked a piece +into her mouth absent-mindedly before she laid the leather-bound book +open on the table. “Now, we'll see what information Mr. Copp can give +us. He's a high authority--General Land Office Commissioner, if you +please. He's a few years old--several years old, for that matter--but +I don't think he's out of date; I believe what he says still goes. +M-m-m!-'Liens on Mines'--'Clause Inserted in Patents'--'Affidavits Taken +Without Notice to Opposing'--oh, it must be here--it's GOT to be here!” + +She was running a somewhat sticky forefinger slowly down the index +pages. “It isn't alphabetically arranged, which I consider sloppy of Mr. +Copp. Ah-h! 'Minerals Discovered After Patent Has Issued to Agricultural +Claimant'--two hundred and eight. We'll just take a look at that first. +That's what they're claiming, you know.” She hitched her chair closer, +and flipped the leaves eagerly. When she found the page, they touched +heads over it, though Miss Georgie read aloud. + +“Oh, it's a letter--but it's a decision, and as such has weight. U-m! + +“SIR: In reply to your letter of inquiry. . . I have to state that all +mineral deposits discovered on land after United States Patent therefor +has issued to a party claiming under the laws regulating the disposal of +agricultural lands, pass with the patent, and this office has no further +jurisdiction in the premise. Very respectfully,” + +“'PASS WITH THE PATENT!'” Miss Georgie turned her face so that she could +look into Grant's eyes, so close to her own. “Old Peaceful must surely +have his patent--Baumberger can't be much of a lawyer, do you think? +Because that's a flat statement. There's no chance for any legal +quibbling in that--IS there?” + +“That's about as straight as he could put it,” Good Indian agreed, his +face losing a little of its anxiety. + +“Well, we'll just browse along for more of the same,” she suggested +cheerfully, and went back to the index. But first she drew a lead pencil +from where it had been stabbed through her hair, and marked the letter +with heavy brackets, wetting the lead on her tongue for emphasis. + +“'Agricultural Claimants Entitled to Full Protection,'” she read +hearteningly from the index, and turned hastily to see what was to be +said about it. It happened to be another decision rendered in a letter, +and they jubilated together over the sentiment conveyed therein. + +“Now, here is what I was telling you, Grant,” she said suddenly, after +another long minute of studying silently the index. “'Eight Locaters of +Placer Ground May Convey to One Party'--and Baumberger's certainly that +party!--'Who Can Secure Patent for One Hundred and Sixty Acres.' We'll +just read up on that, and find out for sure what the conditions are. +Now, here”--she had found the page quickly--“listen to this: + +“'I have to state that if eight bona-fide locaters' + +(“Whether they're that remains to be proven, Mr. Baumberger!”) + +'each having located twenty acres, in accordance with the congressional +rules and regulations, should convey all their right, title, and +interest in said locations to one person, such person might apply for a +patent--' + +“And so on into tiresomeness. Really, I'm beginning to think +Baumberger's awfully stupid, to even attempt such a silly thing. He +hasn't a legal leg to stand on. 'Goes with the patent'--that sounds +nice to me. They're not locating in good faith--those eight jumpers +down there.” She fortified herself with another piece of candy. “All you +need,” she declared briskly, “is a good lawyer to take this up and see +it through.” + +“You seem to be doing pretty well,” he remarked, his eyes dwelling +rather intently upon her face, and smiling as they did so. + +“I can read what's in the book,” she remarked lightly, her eyes upon +its pages as if she were consciously holding them from meeting his look. +“But it will take a lawyer to see the case through the courts. And let +me tell you one thing very emphatically.” She looked at him brightly. +“Many a case as strong as this has been lost, just by legal quibbling +and ignorance of how to handle it properly. Many a case without a leg to +stand on has been won, by smooth work on the part of some lawyer. Now, +I'll just jot down what they'll have to do, and prove, if they get that +land--and look here, Mr. Man, here's another thing to consider. Maybe +Baumberger doesn't expect to get a patent. Maybe he means to make old +Peaceful so deucedly sick of the thing that he'll sell out cheap rather +than fight the thing to a finish. Because this can be appealed, and +taken up and up, and reopened because of some technical error--oh, as +Jenny Wren says in--in--” + +“'Our Mutual Friend?'” Good Indian suggested unexpectedly. + +“Oh, you've read it!--where she always says: '_I_ know their tricks and +their manners!' And I do, from being so much with daddy in the office +and hearing him talk shop. I know that, without a single bit of justice +on their side, they could carry this case along till the very expense +of it would eat up the ranch and leave the Harts flat broke. And if +they didn't fight and keep on fighting, they could lose it--so there you +are.” + +She shut the book with a slam. “But,” she added more brightly when +she saw the cloud of gloom settle blacker than before on his face, and +remembered that he felt himself at least partly to blame, “it helps a +lot to have the law all on our side, and--” She had to go then, because +the dispatcher was calling, and she knew it must be a train order. +“We'll read up a little more, and see just what are the requirements +of placer mining laws--and maybe we can make it a trifle difficult +for those eight to comply!” she told him over her shoulder, while her +fingers chittered a reply to the call, and then turned her attention +wholly to receiving the message. + +Good Indian, knowing well the easy custom of the country which makes +smoking always permissible, rolled himself a cigarette while he waited +for her to come back to his side of the room. He was just holding the +match up and waiting for a clear blaze before setting his tobacco afire, +when came a tap-tap of feet on the platform, and Evadna appeared in the +half-open doorway. + +“Oh!” she exclaimed, and widened her indigo eyes at him sitting there +and looking so much at home. + +“Come right in, chicken,” Miss Georgie invited cordially. “Don't stand +there in the hot sun. Mr. Imsen is going to turn the seat of honor over +to you this instant. Awfully glad you came. Have some candy.” + +Evadna sat down in the rocker, thrust her two little feet out so that +the toe, of her shoes showed close together beyond the hem of her +riding-skirt, laid her gauntleted palms upon the arms of the chair and +rocked methodically, and looked at Grant and then at Miss Georgie, and +afterward tilted up her chin and smiled superciliously at an insurance +company's latest offering to the public in the way of a calendar two +feet long. + +“When did you come up?” Good Indian asked her, trying so hard to keep a +placating note out of his voice that he made himself sound apologetic. + +“Oh--about an hour ago, I think,” Evadna drawled sweetly--the sweet +tones which always mean trouble, when employed by a woman. + +Good Indian bit his lip, got up, and threw his cigarette out of the +window, and looked at her reproachfully, and felt vaguely that he was +misunderstood and most unjustly placed upon the defensive. + +“I only came over,” Evadna went on, as sweetly as before, “to say that +there's a package at the store which I can't very well carry, and I +thought perhaps you wouldn't mind taking it--when you go.” + +“I'm going now, if you're ready,” he told her shortly, and reached for +his hat. + +Evadna rocked a moment longer, making him wait for her reply. She +glanced at Miss Georgie still busy at the telegraph table, gave a little +sigh of resignation, and rose with evident reluctance. + +“Oh--if you're really going,” she drawled, and followed him outside. + + + +CHAPTER XVI. “DON'T GET EXCITED!” + +Lovers, it would seem, require much less material for a quarrel than +persons in a less exalted frame of mind. + +Good Indian believed himself very much in love with his Christmas angel, +and was very much inclined to let her know it, but at the same time +he saw no reason why he should not sit down in Miss Georgie's +rocking-chair, if he liked, and he could not quite bring himself to +explain even to Evadna his reason for doing so. It humiliated him even +to think of apologizing or explaining, and he was the type of man who +resents humiliation more keenly than a direct injury. + +As to Evadna, her atmosphere was that of conscious and magnanimous +superiority to any feeling so humanly petty as jealousy--which is +extremely irritating to anyone who is at all sensitive to atmospheric +conditions. + +She stopped outside the window long enough to chirp a commonplace +sentence or two to Miss Georgie, and to explain just why she couldn't +stay a minute longer. “I told Aunt Phoebe I'd be back to lunch--dinner, +I mean--and she's so upset over those horrible men planted in the +orchard--did Grant tell you about it?--that I feel I ought to be +with her. And Marie has the toothache again. So I really must go. +Good-by--come down whenever you can, won't you?” She smiled, and she +waved a hand, and she held up her riding-skirt daintily as she turned +away. “You didn't say goodby to Georgie,” she reminded Grant, still +making use of the chirpy tone. “I hope I am not in any way responsible.” + +“I don't see how you could be,” said Good Indian calmly; and that, for +some reason, seemed to intensify the atmosphere with which Evadna chose +to surround herself. + +She led Huckleberry up beside the store platform without giving Grant +a chance to help, mounted, and started on while he was in after the +package--a roll not more than eight inches long, and weighing at least +four ounces, which brought an ironical smile to his lips. But she could +not hope to outrun him on Huckleberry, even when Huckleberry's nose was +turned toward home, and he therefore came clattering up before she +had passed the straggling outpost of rusty tin cans which marked, by +implication, the boundary line between Hartley and the sagebrush waste +surrounding it. + +“You seem to be in a good deal of a hurry,” Good Indian observed. + +“Not particularly,” she replied, still chirpy as to tone and +supercilious as to her manner. + +It would be foolish to repeat all that was said during that ride home, +because so much meaning was conveyed in tones and glances and in staring +straight ahead and saying nothing. They were sparring politely before +they were over the brow of the hill behind the town; they were indulging +in veiled sarcasm--which came rapidly out from behind the veil and grew +sharp and bitter--before they started down the dusty grade; they were +not saying anything at all when they rounded the Point o' Rocks and held +their horses rigidly back from racing home, as was their habit, and when +they dismounted at the stable, they refused to look at each other upon +any pretext whatsoever. + +Baumberger, in his shirt-sleeves and smoking his big pipe, lounged up +from the pasture gate where he had been indolently rubbing the nose of a +buckskin two-year-old with an affectionate disposition, and wheezed out +the information that it was warm. He got the chance to admire a very +stiff pair of shoulders and a neck to match for his answer. + +“I wasn't referring to your manner, m' son,” he chuckled, after he +had watched Good Indian jerk the latigo loose and pull off the saddle, +showing the wet imprint of it on Keno's hide. “I wish the weather was as +cool!” + +Good Indian half turned with the saddle in his hands, and slapped it +down upon its side so close to Baumberger that he took a hasty step +backward, seized Keno's dragging bridle-reins, and started for the +stable. Baumberger happened to be in the way, and he backed again, more +hastily than before, to avoid being run over. + +“Snow blind?” he interrogated, forcing a chuckle which had more the +sound of a growl. + +Good Indian stopped in the doorway, slipped off the bridle, gave Keno a +hint by slapping him lightly on the rump, and when the horse had gone +on into the cool shade of the stable, and taking his place in his stall, +began hungrily nosing the hay in his manger, he came back to unsaddle +Huckleberry, who was nodding sleepily with his under lip sagging much +like Baumberger's while he waited. That gentleman seemed to be once more +obstructing the path of Good Indian. He dodged back as Grant brushed +past him. + +“By the great immortal Jehosaphat!” swore Baumberger, with an ugly leer +in his eyes, “I never knew before that I was so small I couldn't be seen +with the naked eye!” + +“You're so small in my estimation that a molecule would look like a +hay-stack alongside you!” Good Indian lifted the skirt of Evadna's +side-saddle, and proceeded calmly to loosen the cinch. His forehead +smoothed a trifle, as if that one sentence had relieved him of some of +his bottled bitterness. + +“YOU ain't shrunk up none--in your estimation,” Baumberger forgot his +pose of tolerant good nature to say. His heavy jaw trembled as if he had +been overtaken with a brief attack of palsy; so also did the hand which +replaced his pipe between his loosely quivering lips. “That little +yellow-haired witch must have given yuh the cold shoulder; but you +needn't take it out on me. Had a quarrel?” He painstakingly brushed some +ashes from his sleeve, once more the wheezing, chuckling fat man who +never takes anything very seriously. + +“Did you ever try minding your own business?” Grant inquired with much +politeness of tone. + +“We-e-ell, yuh see, m' son, it's my business to mind other people's +business!” He chuckled at what he evidently considered a witty retort. +“I've been pouring oil on the troubled waters all forenoon--maybe I've +kinda got the habit.” + +“Only you're pouring it on a fire this time.” + +“That dangerous, yuh mean?” + +“You're liable to start a conflagration you can't stop, and that may +consume yourself, is all.” + +“Say, they sure do teach pretty talk in them colleges!” he purred, +grinning loosely, his own speech purposely uncouth. + +Good Indian turned upon him, stopped as quickly, and let his anger +vent itself in a sneer. It had occurred to him that Baumberger was not +goading him without purpose--because Baumberger was not that kind of +man. Oddly enough, he had a short, vivid, mental picture of him and the +look on his face when he was playing the trout; it seemed to him that +there was something of that same cruel craftiness now in his eyes and +around his mouth. Good Indian felt for one instant as if he were that +trout, and Baumberger was playing him skillfully. “He's trying to make +me let go all holds and tip my hand,” he thought, keenly reading him, +and he steadied himself. + +“What d'yuh mean by me pouring oil on fire!” Baumberger urged +banteringly. “Sounds like the hero talking to the villain in one of +these here save-him-he's-my-sweetheart plays.” + +“You go to the devil,” said Good Indian shortly. + +“Don't repeat yourself, m' son; it's a sign uh failing powers. You said +that to me this morning, remember? And--don't--get--excited!” His right +arm raised slightly when he said that, as if he expected a blow for his +answer. + +Good Indian saw that involuntary arm movement, but he saw it from +the tail of his eye, and he drew his lips a little tighter. Clearly +Baumberger was deliberately trying to force him into a rage that would +spend some of its force in threats, perhaps. He therefore grew cunningly +calm, and said absolutely nothing. He led Huckleberry into the stable, +came out, and shut the door, and walked past Baumberger as if he were +not there at all. And Baumberger stood with his head lowered so that his +flabby jaw was resting upon his chest, and stared frowningly after him +until the yard gate swung shut behind his tall, stiffly erect figure. + +“I gotta WATCH that jasper,” he mumbled over his pipe, as a sort of +summing up, and started slowly to the house. Halfway there he spoke +again in the same mumbling undertone. “He's got the Injun look in his +eyes t'-day. I gotta WATCH him.” + +He did watch him. It is astonishing how a family can live for months +together, and not realize how little real privacy there is for anyone +until something especial comes up for secret discussion. It struck Good +Indian forcibly that afternoon, because he was anxious for a word in +private with Peaceful, or with Phoebe, and also with Evadna--if it was +only to continue their quarrel. + +At dinner he could not speak without being heard by all. After dinner, +the family showed an unconscious disposition to “bunch.” Peaceful and +Baumberger sat and smoked upon that part of the porch which was coolest, +and the boys stayed close by so that they could hear what might be said +about the amazing state of affairs down in the orchard. + +Evadna, it is true, strolled rather self-consciously off to the head of +the pond, carefully refraining, as she passed, from glancing toward Good +Indian. He felt that she expected him to follow, but he wanted first to +ask Peaceful a few questions, and to warn him not to trust Baumberger, +so he stayed where he was, sprawled upon his back with a much-abused +cushion under his head and his hat tilted over his face, so that he +could see Baumberger's face without the scrutiny attracting notice. + +He did not gain anything by staying, for Peaceful had little to say, +seeming to be occupied mostly with dreamy meditations. He nodded, +now and then, in response to Baumberger's rumbling monologues, and +occasionally he removed his pipe from his mouth long enough to reply +with a sentence where the nod was not sufficient. Baumberger droned on, +mostly relating the details of cases he had won against long odds--cases +for the most part similar to this claim-jumping business. + +Nothing had been done that day, Grant gathered, beyond giving the eight +claimants due notice to leave. The boys were evidently dissatisfied +about something, though they said nothing. They shifted their positions +with pettish frequency, and threw away cigarettes only half smoked, and +scowled at dancing leaf-shadows on the ground. + +When he could no longer endure the inaction, he rose, stretched his arms +high above his head, settled his hat into place, gave Jack a glance of +meaning, and went through the kitchen to the milk-house. He felt sure +that Baumberger's ears were pricked toward the sound of his footsteps, +and he made them purposely audible. + +“Hello, Mother Hart,” he called out cheerfully to Phoebe, pottering down +in the coolness. “Any cream going to waste, or buttermilk, or cake?” He +went down to her, and laid his hand upon her shoulder with a caressing +touch which brought tears into her eyes. “Don't you worry a bit, little +mother,” he said softly. “I think we can beat them at their own game. +They've stacked the deck, but we'll beat it, anyhow.” His hand slid down +to her arm, and gave it a little, reassuring squeeze. + +“Oh, Grant, Grant!” She laid her forehead against him for a moment, then +looked up at him with a certain whimsical solicitude. “Never mind our +trouble now. What's this about you and Vadnie? The boys seem to think +you two are going to make a match of it. And HAVE you been quarreling, +you two? I only want,” she added, deprecatingly, “to see my biggest boy +happy, and if I can do anything in any way to help--” + +“You can't, except just don't worry when we get to scrapping.” His eyes +smiled down at her with their old, quizzical humor, which she had not +seen in them for some days. “I foresee that we're due to scrap a good +deal of the time,” he predicted. “We're both pretty peppery. But we'll +make out, all right. You didn't”--he blushed consciously--“you didn't +think I was going to--to fall dead in love--” + +“Didn't I?” Phoebe laughed at him openly. “I'd have been more surprised +if you hadn't. Why, my grief! I know enough about human nature, I hope, +to expect--” + +“Churning?” The voice of Baumberger purred down to them. There he stood +bulkily at the top of the steps, good-naturedly regarding them. “Mr. +Hart and I are goin' to take a ride up to the station--gotta send a +telegram or two about this little affair”--he made a motion with his +pipe toward the orchard--“and I just thought a good, cold drink of +buttermilk before we start wouldn't be bad.” His glance just grazed Good +Indian, and passed him over as being of no consequence. + +“If you don't happen to have any handy, it don't matter in the least,” + he added, and turned to go when Phoebe shook her head. “Anything we can +get for yuh at the store, Mrs. Hart? Won't be any trouble at all--Oh, +all right.” He had caught another shake of the head. + +“We may be gone till supper-time,” he explained further, “and I trust +to your good sense, Mrs. Hart, to see that the boys keep away from those +fellows down there.” The pipe, and also his head, again indicated the +men in the orchard. “We don't want any ill feeling stirred up, you +understand, and so they'd better just keep away from 'em. They're good +boys--they'll do as you say.” He leered at her ingratiatingly, shot a +keen, questioning look at Good Indian, and went his lumbering way. + +Grant went to the top of the steps, and made sure that he had really +gone before he said a word. Even then he sat down upon the edge of the +stairway with his back to the pond, so that he could keep watch of the +approaches to the spring-house; he had become an exceedingly suspicious +young man overnight. + +“Mother Hart, on the square, what do you think of Baumberger?” he asked +her abruptly. “Come and sit down; I want to talk with you--if I can +without having the whole of Idaho listening.” + +“Oh, Grant--I don't know what to think! He seems all right, and I don't +know why he shouldn't be just what he seems; he's got the name of +being a good lawyer. But something--well, I get notions about things +sometimes. And I can't, somehow, feel just right about him taking up +this jumping business. I don't know why. I guess it's just a feeling, +because I can see you don't like him. And the boys don't seem to, +either, for some reason. I guess it's because he won't let 'em get right +after those fellows and drive 'em off the ranch. They've been uneasy as +they could be all day.” She sat down upon a rough stool just inside +the door, and looked up at him with troubled eyes. “And I'm getting +it, too--seems like I'd go all to pieces if I can't do SOMETHING!” + She sighed, and tried to cover the sigh with a laugh--which was not, +however, a great success. “I wish I could be as cool-headed as Thomas,” + she said, with a tinge of petulance. “It don't seem to worry him none!” + +“What does he think of Baumberger? Is he going to let him take the case +and handle it to please himself?” Good Indian was tapping his boot-toe +thoughtfully upon the bottom step, and glancing up now and then as a +precaution against being overheard. + +“I guess so,” she admitted, answering the last question first. “I +haven't had a real good chance to talk to Thomas all day. Baumberger has +been with him most of the time. But I guess he is; anyway, Baumberger +seems to take it for granted he's got the case. Thomas hates to hurt +anybody's feelings, and, even if he didn't want him, he'd hate to say +so. But he's as good a lawyer as any, I guess. And Thomas seems to like +him well enough. Thomas,” she reminded Good Indian unnecessarily, “never +does say much about anything.” + +“I'd like to get a chance to talk to him,” Good Indian observed. +“I'll have to just lead him off somewhere by main strength, I guess. +Baumberger sticks to him like a bur to a dog's tail. What are those +fellows doing down there now? Does anybody know?” + +“You heard what he said to me just now,” Phoebe said, impatiently. “He +don't want anybody to go near. It's terribly aggravating,” she confessed +dispiritedly, “to have a lot of ruffians camped down, cool as you +please, on your own ranch, and not be allowed to drive 'em off. I don't +wonder the boys are all sulky. If Baumberger wasn't here at all, I guess +we'd have got rid of 'em before now. I don't know as I think very much +of lawyers, anyhow. I believe I'd a good deal rather fight first and +go, to law about it afterward if I had to. But Thomas is so--CALM!” + +“I think I'll go down and have a look,” said Good Indian suddenly. “I'm +not under Baumberger's orders, if the rest of the bunch is. And I wish +you'd tell Peaceful I want to talk to him, Mother Hart--will you? Tell +him to ditch his guardian angel somehow. I'd like to see him on the +quiet if I can, but if I can't--” + +“Can't be nice, and forgiving, and repentant, and--a dear?” Evadna had +crept over to him by way of the rocks behind the pond, and at every +pause in her questioning she pushed him forward by his two shoulders. +“I'm so furious I could beat you! What do you mean, savage, by letting a +lady stay all afternoon by herself, waiting for you to come and coax her +into being nice to you? Don't you know I H-A-ATE you?” She had him by +the ears, then, pulling his head erratically from side to side, and she +finished by giving each ear a little slap and laid her arms around his +neck. “Please don't look at me that way, Aunt Phoebe,” she said, when +she discovered her there inside the door. “Here's a horrible young +villain who doesn't know how to behave, and makes me do all the making +up. I don't like him one bit, and I just came to tell him so and be +done. And I don't suppose,” she added, holding her two hands tightly +over his mouth, “he has a word to say for himself.” + +Since he was effectually gagged, Grant had not a word to say. Even when +he had pulled her hands away and held them prisoners in his own, he said +nothing. This was Evadna in a new and unaccountable mood, it seemed to +him. She had certainly been very angry with him at noon. She had accused +him, in that roundabout way which seems to be a woman's favorite +method of reaching a real grievance, of being fickle and neglectful and +inconsiderate and a brute. + +The things she had said to him on the way down the grade had rankled in +his mind, and stirred all the sullen pride in his nature to life, and +he could not forget them as easily as she appeared to have done. Good +Indian was not in the habit of saying things, even in anger, which he +did not mean, and he could not understand how anyone else could do so. +And the things she had said! + +But here she was, nevertheless, laughing at him and blushing adorably +because he still held her fast, and making the blood of him race most +unreasonably. + +“Don't scold me, Aunt Phoebe,” she begged, perhaps because there was +something in Phoebe's face which she did not quite understand, and so +mistook for disapproval of her behavior. “I should have told you last +night that we're--well, I SUPPOSE we're supposed to be engaged!” She +twisted her hands away from him, and came down the steps to her aunt. +“It all happened so unexpectedly--really, I never dreamed I cared +anything for him, Aunt Phoebe, until he made me care. And last night +I couldn't tell you, and this morning I was going to, but all this +horrible trouble came up--and, anyway,” she finished with a flash of +pretty indignation, “I think Grant might have told you himself! I don't +think it's a bit nice of him to leave everything like that for me. He +might have told you before he went chasing off to--to Hartley.” She +put her arms around her aunt's neck. “You aren't angry, are you, +Aunt Phoebe?” she coaxed. “You--you know you said you wanted me to be +par-TIC-ularly nice to Grant!” + +“Great grief, child! You needn't choke me to death. Of course I'm not +angry.” But Phoebe's eyes did not brighten. + +“You look angry,” Evadna pouted, and kissed her placatingly. + +“I've got plenty to be worked up over, without worrying over your love +affairs, Vadnie.” Phoebe's eyes sought Grant's anxiously. “I don't doubt +but what it's more important to you than anything else on earth, but I'm +thinking some of the home I'm likely to lose.” + +Evadna drew back, and made a movement to go. + +“Oh, I'm sorry I interrupted you then, Aunt Phoebe. I suppose you and +Grant were busy discussing those men in the orchard--” + +“Don't be silly, child. You aren't interrupting anybody, and there's no +call for you to run off like that. We aren't talking secrets that I know +of.” + +In some respects the mind of Good Indian was extremely simple and +direct. His knowledge of women was rudimentary and based largely upon +his instincts rather than any experience he had had with them. He had +been extremely uncomfortable in the knowledge that Evadna was angry, +and strongly impelled, in spite of his hurt pride, to make overtures for +peace. He was puzzled, as well as surprised, when she seized him by the +shoulders and herself made peace so bewitchingly that he could scarcely +realize it at first. But since fate was kind, and his lady love no +longer frowned upon him, he made the mistake of taking it for granted +she neither asked nor expected him to explain his seeming neglect of her +and his visit to Miss Georgie at Hartley. + +She was not angry with him. Therefore, he was free to turn his whole +attention to this trouble which had come upon his closest friends. He +reached out, caught Evadna by the hand, pulled her close to him, +and smiled upon her in a way to make her catch her breath in a most +unaccountable manner. + +But he did not say anything to her; he was a young man unused to +dalliance when there were serious things at hand. + +“I'm going down there and see what they're up to,” he told Phoebe, +giving Evadna's hand a squeeze and letting it go. “I suspect there's +something more than keeping the peace behind Baumberger's anxiety to +have them left strictly alone. The boys had better keep away, though.” + +“Are you going down in the orchard?” Evadna rounded her unbelievably +blue eyes at him. “Then I'm going along.” + +“You'll do nothing of the kind, little Miss Muffit,” he declared from +the top step. + +“Why not?” + +“I might want to do some swearing.” He grinned down at her, and started +off. + +“Now, Grant, don't you do anything rash!” Phoebe called after him +sharply. + +“'Don't--get--excited!'” he retorted, mimicking Baumberger. + +“I'm going a little way, whether you want me to or not,” Evadna +threatened, pouting more than ever. + +She did go as far as the porch with him, and was kissed and sent back +like a child. She did not, however, go back to her aunt, but ran into +her own room, where she could look out through the grove toward the +orchard--and to the stable as well, though that view did not interest +her particularly at first. It was pure accident that made her witness +what took place at the gate. + + + +CHAPTER XVII. A LITTLE TARGET-PRACTICE + +A grimy buck with no hat of any sort and with his hair straggling +unbraided over one side of his face to conceal a tumor which grew just +over his left eye like a large, ripe plum, stood outside the gate, in +doubt whether to enter or remain where he was. When he saw Good Indian +he grunted, fumbled in his blanket, and held out a yellowish envelope. + +“Ketchum Squaw-talk-far-off,” he explained gutturally. + +Good Indian took the envelope, thinking it must be a telegram, though +he could not imagine who would be sending him one. His name was written +plainly upon the outside, and within was a short note scrawled upon a +telegraph form: + +“Come up as soon as you possibly can. I've something to tell you.” + +That was what she had written. He read it twice before he looked up. + +“What time you ketchum this?” he asked, tapping the message with his +finger. + +“Mebbyso one hour.” The buck pulled a brass watch ostentatiously +from under his blanket, held it to his ear a moment, as if he needed +auricular assurance that it was running properly, and pointed to the +hour of three. “Ketchum one dolla, mebbyso pikeway quick. No stoppum,” + he said virtuously. + +“You see Peaceful in Hartley?” Good Indian asked the question from an +idle impulse; in reality, he was wondering what it was that Miss Georgie +had to tell him. + +“Peacefu', him go far off. On train. All same heap fat man go 'long. +Mebbyso Shoshone, mebbyso Pocatello.” + +Good Indian looked down at the note, and frowned; that, probably, +was what she had meant to tell him, though he could not see where the +knowledge was going to help him any. If Peaceful had gone to Shoshone, +he was gone, and that settled it. Undoubtedly he would return the next +day--perhaps that night, even. He was beginning to feel the need of a +quiet hour in which to study the tangle, but he had a suspicion that +Baumberger had some reason other than a desire for peace in wanting the +jumpers left to themselves, and he started toward the orchard, as he had +at first intended. + +“Mebbyso ketchum one dolla, yo',” hinted Charlie, the buck. + +But Good Indian went on without paying any attention to him. At the road +he met Jack and Wally, just returning from the orchard. + +“No use going down there,” Jack informed him sulkily. “They're just +laying in the shade with their guns handy, doing nothing. They won't let +anybody cross their line, and they won't say anything--not even when +you cuss 'em. Wally and I got black in the face trying to make them come +alive. Baumberger got back yet? Wally and I have got a scheme--” + +“He and your dad took the train for Shoshone. Say, does anyone know what +that bunch over in the meadow is up to?” Good Indian leaned his back +against a tree, and eyed the two morosely. + +“Clark and Gene are over there,” said Wally. “But I'd gamble they aren't +doing any more than these fellows are. They haven't started to pan out +any dirt--they haven't done a thing, it looks like, but lay around in +the shade. I must say I don't sabe their play. And the worst of it is,” + he added desperately, “a fellow can't do anything.” + +“I'm going to break out pretty darned sudden,” Jack observed calmly. +“I feel it coming on.” He smiled, but there was a look of steel in his +eyes. + +Good Indian glanced at him sharply. + +“Now, you fellows' listen to me,” he said. “This thing is partly my +fault. I could have prevented it, maybe, if I hadn't been so taken up +with my own affairs. Old Peppajee told me Baumberger was up to some +devilment when he first came down here. He heard him talking to Saunders +in Pete Hamilton's stable. And the first night he was here, Peppajee and +I saw him down at the stable at midnight, talking to someone. Peppajee +kept on his trail till he got that snake bite, and he warned me a +plenty. But I didn't take much stock in it--or if I did--” He lifted his +shoulders expressively. + +“So,” he went on, after a minute of bitter thinking, “I want you to keep +out of this. You know how your mother would feel--You don't want to get +foolish. You can keep an eye on them--to-night especially. I've an idea +they're waiting for dark; and if I knew why, I'd be a lot to the good. +And if I knew why old Baumberger took your father off so suddenly, +why--I'd be wiser than I am now.” He lifted his hat, brushed the +moisture from his forehead, and gave a grunt of disapproval when his +eyes rested on Jack. + +“What yuh loaded down like that for?” he demanded. “You fellows better +put those guns in cold storage. I'm like Baumberger in one respect--we +don't want any violence!” He grinned without any feeling of mirth. + +“Something else is liable to be put in cold storage first,” Wally +hinted, significantly. “I must say I like this standing around and +looking dangerous, without making a pass! I wish something would break +loose somewhere.” + +“I notice you're packing yours, large as life,” Jack pointed out. “Maybe +you're just wearing it for an ornament, though.” + +“Sure!” Good Indian, feeling all at once the utter futility of standing +there talking, left them grumbling over their forced inaction, without +explaining where he was going, or what he meant to do. Indeed, he +scarcely knew himself. He was in that uncomfortable state of mind where +one feels that one must do something, without having the faintest idea +of what that something is, or how it is to be done. It seemed to him +that they were all in the same mental befuddlement, and it seemed +impossible to stay on the ranch another hour without making a hostile +move of some sort--and he knew that, when he did make a move, he at +least ought to know why he did it. + +The note in his pocket gave him an excuse for action of some sort, even +though he felt sure that nothing would come of it; at least, he thought, +he would have a chance to discuss the thing with Miss Georgie again--and +while he was not a man who must have everything put into words, he had +found comfort and a certain clarity of thought in talking with her. + +“Why don't you invite me to go along?” Evadna challenged from the gate, +when he was ready to start. She laughed when she said it, but there was +something beneath the laughter, if he had only been close enough to read +it. + +“I didn't think you'd want to ride through all that dust and heat again +to-day,” he called back. “You're better off in the shade.” + +“Going to call on 'Squaw-talk-far-off'--AGAIN?” She was still laughing, +with something else beneath the laugh. + +He glanced at her quickly, wondering where she had gotten the name, and +in his wonder neglected to make audible reply. Also he passed over the +change to ride back to the gate and tell her good-by--with a hasty kiss, +perhaps, from the saddle--as a lover should have done. + +He was not used to love-making. For him, it was settled that they loved +each other, and would marry some day--he hoped the day would be soon. It +did not occur to him that a girl wants to be told over and over that she +is the only woman in the whole world worth a second thought or glance; +nor that he should stop and say just where he was going, and what he +meant to do, and how reluctant he was to be away from her. Trouble sat +upon his mind like a dead weight, and dulled his perception, perhaps. +He waved his hand to her from the stable, and galloped down the trail to +the Point o' Rocks, and his mind, so far as Evadna was concerned, was at +ease. + +Evadna, however, was crying, with her arms folded upon the top of the +gate, before the cloud which marked his passing had begun to sprinkle +the gaunt, gray sagebushes along the trail with a fresh layer of choking +dust. Jack and Wally came up, scowling at the world and finding no +words to match their gloom. Wally gave her a glance, and went on to +the blacksmith shop, but Jack went straight up to her, for he liked her +well. + +“What's the matter?” he asked dully. “Mad because you can't smoke up the +ranch?” + +Evadna fumbled blindly for her handkerchief, scoured her eyes well when +she found it, and put up the other hand to further shield her face. + +“Oh, the whole place is like a GRAVEYARD,” she complained. “Nobody will +talk, or do anything but just wander around! I just can't STAND it!” + Which was not frank of her. + +“It's too hot to do much of anything,” he said apologetically. “We might +take a ride, if you don't mind the heat.” + +“You don't want to ride,” she objected petulantly. “Why didn't you go +with Good Indian?” he countered. + +“Because I didn't want to. And I do wish you'd quit calling him that; he +has a real name, I believe.” + +“If you're looking for a scrap,” grinned Jack, “I'll stake you to my six +gun, and you can go down and kill off a few of those claim-jumpers. You +seem to be in just about the proper frame uh mind to murder the whole +bunch. Fly at it!” + +“It begins to look as if we women would have to do something,” she +retorted cruelly. “There doesn't seem to be a man on the ranch with +spirit enough to stop them from digging up the whole--” + +“I guess that'll be about enough,” Jack interrupted her, coldly. “Why +didn't you say that to Good Indian?” + +“I told you not to call him that. I don't see why everybody is so mean +to-day. There isn't a person--” + +When Jack laughed, he shut his eyes until he looked through narrow +slits under heavy lashes, and showed some very nice teeth, and two deep +dimples besides the one which always stood in his chin. He laughed then, +for the first time that day, and if Evadna had been in a less vixenish +temper she would have laughed with him just as everyone else always did. +But instead of that, she began to cry again, which made Jack feel very +much a brute. + +“Oh, come on and be good,” he urged remorsefully. But Evadna turned and +ran back into the house and into her room, and cried luxuriously into +her pillow. Jack, peeping in at the window which opened upon the porch, +saw her there, huddled upon the bed. + +In the spring-house his mother sat crying silently over her +helplessness, and failed to respond to his comforting pats upon the +shoulder. Donny struck at him viciously when Jack asked him an idle +question, and Charlie, the Indian with the tumor over his eye, scowled +from the corner of the house where he was squatting until someone +offered him fruit, or food, or tobacco. He was of an acquisitive nature, +was Charlie--and the road to his favor must be paved with gifts. + +“This is what I call hell,” Jack stated aloud, and went straight away to +the strawberry patch, took up his stand with his toes against Stanley's +corner stake, cursed him methodically until he had quite exhausted his +vocabulary, and put a period to his forceful remarks by shooting a neat, +round hole through Stanley's coffee-pot. And Jack was the mild one of +the family. + +By the time he had succeeded in puncturing recklessly the frying-pan, +and also the battered pan in which Stanley no doubt meant to wash his +samples of soil, his good humor returned. So also did the other boys, +running in long leaps through the garden and arriving at the spot very +belligerent and very much out of breath. + +“Got to do something to pass away the time,” Jack grinned, bringing his +front sight once more to bear upon the coffee--pot, already badly dented +and showing three black holes. “And I ain't offering any violence +to anybody. You can't hang a man, Mr. Stanley, for shooting up a +frying-pan. And I wouldn't--hurt--you--for--anything!” He had just +reloaded, so that his bullets saw him to the end of the sentence. + +Stanley watched his coffee-pot dance and roll like a thing in pain, and +swore when all was done. But he did not shoot, though one could see how +his fingers must itch for the feel of the trigger. + +“Your old dad will sweat blood for this--and you'll be packing your +blanket on your back and looking for work before snow flies,” was his +way of summing up. + +Still, he did not shoot. + +It was like throwing pebbles at the bowlder in the Malad, the day +before. + +When Phoebe came running in terror toward the fusillade, with Marie +and her swollen face, and Evadna and her red eyes following in great +trepidation far behind, they found four claim-jumpers purple from long +swearing, and the boys gleefully indulging in revolver practice with +various camp utensils for the targets. + +They stopped when their belts were empty as well as their guns, and they +went back to the house with the women, feeling much better. Afterward +they searched the house for more “shells,” clattering from room to room, +and looking into cigar boxes and upon out-of-the-way shelves, while +Phoebe expostulated in the immediate background. + +“Your father would put a stop to it pretty quick if he was here,” she +declared over and over. “Just because they didn't shoot back this time +is no sign they won't next time you boys go to hectoring them.” All the +while she knew she was wasting her breath, and she had a secret fear +that her manner and her tones were unconvincing. If she had been a man, +she would have been their leader, perhaps. So she retreated at last +to her favorite refuge, the milk-house, and tried to cover her secret +approval with grumbling to herself. + +There was a lull in the house. The boys, it transpired, had gone in +a body to Hartley after more cartridges, and the cloud of dust which +hovered long over the trail testified to their haste. They returned +surprisingly soon, and they would scarcely wait for their supper before +they hurried back through the garden. One would think that they were on +their way to a dance, so eager they were. + +They dug themselves trenches in various parts of the garden, laid +themselves gleefully upon their stomachs, and proceeded to exchange, +at the top of their strong, young voices, ideas upon the subject of +claim-jumping, and to punctuate their remarks with leaden periods +planted neatly and with precision in the immediate vicinity of one of +the four. + +They had some trouble with Donny, because he was always jumping up that +he might yell the louder when one of the enemy was seen to step about +uneasily whenever a bullet pinged closer than usual, and the rifles +began to bark viciously now and then. It really was unsafe for one to +dance a clog, with flapping arms and taunting laughter, within range of +those rises, and they told Donny so. + +They ordered him back to the house; they threw clods of earth at his +bare legs; they threatened and they swore, but it was not until Wally +got him by the collar and shook him with brotherly thoroughness that +Donny retreated in great indignation to the house. + +They were just giving themselves wholly up to the sport of sending +little spurts of loose earth into the air as close as was safe to +Stanley, and still much too close for his peace of mind or that of +his fellows, when Donny returned unexpectedly with the shotgun and an +enthusiasm for real bloodshed. + +He fired once from the thicket of currant bushes, and, from the +remarks which Stanley barked out in yelping staccato, he punctured that +gentleman's person in several places with the fine shot of which the +charge consisted. He would have fired again if the recoil had not thrown +him quite off his balance, and it is possible that someone would have +been killed as a result. For Stanley began firing with murderous intent, +and only the dusk and Good Indian's opportune arrival prevented serious +trouble. + +Good Indian had talked long with Miss Georgie, and had agreed with +her that, for the present at least, there must be no violence. He had +promised her flatly that he would do all in his power to keep the peace, +and he had gone again to the Indian camp to see if Peppajee or some of +his fellows could give him any information about Saunders. + +Saunders had disappeared unaccountably, after a surreptitious conference +with Baumberger the day before, and it was that which Miss Georgie had +to tell him. Saunders was in the habit of sleeping late, so that she did +not know until noon that he was gone. Pete was worried, and garrulously +feared the worst. The worst, according to Pete Hamilton, was sudden +death of a hemorrhage. + +Miss Georgie asserted unfeelingly that Saunders was more in danger of +dying from sheer laziness than of consumption, and she even went so far +as to hint cynically, that even his laziness was largely hypocritical. + +“I don't believe there's a single honest thing about the fellow,” she +said to Good Indian. “When he coughs, it sounds as if he just did it for +effect. When he lies in the shade asleep, I've seen him watching people +from under his lids. When he reads, his ears seem always pricked up to +hear everything that's going on, and he gives those nasty little +slanty looks at everybody within sight. I don't believe he's really +gone--because I can't imagine him being really anything. But I do +believe he's up to something mean and sneaky, and, since Peppajee has +taken this matter to heart, maybe he can find out something. I think you +ought to go and see him, anyway, Mr. Imsen.” + +So Good Indian had gone to the Indian camp, and had afterward ridden +along the rim of the bluff, because Sleeping Turtle had seen someone +walking through the sagebrush in that direction. From the rim-rock above +the ranch, Good Indian had heard the shooting, though the trees hid from +his sight what was taking place, and he had given over his search for +Saunders and made haste to reach home. + +He might have gone straight down the bluff afoot, through a rift in +the rim-rock where it was possible to climb down into the fissure and +squeeze out through a narrow opening to the bowlder-piled bluff. But +that took almost as much time as he would consume in riding around, and +so he galloped back to the grade and went down at a pace to break his +neck and that of Keno as well if his horse stumbled. + +He reached home in time to see Donny run across the road with the +shotgun, and the orchard in time to prevent a general rush upon Stanley +and his fellows--which was fortunate. He got them all out of the garden +and into the house by sheer determination and biting sarcasm, and bore +with surprising patience their angry upbraidings. He sat stoically +silent while they called him a coward and various other things which +were unpleasant in the extreme, and he even smiled when they finally +desisted and trailed off sullenly to bed. + +But when they were gone he sat alone upon the porch, brooding over +the day and all it had held of trouble and perplexity. Evadna appeared +tentatively in the open door, stood there for a minute or two waiting +for some overture upon his part, gave him a chilly good-night when she +realized he was not even thinking of her, and left him. So great was +his absorption that he let her go, and it never occurred to him that she +might possibly consider herself ill-used. He would have been distressed +if he could have known how she cried herself to sleep but, manlike, he +would also have been puzzled. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. A SHOT FROM THE RIM-ROCK + +Good Indian was going to the stable to feed the horses next morning, +when something whined past him and spatted viciously against the side of +the chicken-house. Immediately afterward he thought he heard the sharp +crack which a rifle makes, but the wind was blowing strongly up the +valley, and he could not be sure. + +He went over to the chicken-house, probed with his knife-blade into +the plank where was the splintered hole, and located a bullet. He was +turning it curiously in his fingers when another one plunked into the +boards, three feet to one side of him; this time he was sure of the +gun-sound, and he also saw a puff of blue smoke rise up on the rim-rock +above him. He marked the place instinctively with his eyes, and went on +to the stable, stepping rather more quickly than was his habit. + +Inside, he sat down upon the oats-box, and meditated upon what he should +do. He could not even guess at his assailant, much less reach him. A +dozen men could be picked off by a rifle in the hands of one at the top, +while they were climbing that bluff. + +Even if one succeeded in reaching the foot of the rim-rock, there was +a forty-foot wall of unscalable rock, with just the one narrow fissure +where it was possible to climb up to the level above, by using both +hands to cling to certain sharp projections while the feet sought a +niche here and there in the wall. Easy enough--if one were but left to +climb in peace, but absolutely suicidal if an enemy stood above. + +He scowled through the little paneless window at what he could see of +the bluff, and thought of the mile-long grade to be climbed and the +rough stretch of lava rock, sage, and scattered bowlders to be gone over +before one could reach the place upon a horse. Whoever was up there, he +would have more than enough time to get completely away from the spot +before it would be possible to gain so much as a glimpse of him. + +And who could he be? And why was he shooting at Good Indian, so far a +non-combatant, guiltless of even firing a single shot since the trouble +began? + +Wally came in, his hat far back on his head, a cigarette in the +corner of his mouth, and his manner an odd mixture of conciliation and +defiance, ready to assume either whole-heartedly at the first word from +the man he had cursed so unstintingly before he slept. He looked at Good +Indian, caught sight of the leaden pellet he was thoughtfully turning +round and round in his fingers, and chose to ignore for the moment any +unpleasantness in their immediate past. + +“Where you ketchum?” he asked, coming a bit closer. + +“In the side of the chicken-house.” Good Indian's tone was laconic. + +Wally reached out, and took the bullet from him that he might juggle it +curiously in his own fingers. “I don't think!” he scouted. + +“There's another one there to match this,” Good Indian stated calmly, +“and if I should walk over there after it, I'll gamble there'd be more.” + +Wally dropped the flattened bullet, stooped, and groped for it in the +litter on the floor, and when he had found it he eyed it more curiously +than before. But he would have died in his tracks rather than ask a +question. + +“Didn't anybody take a shot at you, as you came from the house?” Good +Indian asked when he saw the mood of the other. + +“If he did, he was careful not to let me find it out.” Wally's +expression hardened. + +“He was more careless a while ago,” said Good Indian. “Some fellow up +on the bluff sent me a little morning salute. But,” he added slowly, and +with some satisfaction, “he's a mighty poor shot.” + +Jack sauntered in much as Wally had done, saw Good Indian sitting there, +and wrinkled his eyes shut in a smile. + +“Please, sir, I never meant a word I said!” he began, with exaggerated +trepidation. “Why the dickens didn't you murder the whole yapping bunch +of us, Grant?” He clapped his hand affectionately upon the other's +shoulder. “We kinda run amuck yesterday afternoon,” he confessed +cheerfully, “but it sure was fun while it lasted!” + +“There's liable to be some more fun of the same kind,” Wally informed +him shortly. “Good Injun says someone on the bluff took a shot at him +when he was coming to the stable. If any of them jumpers--” + +“It's easy to find out if it was one of them,” Grant cut in, as if the +idea had just come to him. “We can very soon see if they're all on their +little patch of soil. Let's go take a look.” + +They went out guardedly, their eyes upon the rim-rock. Good Indian led +the way through the corral, into the little pasture, and across that to +where the long wall of giant poplars shut off the view. + +“I admire courage,” he grinned, “but I sure do hate a fool.” Which was +all the explanation he made for the detour that hid them from sight of +anyone stationed upon the bluff, except while they were passing from the +stable-door to the corral; and that, Jack said afterward, didn't take +all day. + +Coming up from the rear, they surprised Stanley and one other peacefully +boiling coffee in a lard pail which they must have stolen in the night +from the ranch junk heap behind the blacksmith shop. The three peered +out at them from a distant ambush, made sure that there were only two +men there, and went on to the disputed part of the meadows. There the +four were pottering about, craning necks now and then toward the ranch +buildings as if they half feared an assault of some kind. Good Indian +led the way back to the stable. + +“If there was any way of getting around up there without being seen,” + he began thoughtfully, “but there isn't. And while I think of it,” he +added, “we don't want to let the women know about this.” + +“They're liable to suspect something,” Wally reminded dryly, “if one of +us gets laid out cold.” + +Good Indian laughed. “It doesn't look as if he could hit anything +smaller than a haystack. And anyway, I think I'm the boy he's after, +though I don't see why. I haven't done a thing--yet.” + +“Let's feed the horses and then pace along to the house, one at a time, +and find out,” was Jack's reckless suggestion. “Anybody that knows us at +all can easy tell which is who. And I guess it would be tolerably safe.” + +Foolhardy as the thing looked to be, they did it, each after his own +manner of facing a known danger. Jack went first because, as he said, +it was his idea, and he was willing to show his heart was in the right +place. He rolled and lighted a cigarette, wrinkled his eyes shut in a +laugh, and strolled nonchalantly out of the stable. + +“Keep an eye on the rim-rock, boys,” he called back, without turning his +head. A third of the way he went, stopped dead still, and made believe +inspect something upon the ground at his feet. + +“Ah, go ON!” bawled Wally, his nerves all on edge. + +Jack dug his heel into the dust, blew the ashes from his cigarette, and +went on slowly to the gate, passed through, and stood well back, out of +sight under the trees, to watch. + +Wally snorted disdain of any proceeding so spectacular, but he was as he +was made, and he could not keep his dare-devil spirit quite in abeyance. +He twitched his hat farther back on his head, stuck his hands deep into +his pockets, and walked deliberately out into the open, his neck as +stiff as a newly elected politician on parade. He did not stop, as Jack +had done, but he facetiously whistled “Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are +marching,” and he went at a pace which permitted him to finish the tune +before he reached the gate. He joined Jack in the shade, and his face, +when he looked back to the stable, was anxious. + +“It must be Grant he wants, all right,” he muttered, resting one hand +on Jack's shoulder and speaking so he could not be overheard from the +house. “And I wish to the Lord he'd stay where he's at.” + +But Good Indian was already two paces from the door, coming steadily up +the path, neither faster nor slower than usual, with his eyes taking in +every object within sight as he went, and his thumb hooked inside his +belt, near where his gun swung at his hip. It was not until his free +hand was upon the gate that lack and Wally knew they had been holding +their breath. + +“Well--here I am,” said Good Indian, after a minute, smiling down at +them with the sunny look in his eyes. “I'm beginning to think I had a +dream. Only”--he dipped his fingers into the pocket of his shirt and +brought up the flattened bullet--“that is pretty blamed realistic--for +a dream.” His eyes searched involuntarily the rim-rock with a certain +incredulity, as if he could not bring himself to believe in that bullet, +after all. + +“But two of the jumpers are gone,” said Wally. “I reckon we stirred 'em +up some yesterday, and they're trying to get back at us.” + +“They've picked a dandy place,” Good Indian observed. “I think maybe it +would be a good idea to hold that fort ourselves. We should have thought +of that; only I never thought--” + +Phoebe, heavy-eyed and pale from wakefulness and worry, came then, and +called them in to breakfast. Gene and Clark came in, sulky still, and +inclined to snappishness when they did speak. Donny announced that he +had been in the garden, and that Stanley told him he would blow the top +of his head off if he saw him there again. “And I never done a thing to +him!” he declared virtuously. + +Phoebe set down the coffee-pot with an air of decision. + +“I want you boys to remember one thing,” she said firmly, “and that is +that there must be no more shooting going on around here. It isn't only +what Baumberger thinks--I don't know as ho's got anything to say about +it--it's what _I_ think. I know I'm only a woman, and you all consider +yourselves men, whether you are or not, and it's beneath your dignity, +maybe, to listen to your mother. + +“But your mother has seen the day when she was counted on as much, +almost, as if she'd been a man. Why, great grief! I've stood for hours +peeking out a knot-hole in the wall, with that same old shotgun Donny +got hold of, ready to shoot the first Injun that stuck his nose from +behind a rock.” + +The color came into her cheeks at the memory, and a sparkle into her +eyes. “I've seen real fighting, when it was a life-and-death matter. +I've tended to the men that were shot before my eyes, and I've sung +hymns over them that died. You boys have grown up on some of the stories +about the things I've been through. + +“And here last night,” she reproached irritatedly, “I heard someone say: +'Oh, come on--we're scaring Mum to death!' The idea! 'scaring Mum!' I +can tell you young jackanapes one thing: If I thought there was anything +to be gained by it, or if it would save trouble instead of MAKING +trouble, 'MUM' could go down there right now, old as she is, and SCARED +as she is, and clean out the whole, measly outfit!” She stared sternly +at the row of faces bent over their plates. + +“Oh, you can laugh--it's only your mother!” she exclaimed indignantly, +when she saw Jack's eyes go shut and Gene's mouth pucker into a tight +knot. “But I'll have you to know I'm boss of this ranch when your +father's gone, and if there's any more of that kid foolishness +to-day--laying behind a currant bush and shooting COFFEE-POTS!--I'll +thrash the fellow that starts it! It isn't the kind of fighting I'VE +been used to. I may be away behind the times--I guess I am!--but I've +always been used to the idea that guns weren't to be used unless you +meant business. This thing of getting out and PLAYING gun-fight is kinda +sickening to a person that's seen the real thing. + +“'Scaring Mum to death!”' She seemed to find it very hard to forget +that, or to forgive it. “'SCARING MUM'--and Jack, there, was born in the +time of an Indian uprising, and I laid with your father's revolver on +the pillow where I could put my hand on it, day or night! YOU scare +Mum! MUM will scare YOU, if there's any more of that let's-play-Injun +business going on around this ranch. Why, I'd lead you down there by the +ear, every mother's son of you, and tell that man Stanley to SPANK you!” + +“Mum can whip her weight in wildcats any old time,” Wally announced +after a heavy silence, and glared aggressively from one foolish-looking +face to another. + +As was frequently the case, the wave of Phoebe's wrath ebbed harmlessly +away in laughter as the humorous aspect of her tirade was brought to her +attention. + +“Just the same, I want you should mind what I tell you,” she said, in +her old motherly tone, “and keep away from those ruffians down there. +You can't do anything but make 'em mad, and give 'em an excuse for +killing someone. When your father gets back, we'll see what's to be +done.” + +“All right, Mum. We won't look toward the garden to-day,” Wally promised +largely, and held out his cup to her to be refilled. “You can keep my +gun, if you want to make dead sure.” + +“No, I can trust my boys, I hope,” and she glowed with real pride in +them when she said it. + +Good Indian lingered on the porch for half an hour or so, waiting for +Evadna to appear. She may have seen him through the window--at any rate +she slipped out very quietly, and had her breakfast half eaten before +he suspected that she was up; and when he went into the kitchen, she was +talking animatedly with Marie about Mexican drawn-work, and was drawing +intricate little diagrams of certain patterns with her fork upon the +tablecloth. + +She looked up, and gave him a careless greeting, and went back to +discussing certain “wheels” in the corner of an imaginary lunch-cloth +and just how one went about making them. He made a tentative remark or +two, trying to win her attention to himself, but she pushed her cup and +saucer aside to make room for further fork drawings, and glanced at him +with her most exaggerated Christmas-angel look. + +“Don't interrupt, please,” she said mincingly. “This is IMPORTANT. And,” + she troubled to explain, “I'm really in a hurry, because I'm going to +help Aunt Phoebe make strawberry jam.” + +If she thought that would fix his determination to remain and have her +to himself for a few minutes, she was mistaken in her man. Good Indian +turned on his heel, and went out with his chin in the air, and found +that Gene and Clark had gone off to the meadow, with Donny an unwelcome +attendant, and that Wally and Jack were keeping the dust moving between +the gate and the stable, trying to tempt a shot from the bluff. They +were much inclined to be skeptical regarding the bullet which Good +Indian carried in his breast-pocket. + +“WE can't raise anybody,” Wally told him disgustedly, “and I've made +three round trips myself. I'm going to quit fooling around, and go to +work.” + +Whether he did or not, Good Indian did not wait to prove. He did not +say anything, either, about his own plans. He was hurt most unreasonably +because of Evadna's behavior, and he felt as if he were groping about +blindfolded so far as the Hart trouble was concerned. There must be +something to do, but he could not see what it was. It reminded him oddly +of when he sat down with his algebra open before him, and scowled at +a problem where the x y z's seemed to be sprinkled through it with a +diabolical frequency, and there was no visible means of discovering what +the unknown quantities could possibly be. + +He saddled Keno, and rode away in that silent preoccupation which the +boys called the sulks for want of a better understanding of it. As a +matter of fact, he was trying to put Evadna out of his mind for the +present, so that he could think clearly of what he ought to do. He +glanced often up at the rim-rock as he rode slowly to the Point o' +Rocks, and when he was halfway to the turn he thought he saw something +moving up there. + +He pulled up to make sure, and a little blue ball puffed out like +a child's balloon, burst, and dissipated itself in a thin, trailing +ribbon, which the wind caught and swept to nothing. At the same time +something spatted into the trail ahead of him, sending up a little spurt +of fine sand. + +Keno started, perked up his ears toward the place, and went on, stepping +gingerly. Good Indian's lips drew back, showing his teeth set tightly +together. “Still at it, eh?” he muttered aloud, pricked Keno's flanks +with his rowels, and galloped around the Point. + +There, for the time being, he was safe. Unless the shooter upon the +rim-rock was mounted, he must travel swiftly indeed to reach again a +point within range of the grade road before Good Indian would pass out +of sight again. For the trail wound in and out, looping back upon itself +where the hill was oversleep, hidden part of the time from the receding +wall of rock by huge bowlders and giant sage. + +Grant knew that he was safe from that quarter, and was wondering whether +he ought to ride up along the top of the bluff before going to Hartley, +as he had intended. + +He had almost reached the level, and was passing a steep, narrow, little +gully choked with rocks, when something started up so close beside him +that Keno ducked away and squatted almost upon his haunches. His gun was +in his hand, and his finger crooked upon the trigger, when a voice he +faintly recognized called to him softly: + +“Yo' no shoot--no shoot--me no hurtum. All time yo' frien'.” She stood +trembling beside the trail, a gay, plaid shawl about her shoulders in +place of the usual blanket, her hair braided smoothly with bright, +red ribbons entwined through it. Her dress was a plain slip of bright +calico, which had four-inch roses, very briery and each with a +gaudy butterfly poised upon the topmost petals running over it in an +inextricable tangle. Beaded moccasins were on her feet, and her eyes +were frightened eyes, with the wistfulness of a timid animal. Yet she +did not seem to be afraid of Good Indian. + +“I sorry I scare yo' horse,” she said hesitatingly, speaking better +English than before. “I heap hurry to get here. I speak with yo'.” + +“Well, what is it?” Good Indian's tone was not as brusque as his words; +indeed, he spoke very gently, for him. This was the good-looking young +squaw he had seen at the Indian camp. “What's your name?” he asked, +remembering suddenly that he had never heard it. + +“Rachel. Peppajee, he my uncle.” She glanced up at him shyly, then down +to where the pliant toe of her moccasin was patting a tiny depression +into the dust. “Bad mans like for shoot yo',” she said, not looking +directly at him again. “Him up there, all time walk where him can look +down, mebbyso see you, mebbyso shootum.” + +“I know--I'm going to ride around that way and round him up.” + Unconsciously his manner had the arrogance of strength and power to do +as he wished, which belongs to healthy young males. + +“N-o, no-o!” She drew a sharp breath “o' no good there! Dim shoot yo'. +Yo' no go! Ah-h--I sorry I tellum yo' now. Bad mans, him. I watch, I +take care him no shoot. Him shoot, mebbyso _I_ shoot!” + +With a little laugh that was more a plea for gentle judgment than +anything else, she raised the plaid shawl, and gave him a glimpse of a +rather battered revolver, cheap when it was new and obviously well past +its prime. + +“I want yo'--” she hesitated; “I want yo'--be heap careful. I want yo' +no ride close by hill. Ride far out!” She made a sweeping gesture toward +the valley. “All time I watch.” + +He was staring at her in a puzzled way. She was handsome, after her +wild, half-civilized type, and her anxiety for his welfare touched him +and besought his interest. + +“Indians go far down--” She swept her arm down the narrowing river +valley. “Catch fish. Peppajee stay--no can walk far. I stay. All go, +mebbyso stay five days.” Her hand lifted involuntarily to mark the +number. + +He did not know why she told him all that, and he could not learn from +her anything about his assailant. She had been walking along the bluff, +he gathered--though why, she failed to make clear to him. She had, from +a distance, caught a glimpse of a man watching the valley beneath him. +She had seen him raise a rifle, take long aim, and shoot--and she had +known that he was shooting at Good Indian. + +When he asked her the second time what was her errand up there--whether +she was following the man, or had suspected that he would be there--she +shook her head vaguely and took refuge behind the stolidity of her race. + +In spite of her pleading, he put his horse to scrambling up the first +slope which it was possible to climb, and spent an hour riding, gun in +hand, along the rim of the bluff, much as he had searched it the evening +before. + +But there was nothing alive that he could discover, except a hawk which +lifted itself languorously off a high, sharp rock, and flapped lazily +out across the valley when he drew near. The man with the rifle had +disappeared as completely as if he had never been there, and there +was not one chance in a hundred of hunting him out, in all that rough +jumble. + +When he was turning back at last toward Hartley, he saw Rachel for a +moment standing out against the deep blue of the sky, upon the very rim +of the bluff. He waved a hand to her, but she gave no sign; only, for +some reason, he felt that she was watching him ride away, and he had a +brief, vagrant memory of the wistfulness he had seen in her eyes. + +On the heels of that came a vision of Evadna swinging in the hammock +which hung between the two locust trees, and he longed unutterably to be +with her there. He would be, he promised himself, within the next hour +or so, and set his pace in accordance with his desire, resolved to make +short work of his investigations in Hartley and his discussion of late +events with Miss Georgie. + +He had not, it seemed to him, had more than two minutes with Evadna +since that evening of rapturous memory when they rode home together from +the Malad, and afterward sat upon the stone bench at the head of the +pond, whispering together so softly that they did not even disturb the +frogs among the lily-pads within ten feet of them. It was not so long +ago, that evening. The time that had passed since might be reckoned +easily in hours, but to Good Indian it seemed a month, at the very +least. + + + +CHAPTER XIX. EVADNA GOES CALLING + +“I have every reason to believe that your two missing jumpers took +the train for Shoshone last night,” Miss Georgie made answer to +Good Indian's account of what had happened since he saw her. “Two +furtive-eyed individuals answering your description bought round-trip +tickets and had me flag sixteen for them. They got on, all right. I saw +them. And if they got off before the next station they must have landed +on their heads, because Sixteen was making up time and Shorty pulled the +throttle wide open at the first yank, I should judge, from the way he +jumped out of town. I've been expecting some of them to go and do their +filing stunt--and if the boys have begun to devil them any, the chances +are good that they'd take turns at it, anyway. They'd leave someone +always on the ground, that's a cinch. + +“And Saunders,” she went on rapidly, “returned safe enough. He sneaked +in just before I closed the office last night, and asked for a telegram. +There wasn't any, and he sneaked out again and went to bed--so Pete told +me this morning. And most of the Indians have pulled out--squaws, dogs, +papooses, and all--on some fishing or hunting expedition. I don't know +that it has anything to do with your affairs, or would even interest +you, though. And there has been no word from Peaceful, and they can't +possibly get back now till the four-thirty--five. + +“And that's all I can tell you, Mr. Imsen,” she finished crisply, and +took up a novel with a significance which not even the dullest man could +have ignored. + +Good Indian stared, flushed hotly, and made for the door. + +“Thank you for the information. I'm afraid this has been a lot of bother +for you,” he said stiffly, gave her a ceremonious little bow, and went +his way stiff-necked and frowning. + +Miss Georgie leaned forward so that she could see him through the +window. She watched him cross to the store, go up the three rough steps +to the platform, and disappear into the yawning blackness beyond the +wide-open door. + +She did not open the novel and begin reading, even then. She dabbed her +handkerchief at her eyes, muttered: “My Heavens, what a fool!” apropos +of nothing tangible, and stared dully out at the forlorn waste of +cinders with rows of shining rails running straight across it upon ties +half sunken in the black desolation, and at the red abomination +which was the pump-house squatting beside the dripping tank, the pump +breathing asthmatically as it labored to keep the sliding water +gauge from standing at the figure which meant reproach for the grimy +attendant. + +“What a fool--what a fool!” she repeated at the end of ten moody +minutes. Then she threw the novel into a corner of the room, set her +lower jaw into the square lines of stubbornness, went over to the +sleeping telegraph instrument which now and then clicked and twittered +in its sleep, called up Shoshone, and commanded the agent there to +send down a quart freezer of ice cream, a banana cake, and all the late +magazines he could find, including--especially including--the alleged +“funny” ones. + +“You certainly--are--the prize--fool!” she said, when she switched +off the current, and she said it with vicious emphasis. Whereupon she +recovered the novel, seated herself determinedly in the beribboned +rocker, flipped the leaves of the book spitefully until she found one +which had a corner turned down, and read a garden-party chapter much as +she used to study her multiplication table when she was ten and hated +arithmetic. + +A freight was announced over the wire, arrived with a great wheezing and +snorting, which finally settled to a rhythmic gasping of the air pump, +while a few boxes of store supplies were being dumped unceremoniously +upon the platform. Miss Georgie was freight agent as well as many other +things, and she went out and stood bareheaded in the sun to watch the +unloading. + +She performed, with the unthinking precision which comes of long +practice, the many little duties pertaining to her several offices, and +when the wheels began once more to clank, and she had waved her hand +to the fireman, the brakeman, and the conductor, and had seen the dirty +flags at the rear of the swaying caboose flap out of sight around the +low, sage-covered hill, she turned rather dismally to the parlor end +of the office, and took up the book with her former air of grim +determination. So for an hour, perhaps. + +“Is Miss Georgie Howard at home?” It was Evadna standing in the doorway, +her indigo eyes fixed with innocent gayety--which her mouth somehow +failed to meet halfway in mirth--upon the reader. + +“She is, chicken, and overjoyed at the sight of you!” Miss Georgie +rose just as enthusiastically as if she had not seen Evadna slip from +Huckleberry's back, fuddle the tie-rope into what looked like a knot, +and step lightly upon the platform. She had kept her head down--had Miss +Georgie--until the last possible second, because she was still being a +fool and had permitted a page of her book to fog before her eyes. There +was no fog when she pushed Evadna into the seat of honor, however, and +her mouth abetted her eyes in smiling. + +“Everything at the ranch is perfectly horrid,” Evadna complained +pathetically, leaning back in the rocking-chair. “I'd just as soon be +shut up in a graveyard. You can't IMAGINE what it's like, Georgie, +since those horrible men came and camped around all over the place! All +yesterday afternoon and till dark, mind you, the boys were down there +shooting at everything but the men, and they began to shoot back, and +Aunt Phoebe was afraid the boys would be hit, and so we all went down +and--oh, it was awful! If Grant hadn't come home and stopped them, +everybody would have been murdered. And you should have heard how they +swore at Grant afterward! They just called him everything they could +think of for making them stop. I had to sit around on the other side of +the house--and even then I couldn't help hearing most of it. + +“And to-day it is worse, because they just go around like a lot +of dummies and won't do anything but look mean. Aunt Phoebe was so +cross--CROSS, mind you!--because I burnt the jam. And some of the +jumpers are missing, and nobody knows where they went--and Marie has got +the toothache worse than ever, and won't go and have it pulled because +it will HURT! I don't see how it can hurt much worse than it does +now--she just goes around with tears running down into the flannel +around her face till I could SHAKE her!” Evadna laughed--a self-pitying +laugh, and rocked her small person violently. “I wish I could have an +office and live in it and telegraph things to people,” she sighed, and +laughed again most adorably at her own childishness. “But really and +truly, it's enough to drive a person CRAZY, down at the ranch!” + +“For a girl with a brand-new sweetheart--” Miss Georgie reproved +quizzically, and reached for the inevitable candy box. + +“A lot of good that does, when he's never there!” flashed Evadna, +unintentionally revealing her real grievance. “He just eats and +goes--and he isn't even there to eat, half the time. And when he's +there, he's grumpy, like all the rest.” She was saying the things she +had told herself, on the way up, that she would DIE rather than say; to +Miss Georgie, of all people. + +“I expect he's pretty worried, chicken, over that land business.” + Miss Georgie offered her candy, and Evadna waved the box from her +impatiently, as if her spirits were altogether too low for sweets. + +“Well, I'm very sure I'M not to blame for those men being there,” she +retorted petulantly. “He”--she hesitated, and then plunged heedlessly +on--“he acts just as if I weren't anybody at all. I'm sure, if he +expects me to be a doll to be played with and then dumped into a corner +where I'm to smile and smile until he comes and picks me up again--” + +“Now, chicken, what's the use of being silly?” Miss Georgie turned her +head slightly away, and stared out of the window. “He's worried, I tell +you, and instead of sulking because he doesn't stay and make love--” + +“Well, upon my word! Just as if I wanted--” + +“You really ought to help him by being kind and showing a little +sympathy, instead--” + +“It appears that the supply of sympathy--” + +“Instead of making it harder for him by feeling neglected and letting +him see that you do. My Heavens above!” Miss Georgie faced her suddenly +with pink cheeks. “When a man is up against a problem--and carries his +life in his hand--” + +“You don't know a thing about it!” Evadna stopped rocking, and sat up +very straight in the chair. “And even if that were true, is that any +reason why he should AVOID me? I'M not threatening his life!” + +“He doesn't avoid you. And you're acting sillier than I ever supposed +you could. He can't be in two places at once, can he? Now, let's be +sensible, chicken. Grant--” + +“Oh--h!” There was a peculiar, sliding inflection upon that word, which +made Miss Georgie's hand shut into a fist. + +“Grant”--Miss Georgie put a defiant emphasis upon it--“is doing all he +can to get to the bottom of that jumping business. There's something +crooked about it, and he knows it, and is trying to--” + +“I know all that.” Evadna interrupted without apology. + +“Well, of course, if you DO--then I needn't tell you how silly it is for +you to complain of being neglected, when you know his time is all taken +up with trying to ferret out a way to block their little game. He feels +in a certain sense responsible--” + +“Yes, I know. He thinks he should have been watching somebody or +something instead of--of being with me. He took the trouble to make that +clear to me, at least!” Evadna's eyes were very blue and very bright, +but there was no look of an angel in her face. + +Miss Georgie pressed her lips together tightly for a minute. When she +spoke, she was cheerfully impersonal as to tone and manner. + +“Chicken, you're a little goose. The man is simply crazy about you, and +harassed to death with this ranch business. Once that's settled--well, +you'll see what sort of a lover he can be!” + +“Thank you so much for holding out a little hope and encouragement, my +dear!” Evadna, by the way, looked anything but thankful; indeed, she +seemed to resent the hope and the encouragement as a bit of unwarranted +impertinence. She glanced toward the door as if she meditated an +immediate departure, but ended by settling back in the chair and +beginning to rock again. + +“It's a nasty, underhand business from start to finish,” said Miss +Georgie, ignoring the remark. “It has upset everybody--me included, and +I'm sure it isn't my affair. It's just one of those tricky cases that +you know is rotten to the core, and yet you can't seem to get hold +of anything definite. My dad had one or two experiences with old +Baumberger--and if ever there was a sly old mole of a man, he's one. + +“Did you ever take after a mole, chicken? They used to get in our garden +at home. They burrow underneath the surface, you know, and one never +sees them. You can tell by the ridge of loose earth that they're +there, and if you think you've located Mr. Mole, and jab a stick +down, why--he's somewhere else, nine times in ten. I used to call them +Baumbergers, even then. Dad,” she finished reminiscently, “was always +jabbing his law stick down where the earth seemed to move--but he never +located old Baumberger, to my knowledge.” + +She stopped, because Evadna, without a shadow of doubt, was looking +bored. Miss Georgie regarded her with the frown she used when she was +applying her mental measuring-stick. She began to suspect that Evadna +was, after all, an extremely self-centered little person; she was +sorry for the suspicion, and she was also conscious of a certain +disappointment which was not altogether for herself. + +“Ah, well”--she dismissed analysis and the whole subject with a laugh +that was partly yawn--“away with dull care. Away with dull everything. +It's too hot to think or feel. A real emotion is as superfluous and +oppressive as a--a 'camel petticoat!” This time her laugh was real and +infectiously carefree. “Take off your hat, chicken. I'll go beg a hunk +of ice from my dear friend Peter, and make some lemonade as is lemonade; +or claret punch, if you aren't a blue ribboner, or white-ribboner, or +some other kind of a good-ribboner.” Miss Georgie hated herself for +sliding into sheer flippancy, but she preferred that extreme to the +other, and she could not hold her ground just then at the “happy +medium.” + +Evadna, however, seemed to disapprove of the flippancy. She did not take +off her hat, and she stated evenly that she must go, and that she really +did not care for lemonade, or claret punch, either. + +“What, in Heaven's name, DO you care for--besides yourself?” flared Miss +Georgie, quite humanly exasperated. “There, chicken--the heat always +turns me snappy,” she repented instantly. “Please pinch me.” She held +out a beautiful, tapering forearm, and smiled. + +“I'm the snappy one,” said Evadna, but she did not smile as she began +drawing on her gauntlets slowly and deliberately. + +If she were waiting for Miss Georgie to come back to the subject of +Grant, she was disappointed, for Miss Georgie did not come to any +subject whatever. A handcar breezed past the station, the four +section-men pumping like demons because of the slight down grade and +their haste for their dinner. + +Huckleberry gave one snort and one tug backward upon the tie rope and +then a coltish kick into the air when he discovered that he was +free. After that, he took off through the sagebrush at a lope, too +worldly-wise to follow the trail past the store, where someone might +rush out and grab him before he could dodge away. He was a wise little +pinto--Huckleberry. + +“And now, I suppose I'll have the pleasure of walking home,” grumbled +Evadna, standing upon the platform and gazing, with much self-pity, +after her runaway. + +“It's noon--stay and eat dinner with me, chicken. Some of the boys will +bring him back after you the minute he gets to the ranch. It's too hot +to walk.” Miss Georgie laid a hand coaxingly upon her arm. + +But Evadna was in her mood of perversity. She wouldn't stay to dinner, +because Aunt Phoebe would be expecting her. She wouldn't wait for +Huckleberry to be brought back to her, because she would never hear the +last of it. She didn't mind the heat the least bit, and she would walk. +And no, she wouldn't borrow Miss Georgie's parasol; she hated parasols, +and she always had and always would. She gathered up her riding-skirt, +and went slowly down the steps. + +Miss Georgie could be rather perverse herself upon occasion. She waited +until Evadna was crunching cinders under her feet before she spoke +another word, and then she only called out a flippant, “Adios, +senorita!” + +Evadna knew no Spanish at all. She lifted her shoulders in what might be +disdain, and made no reply whatever. + +“Little idiot!” gritted Miss Georgie--and this time she was not speaking +of herself. + + + +CHAPTER XX. MISS GEORGIE ALSO MAKES A CALL + +Saunders, limp and apathetic and colorless, shuffled over to the station +with a wheelbarrow which had a decrepit wheel, that left an undulating +imprint of its drunken progress in the dust as it went. He loaded the +boxes of freight with the abused air of one who feels that Fate has used +him hardly, and then sidled up to the station door with the furtive air +which Miss Georgie always inwardly resented. + +She took the shipping bill from him with her fingertips, reckoned the +charges, and received the money without a word, pushing a few pieces +of silver toward him upon the table. As he bent to pick them up clawing +unpleasantly with vile finger-nails--she glanced at him contemptuously, +looked again more attentively, pursed her lips with one corner between +her teeth, and when he had clawed the last dime off the smooth surface +of the table, she spoke to him as if he were not the reptile she +considered him, but a live human. + +“Horribly hot, isn't it? I wish _I_ could sleep till noon. It would make +the days shorter, anyway.” + +“I opened up the store, and then I went back to bed,” Saunders replied +limply. “Just got up when the freight pulled in. Made so blamed much +noise it woke me. I seem to need a good deal of sleep.” He coughed +behind his hand, and lingered inside the door. It was so unusual for +Miss Georgie to make conversation with him that Saunders was almost +pitifully eager to be agreeable. + +“If it didn't sound cruel, this weather,” said Miss Georgie lightly, +still looking at him--or, more particularly, at the crumpled, soiled +collar of his coarse blue shirt--“I'd advise you to get out of Hartley +once a day, if it was no more than to take a walk. Though to be sure,” + she smiled, “the prospect is not inviting, to say the least. Put it +would be a change; I'd run up and down the track, if I didn't have to +stick here in this office all day.” + +“I can't stand walking,” Saunders whined. “It makes me cough.” To +illustrate, he gave another little hack behind his hand. “I went up to +the stable yesterday with a book, and laid down in the hay. And I went +to sleep, and Pete thought I was lost, I guess.” He grinned, which was +not pleasant, for he chewed tobacco and had ugly, discolored teeth into +the bargain. + +“I like to lay in the hay,” he added lifelessly. “I guess I'll take my +bed up there; that lean-to is awful hot.” + +“Well, you're lucky that you can do exactly as you please, and sleep +whenever you please.” Miss Georgie turned to her telegraph instrument, +and began talking in little staccato sparks of electricity to the agent +at Shoshone, merely as a hint to Saunders to take himself away. + +“Ain't been anything for me?” he asked, still lingering. + +Miss Georgie shook her head. He waited a minute longer, and then +sidled out, and when he was heard crunching over the cinders with his +barrow-load of boxes, she switched off the current abruptly, and went +over to the window to watch him. + +“Item,” she began aloud, when he was quite gone, her eyes staring +vacantly down the scintillating rails to where they seemed to meet in +one glittering point far away in the desert. “Item--” But whatever the +item was, she jotted it down silently in that mental memorandum book +which was one of her whims. “Once I put a thing in that little blue +book of mine,” she used to tell her father, “it's there for keeps. And +there's the advantage that I never leave it lying around to be lost, +or for other people to pick up and read to my everlasting undoing. It's +better than cipher--for I don't talk in my sleep.” + +The four-thirty-five train came in its own time, and brought the two +missing placer miners. But it did not bring Baumberger, nor Peaceful +Hart, nor any word of either. Miss Georgie spent a good deal of time +staring out of the window toward the store that day, and when she +was not doing that she was moving restlessly about the little office, +picking things up without knowing why she did so, and laying them down +again when she discovered them in her hands and had no use for them. The +ice cream came, and the cake, and the magazines; and she left the whole +pile just inside the door without undoing a wrapping. + +At five o'clock she rose abruptly from the rocker, in which she had just +deposited herself with irritated emphasis, and wired her chief for leave +of absence until seven. + +“It's important, Mr. Gray. Business which can't wait,” she clicked +urgently. “I'll be back before Eight is due. Please.” Miss Georgie did +not often send that last word of her own volition. All up and down the +line she was said to be “Independent as a hog on ice”--a simile not +pretty, perhaps, nor even exact, but frequently applied, nevertheless, +to self-reliant souls like the Hartley operator. + +Be that as it may, she received gracious permission to lock the office +door from the outside, and she was not long in doing so, and heaved a +great sigh of relief when it was done. She went straight to the store, +and straight back to where Pete Hamilton was leaning over a barrel +redolent of pickled pork. He came up with dripping hands and a +treasure-trove of flabby meat, and while he was dangling it over the +barrel until the superfluous brine dripped away, she asked him for a +horse. + +“I dunno where Saunders is again,” he said, letting his consent be +taken for granted. “But I'll go myself and saddle up, if you'll mind the +store. Soon as I finish waitin' on this customer,” he added, casting a +glance toward a man who sat upon the counter and dangled his legs while +he apathetically munched stale pretzels and waited for his purchases. + +“Oh, I can saddle, all right, Pete. I've got two hours off, and I want +to ride down to see how the Harts are getting along. Exciting times down +there, from all accounts.” + +“Maybe I can round up Saunders. He must be somewheres around,” Pete +suggested languidly, wrapping the pork in a piece of brown paper and +reaching for the string which dangled from the ball hung over his head. + +“Saunders is asleep, very likely. If he isn't in his room, never mind +hunting him. The horse is in the stable, I suppose. I can saddle better +than Saunders.” + +Pete tied the package, wiped his hands, and went heavily out. He +returned immediately, said that Saunders must be up at the stable, and +turned his attention to weighing out five pounds of white beans. + +Miss Georgie helped herself to a large bag of mixed candy, and put +the money in the drawer, laid her key upon the desk for safe-keeping, +repinned her white sailor hat so that the hot wind which blew should not +take it off her head, and went cheerfully away to the stable. + +She did not saddle the horse at once. She first searched the pile of +sweet-smelling clover in the far end, made sure that no man was there, +assured herself in the same manner of the fact that she was absolutely +alone in the stable so far as humans were concerned, and continued her +search; not for Saunders now, but for sagebrush. She went outside, and +looked carefully at her immediate surroundings. + +“There's hardly a root of it anywhere around close,” she said to +herself. “Nor around the store, either--nor any place where one would be +apt to go ordinarily.” + +She stood there meditatively for a few minutes, remembered that two +hours do not last long, and saddled hurriedly. Then, mounting awkwardly +because of the large, lumpy bag of candy which she must carry in her +hands for want of a pocket large enough to hold it, she rode away to the +Indian camp. + +The camp was merely a litter of refuse and the ashes of various +campfires, with one wikiup standing forlorn in the midst. Miss Georgie +never wasted precious time on empty ceremony, and she would have gone +into that tent unannounced and stated her errand without any compunction +whatever. Put Peppajee was lying outside, smoking in the shade, with his +foot bandaged and disposed comfortably upon a folded blanket. She tossed +him the bag of candy, and stayed upon her horse. + +“Howdy, Peppajee? How your foot? Pretty well, mebbyso?” + +“Mebbyso bueno. Sun come two time, mebbyso walk all same no snake +biteum.” Peppajee's eyes gloated over the gift as he laid it down beside +him. + +“That's good. Say, Peppajee,” Miss Georgie reached up to feel her +hatpins and to pat her hair, “I wish you'd watch Saunders. Him no good. +I think him bad. I can't keep an eye on him. Can you?” + +“No can walk far.” Peppajee looked meaningly at his bandages. “No can +watchum.” + +“Well, but you could tell somebody else to watch him. I think he do +bad thing to the Harts. You like Harts. You tell somebody to watch +Saunders.” + +“Indians pikeway--ketchum fish. Come back, mebbyso tellum watchum.” + +Miss Georgie drew in her breath for further argument, decided that it +was not worth while, and touched up her horse with the whip. “Good-by,” + she called back, and saw that Peppajee was looking after her with his +eyes, while his face was turned impassively to the front. + +“You're just about as satisfying to talk to as a stump,” she paid +tribute to his unassailable calm. “There's four bits wasted,” she +sighed, “to say nothing of the trouble I had packing that candy to +you--you ungrateful old devil.” With which unladylike remark she +dismissed him from her mind as a possible ally. + +At the ranch, the boys were enthusiastically blistering palms and +stiffening the muscles of their backs, turning the water away from the +ditches that crossed the disputed tracts so that the trespassers there +should have none in which to pan gold--or to pretend that they were +panning gold. Since the whole ranch was irrigated by springs running out +here and there from under the bluff, and all the ditches ran to meadow +and orchard and patches of small fruit, and since the springs could not +well be stopped from flowing, the thing was not to be done in a minute. + +And since there were four boys with decided ideas upon the +subject--ideas which harmonized only in the fundamental desire to harry +the interlopers, the thing was not to be done without much time being +wasted in fruitless argument. + +Wally insisted upon running the water all into a sandy hollow where much +of it would seep away and a lake would do no harm, the main objection +to that being that it required digging at least a hundred yards of new +ditch, mostly through rocky soil. + +Jack wanted to close all the headgates and just let the water go where +it wanted to--which was easy enough, but ineffective, because most of it +found its way into the ditches farther down the slope. + +Gene and Clark did not much care how the thing was done--so long as it +was done their way. At least, that is what they said. + +It was Good Indian who at length settled the matter. There were five +springs altogether; he proposed that each one make himself responsible +for a certain spring, and see to it that no water reached the jumpers. + +“And I don't care a tinker's dam how you do it,” he said. “Drink it all, +if you want to. I'll take the biggest--that one under the milk-house.” + Whereat they jeered at him for wanting to be close to Evadna. + +“Well, who has a better right?” he challenged, and then inconsiderately +left them before they could think of a sufficiently biting retort. + +So they went to work, each in his own way, agreeing mostly in untiring +industry. That is how Miss Georgie found them occupied--except that Good +Indian had stopped long enough to soothe Evadna and her aunt, and +to explain that the water would really not rise much higher in the +milk-house, and that he didn't believe Evadna's pet bench at the head of +the pond would be inaccessible because of his efforts. + +Phoebe was sloshing around upon the flooded floor of her milk-house, +with her skirts tucked up and her indignation growing greater as she +gave it utterance, rescuing her pans of milk and her jars of cream. +Evadna, upon the top step, sat with her feet tucked up under her as if +she feared an instant inundation. She, also, was giving utterance to her +feminine irritation at the discomfort--of her aunt presumably, since she +herself was high and dry. + +“And it won't do a BIT of good. They'll just knock that dam business all +to pieces to-night--” She was scolding Grant. + +“Swearing, chicken? Things must be in a great state!” + +Grant grinned at Miss Georgie, forgetting for the moment his rebuff that +morning. “She did swear, didn't she?” he confirmed wickedly. “And she's +been working overtime, trying to reform me. Wanted to pin me down to 'my +goodness!' and 'oh, dear!'--with all this excitement taking place on the +ranch!” + +“I wasn't swearing at all. Grant has been shoveling sand all afternoon, +building a dam over by the fence, and the water has been rising and +rising till--” She waved her hand gloomily at her bedraggled Aunt Phoebe +working like a motherly sort of gnome in its shadowy grotto. “Oh, if I +were Aunt Phoebe, I should just shake you, Grant Imsen!” + +“Try it,” he invited, his eyes worshiping her in her pretty petulance. +“I wish you would.” + +As Miss Georgie went past them down the steps, her face had the set +look of one who is consciously and deliberately cheerful under trying +conditions. + +“Don't quarrel, children,” she advised lightly. “Howdy, Mrs. Hart? What +are they trying to do--drown you?” + +“Oh, these boys of mine! They'll be the death of me, what with the +things they won't do, and the things they WILL do. They're trying now +to create a water famine for the jumpers, and they're making their own +mother swim for the good of the cause.” Phoebe held out a plump hand, +moist and cold from lifting cool crocks of milk, and laughed at her own +predicament. + +“The water won't rise any more, Mother Hart,” Grant called down to her +from the top step, where he was sitting unblushingly beside Evadna. “I +told you six inches would be the limit, and then it would run off in the +new ditch. You know I explained just why--” + +“Oh, yes, I know you explained just WHY,” Phoebe cut in disconsolately +and yet humorously, “but explanations don't seem to help my poor +milk-house any. And what about the garden, and the fruit, if you turn +the water all down into the pasture? And what about the poor horses +getting their feet wet and catching their death of cold? And what's to +hinder that man Stanley and his gang from packing water in buckets from +the lake you're going to have in the pasture?” + +She looked at Miss Georgie whimsically. “I'm an ungrateful, bad-tempered +old woman, I guess, for they're doing it because it's the only thing +they can do, since I put my foot down on all this bombarding and burning +good powder just to ease their minds. They've got to do something, I +suppose, or they'd all burst. And I don't know but what it's a good +thing for 'em to work off their energy digging ditches, even if it don't +do a mite of good.” + +Good Indian was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, murmuring +lover's confidences behind the shield of his tilted hat, which hid +from all but Evadna his smiling lips and his telltale, glowing eyes. He +looked up at that last sentence, though it is doubtful if he had heard +much of what she had been saying. + +“It's bound to do good if it does anything,” he said, with an optimism +which was largely the outgrowth of his beatific mood, which in its turn +was born of his nearness to Evadna and her gracious manner toward him. +“We promised not to molest them on their claims. But if they get over +the line to meddle with our water system, or carry any in buckets--which +they can't, because they all leak like the deuce”--he grinned as he +thought of the bullet holes in them--“why, I don't know but what someone +might object to that, and send them back on their own side of the line.” + +He picked up a floating ribbon-end which was a part of Evadna's belt, +and ran it caressingly through his fingers in a way which set Miss +Georgie's teeth together. “I'm afraid,” he added dryly, his eyes once +more seeking Evadna's face with pure love hunger, “they aren't going to +make much of a stagger at placer mining, if they haven't any water.” + He rolled the ribbon up tightly, and then tossed it lightly toward her +face. “ARE they, Goldilocks?” + +“Are they what? I've told you a dozen times to stop calling me that. I +had a doll once that I named Goldilocks, and I melted her nose off--she +was wax--and you always remind me of the horrible expression it gave +to her face. I'd go every day and take her out of the bureau-drawer +and look at her, and then cry my eyes out. Won't you come and sit down, +Georgie? There's room. Now, what was the discussion, and how far had we +got? Aunt Phoebe, I don't believe it has raised a bit lately. I've been +watching that black rock with the crack in it.” Evadna moved nearer to +Good Indian, and pulled her skirts close upon the other side, +thereby making a space at least eight inches wide for Miss Georgie's +accommodation. + +“I can't sit anywhere,” said Miss Georgie, looking at her watch. “By the +way, chicken, did you have to walk all the way home?” + +Evadna looked sidelong at Good Indian, as if a secret had been +betrayed. “No,” she said, “I didn't. I just got to the top of the grade +when a squaw came along, and she was leading Huckleberry. A gaudy young +squaw, all red and purple and yellow. She was awfully curious about you, +Grant. She wanted to know where you were and what you were doing. I hope +you aren't a flirtatious young man. She seemed to know you pretty well, +I thought.” + +She had to explain to her Aunt Phoebe and Grant just how she came to be +walking, and she laughed at the squaw's vivid costume, and declared she +would have one like it, because Grant must certainly admire colors. She +managed, innocently enough, to waste upon such trivialities many of Miss +Georgie's precious minutes. + +At last that young woman, after glancing many times at her watch, and +declining an urgent invitation to stay to supper, declared that she +must go, and tried to give Good Indian a significant look without being +detected in the act by Evadna. But Good Indian, for the time being +wholly absorbed by the smiles of his lady, had no eyes for her, and +seemed to attach no especial meaning to her visit. So that Miss Georgie, +feminine to her finger-tips and oversensitive perhaps where those two +were concerned, suddenly abandoned her real object in going to the +ranch, and rode away without saying a word of what she had come to say. + +She was a direct young woman who was not in the habit of mincing matters +with herself, or of dodging an issue, and she bluntly called herself a +fool many times that evening, because she had not said plainly that she +would like to talk with Grant “and taken him off to one side--by the +ear, if necessary--and talked to him, and told him what I went down +there to tell him,” she said to herself angrily. “And if Evadna didn't +like it, she could do the other thing. It does seem as if girls like +that are always having the trail smoothed down for them to dance their +way through life, while other people climb over rocks--mostly with +packs on their shoulders that don't rightly belong to them.” She sighed +impatiently. “It must be lovely to be absolutely selfish--when you're +pretty enough and young enough to make it stick!” Miss Georgie was, +without doubt, in a nasty temper that night. + + + +CHAPTER XXI. SOMEBODY SHOT SAUNDERS + +The hot days dropped, one by one, into the past like fiery beads upon a +velvety black cord. Miss Georgie told them silently in the meager +little office, and sighed as they slipped from under her white, nervous +fingers. One--nothing happened that could be said to bear upon the +one big subject in her mind, the routine work of passing trains and +dribbling business in the express and freight departments, and a long +afternoon of heat and silence save for the asthmatic pump, fifty yards +down the main track. Two--this exactly like the first, except that those +inseparables, Hagar, Viney, and Lucy, whom Miss Georgie had inelegantly +dubbed “the Three Greases,” appeared, silent, blanket-enshrouded, and +perspiring, at the office door in mid-afternoon. Half a box of soggy +chocolates which the heat had rendered a dismally sticky mass won from +them smiles and half-intelligible speech. Fishing was poor--no ketchum. +Three--not even the diversion of the squaws to make her forget +the dragging hours. Nothing--nothing--nothing, she told herself +apathetically when that third day had slipped upon the black cord of a +soft, warm night, star-sprinkled and unutterably lonely as it brooded +over the desert. + +On the morning of the fourth day, Miss Georgie woke with the vague sense +that something had gone wrong. True railroader as she had come to be, +she thought first that there had been a wreck, and that she was wanted +at the telegraph instrument. She was up and partly dressed before the +steps and the voices which had broken her sleep had reached her door. + +Pete Hamilton's voice, trembling with excitement, called to her. + +“What is it? What has happened?” she cried from within, beset by a +hundred wild conjectures. + +“Saunders--somebody shot Saunders. Wire for a doctor, quick as yuh can. +He ain't dead yet--but he's goin' t' die, sure. Hurry up and wire--” + Somebody at the store called to him, and he broke off to run lumberingly +in answer to the summons. Miss Georgie made haste to follow him. + +Saunders was lying upon a blanket on the store platform, and Miss +Georgie shuddered as she looked at him. + +He was pasty white, and his eyes looked glassy under his half-closed +lids. He had been shot in the side--at the stable, he had gasped out +when Pete found him lying in the trail just back of the store. Now he +seemed beyond speech, and the little group of section-hands, the Chinese +cook at the section-house, and the Swede foreman, and Pete seemed quite +at a loss what to do. + +“Take him in and put him to bed,” Miss Georgie commanded, turning away. +“See if he's bleeding yet, and--well, I should put a cold compress on +the wound, I think. I'll send for a doctor--but he can't get here till +nine o'clock unless you want to stand the expense of a special. And by +that time--” + +Saunders moved his head a trifle, and lifted his heavy lids to look +at her, which so unnerved Miss Georgie that she turned and ran to the +office. When she had sent the message she sat drumming upon the table +while she waited for an answer. + +“G-r-a-n-” her fingers had spelled when she became conscious of the +fact, flushed hotly, and folded her hands tightly together in her lap. + +“The doctor will come--Hawkinson, I sent for,” she announced later to +Pete, holding out the telegram. She glanced reluctantly at the wrinkled +blanket where Saunders had lain, caught a corner of her under lip +between her teeth, and, bareheaded though she was, went down the steps +and along the trail to the stable. + +“I've nearly an hour before I need open the office,” she said to +herself, looking at her watch. She did not say what she meant to do +with that hour, but she spent a quarter of it examining the stable and +everything in it. Especially did she search the loose, sandy soil in its +vicinity for tracks. + +Finally she lifted her skirts as a woman instinctively does at a street +crossing, and struck off through the sagebrush, her eyes upon a line of +uncertain footsteps as of a drunken man reeling that way. They were not +easy to follow--or they would not have been if she had not felt certain +of the general direction which they must take. More than once she lost +sight of them for several rods, but she always picked them up farther +along. At one place she stopped, and stood perfectly still, her skirts +held back tightly with both hands, while she stared fascinatedly at a +red smear upon a broken branch of sage and the smooth-packed hollow in +the sand where he must have lain. + +“He's got nerve--I'll say that much for him,” she observed aloud, and +went on. + +The footprints were plain where he crossed the grade road near the edge +of the bluff, but from there on it was harder to follow them because of +the great patches of black lava rock lying even with the surface of the +ground, where a dozen men might walk abreast and leave no sign that the +untrained eye, at least, could detect. + +“This is a case for Indians,” she mused, frowning over an open space +where all was rock. “Injun Charlie would hunt tracks all day for a +dollar or two; only he'd make tracks just to prove himself the real +goods.” She sighed, stood upon her tiptoes, and peered out over the sage +to get her bearings, then started on at a hazard. She went a few rods, +found herself in a thick tangle of brush through which she could not +force her way, started to back out, and caught her hair on a scraggly +scrub which seemed to have as many prongs as there are briers on a +rosebush. She was struggling there with her hands fumbling unavailingly +at the back of her bowed head, when she was pounced upon by someone or +something through the sage. She screamed. + +“The--deuce!” Good Indian brought out the milder expletive with the flat +intonation which the unexpected presence of a lady frequently gives to +a man's speech. “Lucky I didn't take a shot at you through the bushes. +I did, almost, when I saw somebody moving here. Is this your favorite +place for a morning ramble?” He had one hand still upon her arm, and +he was laughing openly at her plight. But he sobered when he stooped a +little so that he could see her face, for there were tears in her eyes, +and Miss Georgie was not the sort of young woman whom one expects to +shed tears for slight cause. + +“If you did it--and you must have--I don't see how you can laugh about +it, even if he is a crawling reptile of a man that ought to be hung!” + The tears were in her voice as well as her eyes, and there were reproach +and disappointment also. + +“Did what--to whom--to where, to why?” Good Indian let go her arm, and +began helpfully striving with the scraggly scrub and its prongs. “Say, +I'll just about have to scalp you to get you loose. Would you mind very +much, Squaw-talk-far-off?” He ducked and peered into her face again, and +again his face sobered. “What's the matter?” he asked, in an entirely +different tone--which Miss Georgie, in spite of her mood, found less +satisfying than his banter. + +“Saunders--OUCH; I'd as soon be scalped and done with, as to have you +pull out a hair at a time--Saunders crawled home with a bullet in his +ribs. And I thought--” + +“Saunders!” Good Indian stared down at her, his hands dropped upon her +head. + +Miss Georgie reached up, caught him by the wrists, and held him so while +she tilted her head that she might look up at him. + +“Grant!” she cried softly. “He deserved it. You couldn't help it--he +would have shot you down like a dog, just because he was hired to do +it, or because of some hold over him. Don't think I blame you--or that +anyone would if they knew the truth. I came out to see--I just HAD to +make sure--but you must get away from here. You shouldn't have stayed +so long--” Miss Georgie gave a most unexpected sob, and stopped that she +might grit her teeth in anger over it. + +“You think I shot him.” As Good Indian said it, the sentence was merely +a statement, rather than an accusation or a reproach. + +“I don't blame you. I suspected he was the man up here with the rifle. +That day--that first day, when you told me about someone shooting at +you--he came over to the station. And I saw two or three scraps of sage +sticking under his shirt-collar, as if he had been out in the brush; you +know how it breaks off and sticks, when you go through it. And he said +he had been asleep. And there isn't any sage where a man would have to +go through it unless he got right out in it, away from the trails. I +thought then that he was the man--” + +“You didn't tell me.” And this time he spoke reproachfully. + +“It was after you had left that I saw it. And I did go down to the ranch +to tell you. But I--you were so--occupied--in other directions--” She +let go his wrists, and began fumbling at her hair, and she bowed her +head again so that her face was hidden from him. + +“You could have told me, anyway,” Good Indian said constrainedly. + +“You didn't want her to know. I couldn't, before her. And I didn't want +to--hurt her by--” Miss Georgie fumbled more with her words than with +her hair. + +“Well, there's no use arguing about that.” Good Indian also found that +subject a difficult one. “You say he was shot. Did he say--” + +“He wasn't able to talk when I saw him. Pete said Saunders claimed he +was shot at the stable, but I know that to be a lie.” Miss Georgie spoke +with unfeeling exactness. “That was to save himself in case he got well, +I suppose. I believe the man is going to die, if he hasn't already; he +had the look--I've seen them in wrecks, and I know. He won't talk; he +can't. But there'll be an investigation--and Baumberger, I suspect, +will be just as willing to get you in this way as in any other. More so, +maybe. Because a murder is always awkward to handle.” + +“I can't see why he should want to murder me.” Good Indian took her +hands away from her hair, and set himself again to the work of freeing +her. “You've been fudging around till you've got about ten million more +hairs wound up,” he grumbled. + +“Wow! ARE you deliberately torturing me?” she complained, winking with +the pain of his good intentions. “I don't believe he does want to murder +you. I think that was just Saunders trying to make a dandy good job of +it. He doesn't like you, anyway--witness the way you bawled him out that +day you roped--ow-w!--roped the dog. Baumberger may have wanted him +to keep an eye on you--My Heavens, man! Do you think you're plucking a +goose?” + +“I wouldn't be surprised,” he retorted, grinning a little. “Honest! I'm +trying to go easy, but this infernal bush has sure got a strangle hold +on you--and your hair is so fluffy it's a deuce of a job. You keep +wriggling and getting it caught in new places. If you could only manage +to stand still--but I suppose you can't. + +“By the way,” he remarked casually, after a short silence, save for an +occasional squeal from Miss Georgie, “speaking of Saunders--I didn't +shoot him.” + +Miss Georgie looked up at him, to the further entanglement of her hair. +“You DIDN'T? Then who did?” + +“Search ME,” he offered figuratively and briefly. + +“Well, I will.” Miss Georgie spoke with a certain decisiveness, and +reaching out a sage-soiled hand, took his gun from the holster at his +hip. He shrank away with a man's instinctive dislike of having anyone +make free with his weapons, but it was a single movement, which he +controlled instantly. + +“Stand still, can't you?” he admonished, and kept at work while she +examined the gun with a dexterity and ease of every motion which +betrayed her perfect familiarity with firearms. She snapped the cylinder +into place, sniffed daintily at the end of the barrel, and slipped the +gun back into its scabbard. + +“Don't think I doubted your word,” she said, casting a slanting glance +up at him without moving her head. “But I wanted to be able to swear +positively, if I should happen to be dragged into the witness-box--I +hope it won't be by the hair of the head!--that your gun has not been +fired this morning. Unless you carry a cleaning rod with you,” she +added, “which would hardly be likely.” + +“You may search me if you like,” Good Indian suggested, and for an +engaged young man, and one deeply in love withal, he displayed a +contentment with the situation which was almost reprehensible. + +“No use. If you did pack one with you, you'd be a fool not to throw it +away after you had used it. No, I'll swear to the gun as it is now. Are +you ever going to get my hair loose? I'm due at the office right +this minute, I'll bet a molasses cooky.” She looked at her watch, and +groaned. “I'd have to telegraph myself back to get there on time now,” + she said. “Twenty-four--that fast freight--is due in eighteen minutes +exactly. I've got to be there. Take your jackknife and cut what won't +come loose. Really, I mean it, Mr. Imsen.” + +“I was under the impression that my name is Grant--to friends.” + +“My name is 'Dennis,' if I don't beat that freight,” she retorted +curtly. “Take your knife and give me a hair cut--quick! I can do it a +different way, and cover up the place.” + +“Oh, all right--but it's a shame to leave a nice bunch of hair like this +hanging on a bush.” + +“Tell me, what were you doing up here, Grant? And what are you going to +do now? We haven't much time, and we've been fooling when we should have +been discussing 'ways and means.'” + +“Well, I got up early, and someone took a shot at me again. This time he +clipped my hat-brim.” He took off his hat, and showed her where the brim +had a jagged tear half an inch deep. “I ducked, and made up my mind I'd +get him this time, or know the reason why. So I rode up the other way +and back behind the orchard, and struck the grade below the Point +o' Rocks, and so came up here hunting him. I kept pretty well out of +sight--we've done that before; Jack and I took sneak yesterday, and came +up here at sunrise, but we couldn't find anything. I was beginning to +think he had given it up. So I was just scouting around here when I +heard you rustling the bushes over here. I was going to shoot, but I +changed my mind, and thought I'd land on you and trust to the lessons +I got in football and the gun. And the rest,” he declaimed whimsically, +“you know. + +“Now, duck away down--oh, wait a minute.” He gave a jerk at the knot +of his neckerchief, flipped out the folds, spread it carefully over +her head, and tied it under her chin, patting it into place and tucking +stray locks under as if he rather enjoyed doing it. “Better wear it till +you're out of the brush,” he advised, “if you don't want to get hung up +somewhere again.” + +She stood up straight, with a long, deep sigh of relief. + +“Now, pikeway,” he smiled. “And don't run bareheaded through the +bushes again. You've still got time to beat that train. And--about +Saunders--don't worry. I can get to the ranch without being seen, and no +one will know I was up here, unless you tell them.” + +“Oh, I shall of course!” Miss Georgie chose to be very sarcastic. “I +think I shall wire the information to the sheriff. Don't come with +me--and leave tracks all over the country. Keep on the lava rock. +Haven't you got any sense at all?” + +“You made tracks yourself, madam, and you've left a fine lot of +incriminating evidence on that bush. I'll have to waste an hour picking +off the hair, so they won't accuse you of shooting Saunders.” Good +Indian spoke lightly, but they both stopped, nevertheless, and eyed the +offending bush anxiously. + +“You haven't time,” Miss Georgie decided. “I can easily get around +that, if it's put up to me. You go on back. Really, you must!” her eyes +implored him. + +“Oh, vey-ree well. We haven't met this morning. Good-by, +Squaw-talk-far-off. I'll see you later, perhaps.” + +Miss Georgie still had that freight heavy on her conscience, but she +stood and watched him stoop under an overhanging branch and turn his +head to smile reassuringly back at her; then, with a pungent stirring +of sage odors, the bushes closed in behind him, and it was as if he had +never been there at all. Whereupon Miss Georgie once more gathered her +skirts together and ran to the trail, and down that to the station. + +She met a group of squaws, who eyed her curiously, but she was looking +once more at her watch, and paid no attention, although they stood +huddled in the trail staring after her. She remembered that she had left +the office unlocked and she rushed in, and sank panting into the chair +before her telegraph table just as the smoke of the fast freight swirled +around the nose of the low, sage-covered hill to the west. + + + +CHAPTER XXII. A BIT OF PAPER + +Good Indian came out upon the rim-rock, looked down upon the ranch +beneath him, and knew, by various little movements about the place, that +breakfast was not yet ready. Gene was carrying two pails of milk to the +house, and Wally and Jack were watering the horses that had been stabled +overnight. He was on the point of shouting down to them when his arm +was caught tightly from behind. He wheeled about and confronted Rachel. +Clothed all in dull gray she was, like a savage young Quakeress. Even +the red ribbons were gone from her hair, which was covered by the gray +blanket wrapped tightly around her slim body. She drew him back from the +rim of the bluff. + +“You no shout,” she murmured gravely. “No lettum see you here. You +go quick. Ketchum you cayuse, go to ranch. You no tellum you be this +place.” + +Good Indian stood still, and looked at her. She stood with her +arms folded in her blanket, regarding him with a certain yearning +steadfastness. + +“You all time think why,” she said, shrewdly reading his thoughts, “I no +take shame. I glad.” She flushed, and looked away to the far side of the +Snake. “Bad mans no more try for shoot you, mebbyso. I heap--” + +Good Indian reached out, and caught her by both shoulders. + +“Rachel--if you did that, don't tell me about it. Don't tell me +anything. I don't ask you--I don't want to know.” He spoke rapidly, in +the grip of his first impulse to shield her from what she had done. +But he felt her begin to tremble under his fingers, and he stopped as +suddenly as he had begun. + +“You no glad? You think shame for me? You think I--all time--very--bad!” + Tragedy was in her voice, and in her great, dark eyes. Good Indian +gulped. + +“No, Rachel. I don't think that. I want to help you out of this, if I +can, and I meant that if you didn't tell me anything about it, why--I +wouldn't know anything about it. You sabe.” + +“I sabe.” Her lips curved into a pathetic little smile. “I sabe you know +all what I do. You know for why, me thinkum. You think shame. I no take +shame. I do for you no get kill-dead. All time Man-that-coughs try for +shootum you. All time I try for--” She broke off to stare questioningly +up into his face. “I no tell, you no like for tell,” she said quietly. +“All same, you go. You ketchum you hoss, you go ranch. I think sheriff +mans mebbyso come pretty quick. No find out you be here. I no like you +be here this time.” + +Good Indian turned, yielding to the pleading of her eyes. The heart of +him ached dully with the weight of what she had done, and with an uneasy +comprehension of her reason for doing it. He walked as quickly as the +rough ground would permit, along the bluff toward the grade; and she, +with the instinctive deference to the male which is the heritage of +primitive woman, followed soft-footedly two paces behind him. Once where +the way was clear he stopped, and waited for her to come alongside, but +Rachel stopped and waited also, her eyes hungrily searching his face +with the look a dog has for his master. Good Indian read the meaning of +that look, and went on, and turned no more toward her until he reached +his horse. + +“You'd better go on to camp, and stay there, Rachel,” he said, as +casually as he could. “No trouble will come to you.” He hesitated, +biting his lip and plucking absently the tangles from the forelock of +his horse. “You sabe grateful?” he asked finally. And when she gave a +quick little nod, he went on: “Well, I'm grateful to you. You did what +a man would do for his friend. I sabe. I'm heap grateful, and I'll not +forget it. All time I'll be your friend. Good--by.” He mounted, and rode +away. He felt, just then, that it was the kindest thing he could do. + +He looked back once, just as he was turning into the grade road. She was +standing, her arms folded in her gray blanket, where he had left her. +His fingers tightened involuntarily the reins, so that Keno stopped and +eyed his master inquiringly. But there was nothing that he might say to +her. It was not words that she wanted. He swung his heels against Keno's +flanks, and rode home. + +Evadna rallied him upon his moodiness at breakfast, pouted a little +because he remained preoccupied under her teasing, and later was deeply +offended because he would not tell her where he had been, or what was +worrying him. + + + +“I guess you better send word to the doctor he needn't come,” the pump +man put his head in at the office door to say, just as the freight was +pulling away from the water-tank. “Saunders died a few minutes ago. +Pete says you better notify the coroner--and I reckon the sheriff, too. +Pretty tough to be shot down like that in broad daylight.” + +“I think I'd rather be shot in daylight than in the dark,” Miss Georgie +snapped unreasonably because her nerves were all a-jangle, and sent the +messages as requested. + +Saunders was neither a popular nor a prominent citizen, and there was +none to mourn beside him. Peter Hamilton, as his employer and a man +whose emotions were easily stirred, was shocked a shade lighter as to +his complexion and a tone lower as to his voice perhaps, and was heard +to remark frequently that it was “a turrible thing,” but the chief +emotion which the tragedy roused was curiosity, and that fluttering +excitement which attends death in any form. + +A dozen Indians hung about the store, the squaws peering inquisitively +in at the uncurtained window of the lean-to--where the bed held a long +immovable burden with a rumpled sheet over it--and the bucks listening +stolidly to the futile gossip on the store porch. + +Pete Hamilton, anxious that the passing of his unprofitable servant +should be marked by decorum if not by grief, mentally classed the event +with election day, in that he refused to sell any liquor until the +sheriff and coroner arrived. He also, after his first bewilderment had +passed, conceived the idea that Saunders had committed suicide, and +explained to everyone who would listen just why he believed it. Saunders +was sickly, for one thing. For another, Saunders never seemed to get +any good out of living. He had read everything he could get his hands +on--and though Pete did not say that Saunders chose to die when the +stock of paper novels was exhausted, he left that impression upon his +auditors. + +The sheriff and the coroner came at nine. All the Hart boys, including +Donny, were there before noon, and the group of Indians remained all day +wherever the store cast its shadow. Squaws and bucks passed and repassed +upon the footpath between Hartley and their camp, chattering together +of the big event until they came under the eye of strange white men, +whereupon they were stricken deaf and dumb, as is the way of our +nation's wards. + +When the sheriff inspected the stable and its vicinity, looking for +clews, not a blanket was in sight, though a dozen eyes watched every +movement suspiciously. When at the inquest that afternoon, he laid upon +the table a battered old revolver of cheap workmanship and long past its +prime, and testified that he had found it ten feet from the stable-door, +in a due line southeast from the hay-corral, and that one shot had been +fired from it, there were Indians in plenty to glance furtively at the +weapon and give no sign. + +The coroner showed the bullet which he had extracted from the body of +Saunders, and fitted it into the empty cartridge which had been under +the hammer in the revolver, and thereby proved to the satisfaction of +everyone that the gun was intimately connected with the death of the +man. So the jury arrived speedily, and without further fussing over +evidence, at the verdict of suicide. + +Good Indian drew a long breath, put on his hat, and went over to tell +Miss Georgie. The Hart boys lingered for a few minutes at the store, and +then rode on to the ranch without him, and the Indians stole away over +the hill to their camp. The coroner and the sheriff accepted Pete's +invitation into the back part of the store, refreshed themselves after +the ordeal, and caught the next train for Shoshone. So closed the +incident of Saunders' passing, so far as the law was concerned. + +“Well,” Miss Georgie summed up the situation, “Baumberger hasn't made +any sign of taking up the matter. I don't believe, now, that he will. +I wired the news to the papers in Shoshone, so he must know. I think +perhaps he's glad to get Saunders out of the way--for he certainly must +have known enough to put Baumberger behind the bars. + +“But I don't see,” she said, in a puzzled way, “how that gun came onto +the scene. I looked all around the stable this morning, and I could +swear there wasn't any gun.” + +“Well, he did pick it up--fortunately,” Good Indian returned grimly. +“I'm glad the thing was settled so easily.” + +She looked up at him sharply for a moment, opened her lips to ask a +question, and then thought better of it. + +“Oh, here's your handkerchief,” she said quietly, taking it from the +bottom of her wastebasket. “As you say, the thing is settled. I'm going +to turn you out now. The four-thirty-five is due pretty soon--and I have +oodles of work.” + +He looked at her strangely, and went away, wondering why Miss Georgie +hated so to have him in the office lately. + +On the next day, at ten o'clock, they buried Saunders on a certain +little knoll among the sagebrush; buried him without much ceremony, it +is true, but with more respect than he had received when he was alive +and shambling sneakily among them. Good Indian was there, saying little +and listening attentively to the comments made upon the subject, and +when the last bit of yellow gravel had been spatted into place he rode +down through the Indian camp on his way home, thankful that everyone +seemed to accept the verdict of suicide as being final, and anxious that +Rachel should know it. He felt rather queer about Rachel; sorry for her, +in an impersonal way; curious over her attitude toward life in general +and toward himself in particular, and ready to do her a good turn +because of her interest. + +But Rachel, when he reached the camp, was not visible. Peppajee Jim was +sitting peacefully in the shade of his wikiup when Grant rode up, and he +merely grunted in reply to a question or two. Good Indian resolved to +be patient. He dismounted, and squatted upon his heels beside Peppajee, +offered him tobacco, and dipped a shiny, new nickel toward a bright-eyed +papoose in scanty raiment, who stopped to regard him inquisitively. + +“I just saw them bury Saunders,” Good Indian remarked, by way of opening +a conversation. “You believe he shot himself?” + +Peppajee took his little stone pipe from his lips, blew a thin wreath of +smoke, and replaced the stem between his teeth, stared stolidly straight +ahead of him, and said nothing. + +“All the white men say that,” Good Indian persisted, after he had waited +a minute. Peppajee did not seem to hear. + +“Sheriff say that, too. Sheriff found the gun.” + +“Mebbyso sheriff mans heap damfool. Mebbyso heap smart. No sabe.” + +Good Indian studied him silently. Reticence was not a general +characteristic of Peppajee; it seemed to indicate a thorough +understanding of the whole affair. He wondered if Rachel had told her +uncle the truth. + +“Where's Rachel?” he asked suddenly, the words following involuntarily +his thought. + +Peppajee sucked hard upon his pipe, took it away from his mouth, and +knocked out the ashes upon a pole of the wikiup frame. + +“Yo' no speakum Rachel no more,” he said gravely. “Yo' ketchum 'Vadnah; +no ketchum otha squaw. Bad medicine come. Heap much troubles come. Me no +likeum. My heart heap bad.” + +“I'm Rachel's friend, Peppajee.” Good Indian spoke softly so that others +might not hear. “I sabe what Rachel do. Rachel good girl. I don't want +to bring trouble. I want to help.” + +Peppajee snorted. + +“Yo' make heap bad heart for Rachel,” he said sourly. “Yo' like for be +friend, yo' no come no more, mebbyso. No speakum. Bimeby mebbyso no have +bad heart no more. Kay bueno. Yo' white mans. Rachel mebbyso thinkum all +time yo' Indian. Mebbyso thinkum be yo' squaw. Kay bueno. Yo' all time +white mans. No speakum Rachel no more, yo' be friend. + +“Yo' speakum, me like to kill yo', mebbyso.” He spoke calmly, but none +the less his words carried conviction of his sincerity. + +Within the wikiup Good Indian heard a smothered sob. He listened, heard +it again, and looked challengingly at Peppajee. But Peppajee gave +no sign that he either heard the sound or saw the challenge in Good +Indian's eyes. + +“I Rachel's friend,” he said, speaking distinctly with his face half +turned toward the wall of deerskin. “I want to tell Rachel what the +sheriff said. I want to thank Rachel, and tell her I'm her friend. I +don't want to bring trouble.” He stopped and listened, but there was no +sound within. + +Peppajee eyed him comprehendingly, but there was no yielding in his +brown, wrinkled face. + +“Yo' Rachel's frien', yo' pikeway,” he insisted doggedly. + +From under the wall of the wikiup close to Good Indian on the side +farthest from Peppajee, a small, leafless branch of sage was thrust out, +and waggled cautiously, scraping gently his hand. Good Indian's fingers +closed upon it instinctively, and felt it slowly withdrawn until his +hand was pressed against the hide wall. Then soft fingers touched his +own, fluttered there timidly, and left in his palm a bit of paper, +tightly folded. Good Indian closed his hand upon it, and stood up. + +“All right, I go,” he said calmly to Peppajee, and mounted. + +Peppajee looked at him stolidly, and said nothing. + +“One thing I would like to know.” Good Indian spoke again. “You don't +care any more about the men taking Peaceful's ranch. Before they came, +you watch all the time, you heap care. Why you no care any more? Why you +no help?” + +Peppajee's mouth straightened in a grin of pure irony. + +“All time Baumberga try for ketchum ranch, me try for stoppum,” he +retorted. “Yo' no b'lievum, Peacefu' no b'lievum. Me tellum yo' cloud +sign, tellum yo' smoke sign, tellum yo' hear much bad talk for ketchum +ranch. Yo' all time think for ketchum 'Vadnah squaw. No think for +stoppum mens. Yo' all time let mens come, ketchum ranch. Yo' say fightum +in co't. Cloud sign say me do notting. Yo' lettum come. Yo' mebbyso +makum go. Me no care.” + +“I see. Well, maybe you're right.” He tightened the reins, and rode +away, the tight little wad of paper still hidden in his palm. When he +was quite out of sight from the camp and jogging leisurely down the hot +trail, he unfolded it carefully and looked at it long. + +His face was grave and thoughtful when at last he tore it into tiny bits +and gave it to the hot, desert wind. It was a pitiful little message, +printed laboriously upon a scrap of brown wrapping--paper. It said +simply: + +“God by i lov yo.” + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. THE MALICE OF A SQUAW + +Good Indian looked in the hammock, but Evadna was not there. He went to +the little stone bench at the head of the pond, and when he still did +not see her he followed the bank around to the milk-house, where was +a mumble of voices. And, standing in the doorway with her arm thrown +around her Aunt Phoebe's shoulders in a pretty protective manner, he saw +her, and his eyes gladdened. She did not see him at once. She was facing +courageously the three inseparables, Hagar, Viney, and Lucy, squatted at +the top of the steps, and she was speaking her mind rapidly and angrily. +Good Indian knew that tone of old, and he grinned. Also he stopped by +the corner of the house, and listened shamelessly. + +“That is not true,” she was saying very clearly. “You're a bad old squaw +and you tell lies. You ought to be put in jail for talking that way.” + She pressed her aunt's shoulder affectionately. “Don't you mind a +word she says, Aunt Phoebe. She's just a mischief-making old hag, and +she--oh, I'd like to beat her!” + +Hagar shook her head violently, and her voice rose shrill and malicious, +cutting short Evadna's futile defiance. + +“Ka-a-ay bueno, yo'!” Her teeth gnashed together upon the words. “I no +tellum lie. Good Injun him kill Man-that-coughs. All time I seeum creep, +creep, through sagebrush. All time I seeum hoss wait where much rock +grow. I seeum. I no speakum heap lie. Speakum true. I go tell sheriff +mans Good Indian killum Man-that-coughs. I tellum--” + +“Why didn't you, then, when the sheriff was in Hartley?” Evadna flung at +her angrily. “Because you know it's a lie. That's why.” + +“Yo' thinkum Good Injun love yo', mebbyso.” Hagar's witch-grin was at +its malevolent widest. Her black eyes sparkled with venom. “Yo' heap +fool. Good Injun go all time Squaw-talk-far-off. Speakum glad word. Good +Injun ka-a-ay bueno. Love Squaw-talk-far-off. No love yo'. Speakum lies, +yo'. Makum yo' heap cry all time. Makeum yo' heart bad.” She cackled, +and leered with vile significance toward the girl in the doorway. + +“Don't you listen to her, honey.” It was Phoebe's turn to reassure. + +Good Indian took a step forward, his face white with rage. Viney saw him +first, muttered an Indian word of warning, and the three sprang up and +backed away from his approach. + +“So you've got to call me a murderer!” he cried, advancing threateningly +upon Hagar. “And even that doesn't satisfy you. You--” + +Evadna rushed up the steps like a crisp little whirlwind, and caught his +arm tightly in her two hands. + +“Grant! We don't believe a word of it. You couldn't do a thing like +that. Don't we KNOW? Don't pay any attention to her. We aren't going to. +It'll hurt her worse than any kind of punishment we could give her. Oh, +she's a VILE old thing! Too vile for words! Aunt Phoebe and I shouldn't +belittle ourselves by even listening to her. SHE can't do any harm +unless we let it bother us--what she says. _I_ know you never could take +a human life, Grant. It's foolish even to speak of such a thing. It's +just her nasty, lying tongue saying what her black old heart wishes +could be true.” She was speaking in a torrent of trepidation lest he +break from her and do some violence which they would all regret. She +did not know what he could do, or would do, but the look of his face +frightened her. + +Old Hagar spat viciously at them both, and shrilled vituperative +sentences--in her own tongue fortunately; else the things she said +must have brought swift retribution. And as if she did not care for +consequences and wanted to make her words carry a definite sting, she +stopped, grinned maliciously, and spoke the choppy dialect of her tribe. + +“Yo' tellum me shont-isham. Mebbyso yo' tellum yo' no ketchum +Squaw-talk-far-off in sagebrush, all time Saunders go dead! Me ketchum +hair--Squaw-talk-far-off hair. You like for see, you thinkum me tell +lies?” + +From under her blanket she thrust forth a greasy brown hand, and shook +triumphantly before them a tangled wisp of woman's hair--the hair of +Miss Georgie, without a doubt. There was no gainsaying that color and +texture. She looked full at Evadna. + +“Yo' like see, me show whereum walk,” she said grimly. “Good Injun boot +make track, Squaw-talk-far-off little shoe make track. Me show, yo' +thinkum mebbyso me tell lie. Stoppum in sagebrush, ketchum hair. Me +ketchum knife--Good Injun knife, mebbyso.” Revenge mastered cupidity, +and she produced that also, and held it up where they could all see. + +Evadna looked and winced. + +“I don't believe a word you say,” she declared stubbornly. “You STOLE +that knife. I suppose you also stole the hair. You can't MAKE me believe +a thing like that!” + +“Squaw-talk-far-off run, run heap fas', get home quick. Me seeum, Viney +seeum, Lucy seeum.” Hagar pointed to each as she named her, and waited +until they give a confirmatory nod. The two squaws gazed steadily at the +ground, and she grunted and ignored them afterward, content that they +bore witness to her truth in that one particular. + +“Squaw-talk-far-off sabe Good Injun killum Man-that-coughs, mebbyso,” + she hazarded, watching Good Indian's face cunningly to see if the guess +struck close to the truth. + +“If you've said all you want to say, you better go,” Good Indian told +her after a moment of silence while they glared at each other. “I won't +touch you--because you're such a devil I couldn't stop short of killing +you, once I laid my hands on you.” + +He stopped, held his lips tightly shut upon the curses he would not +speak, and Evadna felt his biceps tauten under her fingers as if he +were gathering himself for a lunge at the old squaw. She looked up +beseechingly into his face, and saw that it was sharp and stern, as +it had been that morning when the men had first been discovered in the +orchard. He raised his free arm, and pointed imperiously to the trail. + +“Pikeway!” he commanded. + +Viney and Lucy shrank from the tone of him, and, hiding their faces in +a fold of blanket, slunk silently away like dogs that have been whipped +and told to go. Even Hagar drew back a pace, hardy as was her untamed +spirit. She looked at Evadna clinging to his arm, her eyes wide and +startlingly blue and horrified at all she had heard. She laughed +then--did Hagar--and waddled after the others, her whole body seeming to +radiate contentment with the evil she had wrought. + +“There's nothing on earth can equal the malice of an old squaw,” said +Phoebe, breaking into the silence which followed. “I'd hope she don't go +around peddling that story--not that anyone would believe it, but--” + +Good Indian looked at her, and at Evadna. He opened his lips for speech, +and closed them without saying a word. That near he came to telling them +the truth about meeting Miss Georgie, and explaining about the hair and +the knife and the footprints Hagar had prated about. But he thought of +Rachel, and knew that he would never tell anyone, not even Evadna. The +girl loosened his arm, and moved toward her aunt. + +“I hate Indians--squaws especially,” she said positively. “I hate the +way they look at one with their beady eyes, just like snakes. I believe +that horrid old thing lies awake nights just thinking up nasty, wicked +lies to tell about the people she doesn't like. I don't think you ought +to ride around alone so much, Grant; she might murder you. It's in her +to do it, if she ever got the chance.” + +“What do you suppose made her ring Georgie Howard in like that?” Phoebe +speculated, looking at Grant. “She must have some grudge against her, +too.” + +“I don't know why.” Good Indian spoke unguardedly, because he was still +thinking of Rachel and those laboriously printed words which he had +scattered afar. “She's always giving them candy and fruit, whenever they +show up at the station.” + +“Oh--h!” Evadna gave the word that peculiar, sliding inflection of +hers which meant so much, and regarded him unwinkingly, with her hands +clasped behind her. + +Good Indian knew well the meaning of both her tone and her stare, but he +only laughed and caught her by the arm. + +“Come on over to the hammock,” he commanded, with all the arrogance of a +lover. “We're making that old hag altogether too important, it seems to +me. Come on, Goldilocks--we haven't had a real satisfying sort of scrap +for several thousand years.” + +She permitted him to lead her to the hammock, and pile three cushions +behind her head and shoulders--with the dark-blue one on top because her +hair looked well against it--and dispose himself comfortably where he +could look his fill at her while he swung the hammock gently with his +boot-heel, scraping a furrow in the sand. But she did not show any +dimples, though his eyes and his lips smiled together when she looked +at him, and when he took up her hand and kissed each finger-tip in turn, +she was as passive as a doll under the caresses of a child. + +“What's the matter?” he demanded, when he found that her manner did not +soften. “Worrying still about what that old squaw said?” + +“Not in the slightest.” Evadna's tone was perfectly polite--which was a +bad sign. + +Good Indian thought he saw the makings of a quarrel in her general +attitude, and he thought he might as well get at once to the real root +of her resentment. + +“What are you thinking about? Tell me, Goldilocks,” he coaxed, pushing +his own troubles to the back of his mind. + +“Oh, nothing. I was just wondering--though it's a trivial matter which +is hardly worth mentioning--but I just happened to wonder how you came +to know that Georgie Howard is in the habit of giving candy to the +squaws--or anything else. I'm sure I never--” She bit her lips as if she +regretted having said so much. + +Good Indian laughed. In truth, he was immensely relieved; he had been +afraid she might want him to explain something else--something which he +felt he must keep to himself even in the face of her anger. But this--he +laughed again. + +“That's easy enough,” he said lightly. “I've seen her do it a couple of +times. Maybe Hagar has been keeping an eye on me--I don't know; anyway, +when I've had occasion to go to the store or to the station, I've nearly +always seen her hanging around in the immediate vicinity. I went a +couple of times to see Miss Georgie about this land business. She's wise +to a lot of law--used to help her father before he died, it seems. And +she has some of his books, I discovered. I wanted to see if there wasn't +some means of kicking these fellows off the ranch without making a lot +more trouble for old Peaceful. But after I'd read up and talked the +thing over with her, we decided that there wasn't anything to be done +till Peaceful comes back, and we know what he's been doing about it. +That's what's keeping him, of course. + +“I suppose,” he added, looking at her frankly, “I should have mentioned +my going there. But to tell you the truth, I didn't think anything much +about it. It was just business, and when I'm with you, Miss Goldilocks, +I like to forget my troubles. You,” he declared, his eyes glowing upon +her, “are the antidote. And you wouldn't have mo believe you could +possibly be jealous!” + +“No,” said Evadna, in a more amiable tone. “Of course I'm not. But I do +think you showed a--well, a lack of confidence in me. I don't see why +_I_ can't help you share your troubles. You know I want to. I think +you should have told me, and let me help. But you never do. Just for +instance--why wouldn't you tell me yesterday where you were before +breakfast? I know you were SOMEWHERE, because I looked all over the +place for you,” she argued naively. “I always want to know where you +are, it's so lonesome when I don't know. And you see--” + +She was interrupted at that point, which was not strange. The +interruption lasted for several minutes, but Evadna was a persistent +little person. When they came back to mundane matters, she went right on +with what she had started out to say. + +“You see, that gave old Hagar a chance to accuse you of--well, of a +MEETING with Georgie. Which I don't believe, of course. Still, it does +seem as if you might have told me in the first place where you had been, +and then I could have shut her up by letting her see that I knew all +about it. The horrid, mean old THING! To say such things, right to +your face! And--Grant, where DID she get hold of that knife, do you +suppose--and--that--bunch of--hair?” She took his hand of her own +accord, and patted it, and Evadna was not a demonstrative kind of person +usually. “It wasn't just a tangle, like combings,” she went on slowly. +“I noticed particularly. There was a lock as large almost as my finger, +that looked as if it had been cut off. And it certainly WAS Georgie's +hair.” + +“Georgie's hair,” Good Indian smilingly asserted, “doesn't interest me +a little bit. Maybe Hagar scalped Miss Georgie to get it. If it had been +goldy, I'd have taken it away from her if I had to annihilate the whole +tribe, but seeing it wasn't YOUR hair--” + +Well, the argument as such was a poor one, to say the least, but it had +the merit of satisfying Evadna as mere logic could not have done, and +seemed to allay as well all the doubt that had been accumulating for +days past in her mind. But an hour spent in a hammock in the shadiest +part of the grove could not wipe out all memory of the past few days, +nor quiet the uneasiness which had come to be Good Indian's portion. + +“I've got to go up on the hill again right after dinner, +Squaw-with-sun-hair,” he told her at last. “I can't rest, somehow, as +long as those gentlemen are camping down in the orchard. You won't mind, +will you?” Which shows that the hour had not been spent in quarreling, +at all events. + +“Certainly not,” Evadna replied calmly. “Because I'm going with you. Oh, +you needn't get ready to shake your head! I'm going to help you, from +now on, and talk law and give advice and 'scout around,' as you call it. +I couldn't be easy a minute, with old Hagar on the warpath the way she +is. I'd imagine all sorts of things.” + +“You don't realize how hot it is,” he discouraged. + +“I can stand it if you can. And I haven't seen Georgie for DAYS. She +must get horribly lonesome, and it's a perfect SHAME that I haven't been +up there lately. I'm sure she wouldn't treat ME that way.” Evadna +had put on her angelic expression. “I WOULD go oftener,” she declared +virtuously, “only you boys always go off without saying anything +about it, and I'm silly about riding past that Indian camp alone. That +squaw--the one that caught Huckleberry the other day, you know--would +hardly let go of the bridle. I was scared to DEATH, only I wouldn't let +her see. I believe now she's in with old Hagar, Grant. She kept asking +me where you were, and looked so--” + +“I think, on the whole, we'd better wait till after supper when it's +cooler, Goldenhair,” Good Indian observed, when she hesitated over +something she had not quite decided to say. “I suppose I really ought +to stay and help the boys with that clover patch that Mother Hart is +worrying so about. I guess she thinks we're a lazy bunch, all right, +when the old man's gone. We'll go up this evening, if you like.” + +Evadna eyed him with open suspicion, but if she could read his real +meaning from anything in his face or his eyes or his manner, she must +have been a very keen observer indeed. + +Good Indian was meditating what he called “making a sneak.” He wanted +to have a talk with Miss Georgie himself, and he certainly did not want +Evadna, of all people, to hear what he had to say. For just a minute +he wished that they had quarreled again. He went down to the stable, +started to saddle Keno, and then decided that he would not. After all, +Hagar's gossip could do no real harm, he thought, and it could not make +much difference if Miss Georgie did not hear of it immediately. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. PEACEFUL RETURNS + +That afternoon when the four-thirty-five rushed in from the parched +desert and slid to a panting halt beside the station platform, Peaceful +Hart emerged from the smoker, descended quietly to the blistering +planks, and nodded through the open window to Miss Georgie at her +instrument taking train orders. + +Behind him perspired Baumberger, purple from the heat and the beer with +which he had sought to allay the discomfort of that searing sunlight. + +“Howdy, Miss Georgie?” he wheezed, as he passed the window. “Ever see +such hot weather in your life? _I_ never did.” + +Miss Georgie glanced at him while her fingers rattled her key, and it +struck her that Baumberger had lost a good deal of his oily amiability +since she saw him last. He looked more flabby and loose-lipped than +ever, and his leering eyes were streaked plainly with the red veins +which told of heavy drinking. She gave him a nod cool enough to lower +the thermometer several degrees, and scribbled away upon the yellow pad +under her hand as if Baumberger had sunk into the oblivion her temper +wished for him. She looked up immediately, however, and leaned forward +so that she could see Peaceful just turning to go down the steps. + +“Oh, Mr. Hart! Will you wait a minute?” she called clearly above the +puffing of the engine. “I've something for you here. Soon as I get this +train out--” She saw him stop and turn back to the office, and let it go +at that for the present. + +“I sure have got my nerve,” she observed mentally when the conductor +had signaled the engineer and swung up the steps of the smoker, and the +wheels were beginning to clank. All she had for Peaceful Hart in that +office was anxiety over his troubles. “Just held him up to pry into his +private affairs,” she put it bluntly to herself. But she smiled at him +brightly, and waited until Baumberger had gone lumbering with rather +uncertain steps to the store, where he puffed up the steps and sat +heavily down in the shade where Pete Hamilton was resting after the +excitement of the past thirty-six hours. + +“I lied to you, Mr. Hart,” she confessed, engagingly. “I haven't a thing +for you except a lot of questions, and I simply must ask them or die. +I'm not just curious, you know. I'm horribly anxious. Won't you take the +seat of honor, please? The ranch won't run off if you aren't there for +a few minutes after you had expected to be. I've been waiting to have a +little talk with you, and I simply couldn't let the opportunity go by.” + She talked fast, but she was thinking faster, and wondering if this +calm, white-bearded old man thought her a meddlesome fool. + +“There's time enough, and it ain't worth much right now,” Peaceful said, +sitting down in the beribboned rocker and stroking his beard in his +deliberate fashion. “It seems to be getting the fashion to be anxious,” + he drawled, and waited placidly for her to speak. + +“You just about swear by old Baumberger, don't you?” she began +presently, fiddling with her lead pencil and going straight to the heart +of what she wanted to say. + +“Well, I dunno. I've kinda learned to fight shy of swearing by anybody, +Miss Georgie.” His mild blue eyes settled attentively upon her flushed +face. + +“That's some encouragement, anyhow,” she sighed. “Because he's the +biggest old blackguard in Idaho and more treacherous than any Indian +ever could be if he tried. I just thought I'd tell you, in case you +didn't know it. I'm certain as I can be of anything, that he's at the +bottom of this placer-claim fraud, and he's just digging your ranch out +from under your feet while he wheedles you into thinking he's looking +after your interests. I'll bet you never got an injunction against those +eight men,” she hazarded, leaning toward him with her eyes sparkling as +the subject absorbed all her thoughts. “I'll bet anything he kept you +fiddling around until those fellows all filed on their claims. And now +it's got to go till the case is finally settled in court, because they +are technically within their rights in making lawful improvements on +their claims. + +“Grant,” she said, and her voice nearly betrayed her when she spoke +his name, “was sure they faked the gold samples they must have used in +filing. We both were sure of it. He and the boys tried to catch them at +some crooked work, but the nights have been too dark, for one thing, and +they were always on the watch, and went up to Shoshone in couples, and +there was no telling which two meant to sneak off next. So they have all +filed, I suppose. I know the whole eight have been up--” + +“Yes, they've all filed--twenty acres apiece--the best part of the +ranch. There's a forty runs up over the bluff; the lower line takes +in the house and barn and down into the garden where the man they call +Stanley run his line through the strawberry patch. That forty's mine +yet. It's part uh the homestead. The meadowland is most all included. +That was a preemption claim.” Peaceful spoke slowly, and there was a +note of discouragement in his voice which it hurt Miss Georgie to hear. + +“Well, they've got to prove that those claims of theirs are lawful, you +know. And if you've got your patent for the homestead--you have got +a patent, haven't you?” Something in his face made her fling in the +question. + +“Y-es--or I thought I had one,” he answered dryly. “It seems now there's +a flaw in it, and it's got to go back to Washington and be rectified. It +ain't legal till that's been done.” + +Miss Georgie half rose from her chair, and dropped back despairingly. +“Who found that mistake?” she demanded. “Baumberger?” + +“Y-es, Baumberger. He thought we better go over all the papers +ourselves, so the other side couldn't spring anything on us unawares, +and there was one paper that hadn't been made out right. So it had to be +fixed, of course. Baumberger was real put out about it.” + +“Oh, of course!” Miss Georgie went to the window to make sure of the +gentleman's whereabouts. He was still sitting upon the store porch, and +he was just in the act of lifting a tall, glass mug of beer to his gross +mouth when she looked over at him. “Pig!” she gritted under her breath. +“It's a pity he doesn't drink himself to death.” She turned and faced +Peaceful anxiously. + +“You spoke a while ago as if you didn't trust him implicitly,” she +said. “I firmly believe he hired those eight men to file on your land. I +believe he also hired Saunders to watch Grant, for some reason--perhaps +because Grant has shown his hostility from the first. Did you know +Saunders--or someone--has been shooting at Grant from the top of +the bluff for--well, ever since you left? The last shot clipped his +hat-brim. Then Saunders was shot--or shot himself, according to the +inquest--and there has been no more rifle practice with Grant for the +target.” + +“N-no, I hadn't heard about that.” Peaceful pulled hard at his beard so +that his lips were drawn slightly apart. “I don't mind telling yuh,” he +added slowly, “that I've got another lawyer working on the case--Black. +He hates Baumberger, and he'd like to git something on him. I don't +want Baumberger should know anything about it, though. He takes it for +granted I swallow whole everything he says and does--but I don't. Not by +a long shot. Black'll ferret out any crooked work.” + +“He's a dandy if he catches Baumberger,” Miss Georgie averred, gloomily. +“I tried a little detective work on my own account. I hadn't any right; +it was about the cipher messages Saunders used to send and receive +so often before your place was jumped. I was dead sure it was old +Baumberger at the other end, and I--well, I struck up a mild sort of +flirtation with the operator at Shoshone.” She smiled deprecatingly at +Peaceful. + +“I wanted to find out--and I did by writing a nice letter or two; +we have to be pretty cute about what we send over the wires,” she +explained, “though we do talk back and forth quite a lot, too. There was +a news-agent and cigar man--you know that kind of joint, where they +sell paper novels and magazines and tobacco and such--getting Saunders' +messages. Jim Wakely is his name. He told the operator that he and +Saunders were just practicing; they were going to be detectives, he +said, and rigged up a cipher that they were learning together so they +wouldn't need any codebook. Pretty thin that--but you can't prove it +wasn't the truth. I managed to find out that Baumberger buys cigars and +papers of Jim Wakely sometimes; not always, though.” + +Miss Georgie laughed ruefully, and patted her pompadour absent-mindedly. + +“So all I got out of that,” she finished, “was a correspondence I could +very well do without. I've been trying to quarrel with that operator +ever since, but he's so darned easy-tempered!” She went and looked out +of the window again uneasily. + +“He's guzzling beer over there, and from the look of him he's had a good +deal more than he needs already,” she informed Peaceful. “He'll burst +if he keeps on. I suppose I shouldn't keep you any longer--he's looking +this way pretty often, I notice; nothing but the beer-keg holds him, I +imagine. And when he empties that--” She shrugged her shoulders, and sat +down facing Hart. + +“Maybe you could bribe Jim Wakely into giving something away,” she +suggested. “I'd sure like to see Baumberger stub his toe in this deal! +Or maybe you could get around one of those eight beauties you've got +camping down on your ranch--but there isn't much chance of that; he +probably took good care to pick clams for that job. And Saunders,” she +added slowly, “is eternally silent. Well, I hope in mercy you'll be able +to catch him napping, Mr. Hart.” + +Peaceful rose stiffly,--and took up his hat from where he had laid it on +the table. + +“I ain't as hopeful as I was a week ago,” he admitted mildly. “Put if +there's any justice left in the courts, I'll save the old ranch. My wife +and I worked hard to make it what it is, and my boys call it home. We +can't save it by anything but law. Fightin' would only make a bad +matter worse. I'm obliged to yuh, Miss Georgie, for taking such an +interest--and I'll tell Black about Jim Wakely.” + +“Don't build any hopes on Jim,” she warned. “He probably doesn't know +anything except that he sent and received messages he couldn't read any +sense into.” + +“Well--there's always a way out, if we can find it. Come down and see +us some time. We still got a house to invite our friends to.” He smiled +drearily at her, gave a little, old-fashioned bow, and went over to +join Baumberger--and to ask Pete Hamilton for the use of his team and +buckboard. + +Miss Georgie, keeping an uneasy vigil over everything that moved in the +barren portion of Hartley which her window commanded, saw Pete get up +and start listlessly toward the stable; saw Peaceful sit down to wait; +and then Pete drove up with the rig, and they started for the ranch. +She turned with a startled movement to the office door, because she felt +that she was being watched. + +“How, Hagar, and Viney, and Lucy,” she greeted languidly when she saw +the three squaws sidle closer, and reached for a bag of candy for them. + +Hagar's greasy paw stretched out greedily for the gift, and placed it in +jealous hiding beneath her blanket, but she did not turn to go, as +she most frequently did after getting what she came for. Instead, she +waddled boldly into the office, her eyes searching cunningly every +corner of the little room. Viney and Lucy remained outside, passively +waiting. Hagar twitched at something under her blanket, and held out her +hand again; this time it was not empty. + +“Ketchum sagebrush,” she announced laconically. “Mebbyso yo' like for +buy?” + +Miss Georgie stared fixedly at the hand, and said nothing. Hagar drew it +under her blanket, held it fumbling there, and thrust it forth again. + +“Ketchum where ketchum hair,” she said, and her wicked old eyes twinkled +with malice. “Mebbyso yo' like for buy?” + +Miss Georgie still stared, and said nothing. Her under lip was caught +tightly between her teeth by now, and her eyebrows were pulled close +together. + +“Ketchum much track, same place,” said Hagar grimly. “Good Injun makeum +track all same boot. Seeum Good Injun creep, creep in bushes, all time +Man-that-coughs be heap kill. Yo' buy hair, buy knife, mebbyso me no +tell me seeum Good Injun. Me tell, Good Injun go for jail; mebbyso +killum rope.” She made a horrible gesture of hanging by the neck. +Afterward she grinned still more horribly. “Ketchum plenty mo' dolla, me +no tell, mebbyso.” + +Miss Georgie felt blindly for her chair, and when she touched it she +backed and sank into it rather heavily. She looked white and sick, and +Hagar eyed her gloatingly. + +“Yo' no like for Good Injun be killum rope,” she chuckled. “Yo' all time +thinkum heap bueno. Mebbyso yo' love. Yo' buy? Yo' payum much dolla?” + +Miss Georgie passed a hand slowly over her eyes. She felt numb, and she +could not think, and she must think. A shuffling sound at the door made +her drop her hand and look up, but there was nothing to lighten her +oppressive sense of danger to Grant. Another squaw had appeared, was +all. A young squaw, with bright-red ribbons braided into her shining +black hair, and great, sad eyes brightening the dull copper tint of her +face. + +“You no be 'fraid,” she murmured shyly to Miss Georgie, and stopped +where she was just inside the door. “You no be sad. No trouble come Good +Injun. I friend.” + +Hagar turned, and snarled at her in short, barking words which Miss +Georgie could not understand. The young squaw folded her arms inside her +bright, plaid shawl, and listened with an indifference bordering closely +on contempt, one would judge from her masklike face. Hagar turned from +berating her, and thrust out her chin at Miss Georgie. + +“I go. Sun go 'way, mebbyso I come. Mebbyso yo' heart bad. Me ketchum +much dolla yo', me no tellum, mebbyso. No ketchum, me tell sheriff mans +Good Injun all time killum Man-that-coughs.” Turning, she waddled out, +jabbing viciously at the young squaw with her elbow as she passed, and +spitting out some sort of threat or command--Miss Georgie could not tell +which. + +The young squaw lingered, still gazing shyly at Miss Georgie. + +“You no be 'fraid,” she repeated softly. “I friend. I take care. No +trouble come Good Injun. I no let come. You no be sad.” She smiled +wistfully, and was gone, as silently as moved her shadow before her on +the cinders. + +Miss Georgie stood by the window with her fingernails making little red +half-moons in her palms, and watched the three squaws pad out of sight +on the narrow trail to their camp, with the young squaw following after, +until only a black head could be seen bobbing over the brow of the hill. +When even that was gone, she turned from the window, and stood for a +long minute with her hands pressed tightly over her face. She was +trying to think, but instead she found herself listening intently to the +monotonous “Ah-h-CHUCK! ah-h-CHUCK!” of the steam pump down the track, +and to the spasmodic clicking of an order from the dispatcher to the +passenger train two stations to the west. + +When the train was cleared and the wires idle, she went suddenly to the +table, laid her fingers purposefully upon the key, and called up her +chief. It was another two hours' leave of absence she asked for “on +urgent business.” She got it, seasoned with a sarcastic reminder that +her business was supposed to be with the railroad company, and that she +would do well to cultivate exactness of expression and a taste for her +duties in the office. + +She was putting on her hat even while she listened to the message, and +she astonished the man at the other end by making no retort +whatever. She almost ran to the store, and she did not ask Pete for a +saddle-horse; she just threw her office key at him, and told him she was +going to take his bay, and she was at the stable before he closed the +mouth he had opened in amazement at her whirlwind departure. + + + +CHAPTER XXV. “I'D JUST AS SOON HANG FOR NINE MEN AS FOR ONE” + +Baumberger climbed heavily out of the rig, and went lurching drunkenly +up the path to the house where the cool shade of the grove was like +paradise set close against the boundary of the purgatory of blazing +sunshine and scorching sand. He had not gone ten steps from the stable +when he met Good Indian face to face. + +“Hullo,” he growled, stopping short and eying him malevolently with +lowered head. + +Good Indian's lips curled silently, and he stepped aside to pursue his +way. Baumberger swung his huge body toward him. + +“I said HULLO. Nothin' wrong in that, is there? HULLO--d'yuh hear?” + +“Go to the devil!” said Grant shortly. + +Baumberger leered at him offensively. “Pretty Polly! Never learned but +one set uh words in his life. Can't yuh say anything but 'Go to the +devil!' when a man speaks to yuh? Hey?” + +“I could say a whole lot that you wouldn't be particularly glad to +hear.” Good Indian stopped, and faced him, coldly angry. For one thing, +he knew that Evadna was waiting on the porch for him, and could see +even if she could not hear; and Baumberger's attitude was insulting. “I +think,” he said meaningly, “I wouldn't press the point if I were you.” + +“Giving me advice, hey? And who the devil are you?” + +“I wouldn't ask, if I were you. But if you really want to know, I'm the +fellow you hired Saunders to shoot. You blundered that time. You should +have picked a better man, Mr. Baumberger. Saunders couldn't have hit +the side of a barn if he'd been locked inside it. You ought to have made +sure--” + +Baumberger glared at him, and then lunged, his eyes like an animal gone +mad. + +“I'll make a better job, then!” he bellowed. “Saunders was a fool. I +told him to get down next the trail and make a good job of it. I told +him to kill you, you lying, renegade Injun--and if he couldn't, I can! +Yuh WILL watch me, hey?” + +Good Indian backed from him in sheer amazement. Epithets unprintable +poured in a stream from the loose, evil lips. Baumberger was a raving +beast of a man. He would have torn the other to pieces and reveled in +the doing. He bellowed forth threats against Good Indian and the Harts, +young and old, and vaunted rashly the things he meant to do. Heat-mad +and drink-mad he was, and it was as if the dam of his wily amiability +had broken and let loose the whole vile reservoir of his pirate mind. He +tried to strike Good Indian down where he stood, and when his blows were +parried he stopped, swayed a minute in drunken uncertainty, and then +make one of his catlike motions, pulled a gun, and fired without really +taking aim. + +Another gun spoke then, and Baumberger collapsed in the sand, a +quivering heap of gross human flesh. Good Indian stood and looked down +at him fixedly while the smoke floated away from the muzzle of his own +gun. He heard Evadna screaming hysterically at the gate, and looked over +there inquiringly. Phoebe was running toward him, and the boys--Wally +and Gene and Jack, from the blacksmith shop. At the corner of the stable +Miss Georgie was sliding from her saddle, her riding whip clenched +tightly in her hand as she hurried to him. Peaceful stood beside the +team, with the lines still in his hand. + +It was Miss Georgie's words which reached him clearly. + +“You just HAD to do it, Grant. I saw the whole thing. You HAD to.” + +“Oh, Grant--GRANT! What have you done? What have you done?” That was +Phoebe Hart, saying the same thing over and over with a queer, moaning +inflection in her voice. + +“D'yuh KILL him?” Gene shouted excitedly, as he ran up to the spot. + +“Yes.” Good Indian glanced once more at the heap before him. “And I'm +liable to kill a few more before I'm through with the deal.” He swung +short around, discovered that Evadna was clutching his arm and crying, +and pulled loose from her with a gesture of impatience. With the gun +still in his hand, he walked quickly down the road in the direction of +the garden. + +“He's mad! The boy is mad! He's going to kill--” Phoebe gave a sob, and +ran after him, and with her went Miss Georgie and Evadna, white-faced, +all three of them. + +“Come on, boys--he's going to clean out the whole bunch!” whooped Gene. + +“Oh, choke off!” Wally gritted disgustedly, glancing over his shoulder +at them. “Go back to the house, and STAY there! Ma, make Vad quit that +yelling, can't yuh?” He looked eloquently at Jack, keeping pace with him +and smiling with the steely glitter in his eyes. “Women make me sick!” + he snorted under his breath. + +Peaceful stared after them, went into the stable, and got a blanket to +throw over Baumberger's inert body, stooped, and made sure that the man +was dead, with the left breast of his light negligee shirt all blackened +with powder and soaked with blood; covered him well, and tied up the +team. Then he went to the house, and got the old rifle that had killed +Indians and buffalo alike, and went quickly through the grove to +the garden. He was a methodical man, and he was counted slow, but +nevertheless he reached the scene not much behind the others. Wally was +trying to send his mother to the house with Evadna, and neither would +go. Miss Georgie was standing near Good Indian, watching Stanley with +her lips pressed together. + +It is doubtful if Good Indian realized what the others were doing. He +had gone straight past the line of stakes to where Stanley was sitting +with his back against the lightning-stricken apricot tree. Stanley was +smoking a cigarette as if he had heard nothing of the excitement, but +his rifle was resting upon his knee in such a manner that he had but to +lift it and take aim. The three others were upon their own claims, and +they, also, seemed unobtrusively ready for whatever might be going to +happen. + +Good Indian appraised the situation with a quick glance as he came up, +but he did not slacken his pace until he was within ten feet of Stanley. + +“You're across the dead line, m' son,” said Stanley, with lazy +significance. “And you, too,” he added, flickering a glance at Miss +Georgie. + +“The dead line,” said Good Indian coolly, “is beyond the Point o' Rocks. +I'd like to see you on the other side by sundown.” + +Stanley looked him over, from the crown of his gray hat to the tips of +his riding-boots, and laughed when his eyes came back to Good Indian's +face. But the laugh died out rather suddenly at what he saw there. + +“Got the papers for that?” he asked calmly. But his jaw had squared. + +“I've got something better than papers. Your boss is dead. I shot him +just now. He's lying back there by the stable.” Good Indian tilted +his head backward, without taking his eyes from Stanley's face--and +Stanley's right hand, too, perhaps. “If you don't want the same +medicine, I'd advise you to quit.” + +Stanley's jaw dropped, but it was surprise which slackened the muscles. + +“You--shot--” + +“Baumberger. I said it.” + +“You'll hang for that,” Stanley stated impersonally, without moving. + +Good Indian smiled, but it only made his face more ominous. + +“Well, they can't hang a man more than once. I'll see this ranch cleaned +up while I'm about it. I'd just as soon,” he added composedly, “be +hanged for nine men as for one.” + +Stanley sat on his haunches, and regarded him unwinkingly for so long +that Phoebe's nerves took a panic, and she drew Evadna away from the +place. The boys edged closer, their hands resting suggestively upon +their gun-butts. Old Peaceful half-raised his rifle, and held it so. It +was like being compelled to watch a fuse hiss and shrivel and go black +toward a keg of gun-powder. + +“I believe, by heck, you would!” said Stanley at last, and so long a +time had elapsed that even Good Indian had to think back to know what +he meant. Stanley squinted up at the sun, hitched himself up so that his +back rested against the tree more comfortably, inspected his cigarette, +and then fumbled for a match with which to relight it. “How'd you find +out Baumberger was back uh this deal?” he asked curiously and without +any personal resentment in tone or manner, and raked the match along his +thigh. + +Good Indian's shoulders went up a little. + +“I knew, and that's sufficient. The dead line is down past the Point +o' Rocks. After sundown this ranch is going to hold the Harts and their +friends--and NO ONE ELSE. Tell that to your pals, unless you've got a +grudge against them!” + +Stanley held his cigarette between his fingers, and blew smoke through +his nostrils while he watched Good Indian turn his back and walk away. +He did not easily lose his hold of himself, and this was, with him, a +cold business proposition. + +Miss Georgie stood where she was until she saw that Stanley did not +intend to shoot Good Indian in the back, as he might have done easily +enough, and followed so quickly that she soon came up with him. Good +Indian turned at the rustling of the skirts immediately behind him, and +looked down at her somberly. Then he caught sight of something she was +carrying in her hand, and he gave a short laugh. + +“What are you doing with that thing?” he asked peremptorily. + +Miss Georgie blushed very red, and slid the thing into her pocket. + +“Well, every little helps,” she retorted, with a miserable attempt at +her old breeziness of manner. “I thought for a minute I'd have to shoot +that man Stanley--when you turned your back on him.” + +Good Indian stopped, looked at her queerly, and went on again without +saying a word. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. “WHEN THE SUN GOES AWAY” + +“I wish,” said Phoebe, putting her two hands on Miss Georgie's shoulders +at the gate and looking up at her with haggard eyes, “you'd see what +you can do with Vadnie. The poor child's near crazy; she ain't used to +seeing such things happen--” + +“Where is she?” Good Indian asked tersely, and was answered immediately +by the sound of sobbing on the east porch. The three went together, but +it was Grant who reached her first. + +“Don't cry, Goldilocks,” he said tenderly, bending over her. “It's all +right now. There isn't going to be any more--” + +“Oh! Don't TOUCH me!” She sprang up and backed from him, horror plain in +her wide eyes. “Make him keep away, Aunt Phoebe!” + +Good Indian straightened, and stood perfectly still, looking at her in a +stunned, incredulous way. + +“Chicken, don't be silly!” Miss Georgie's sane tones were like a breath +of clean air. “You've simply gone all to pieces. I know what nerves can +do to a woman--I've had 'em myself. Grant isn't going to bite you, and +you're not afraid of him. You're proud of him, and you know it. He's +acted the man, chicken!--the man we knew he was, all along. So pull +yourself together, and let's not have any nonsense.” + +“He--KILLED a man! I saw him do it. And he's going to kill some more. I +might have known he was like that! I might have KNOWN when he tried to +shoot me that night in the orchard when I was trying to scare Gene! I +can show you the mark--where he grazed my arm! And he LAUGHED about it! +I called him a savage then--and I was RIGHT--only he can be so nice when +he wants to be--and I forgot about the Indian in him--and then he killed +Mr. Baumberger! He's lying out there now! I'd rather DIE than let him--” + +Miss Georgie clapped a hand over her mouth, and stopped her. Also, she +gripped her by the shoulder indignantly. + +“'Vadna Ramsey, I'm ashamed of you!” she cried furiously. “For Heaven's +sake, Grant, go on off somewhere and wait till she settles down. Don't +stand there looking like a stone image--didn't you ever see a case +of nerves before? She doesn't know what she's saying--if she did, she +wouldn't be saying it. You go on, and let me handle her alone. Men are +just a nuisance in a case like this.” + +She pushed Evadna before her into the kitchen, waited until Phoebe had +followed, and then closed the door gently and decisively upon Grant. But +not before she had given him a heartening smile just to prove that he +must not take Evadna seriously, because she did not. + +“We'd better take her to her room, Mrs. Hart,” she suggested, “and make +her lie down for a while. That poor fellow--as if he didn't have enough +on his hands without this!” + +“I'm not on his hands! And I won't lie down!” Evadna jerked away from +Miss Georgie, and confronted them both pantingly, her cheeks still wet +with tears. “You act as if I don't know what I'm doing' and I DO know. +If I should lie down for a MILLION YEARS, I'd feel just the same about +it. I couldn't bear him to TOUCH me! I--” + +“For Heaven's sake, don't shout it,” Miss Georgie interrupted, +exasperatedly. “Do you want him--” + +“To hear? _I_ don't care whether he does or not.” Evadna was turning +sullen at the opposition. “He'll have to know it SOME TIME, won't he? If +you think can forgive a thing like that and let--” + +“He had to do it. Baumberger would have killed HIM. He had a perfect +right to kill. He'd have been a fool and a coward if he hadn't. You come +and lie down a while.” + +“I WON'T lie down. I don't care if he did have to do it--I couldn't +love him afterward. And he didn't have to go down there and threaten +Stanley--and--HE'LL DO IT, TOO!” She fell to trembling again. “He'll DO +it--at sundown.” + +Phoebe and Miss Georgie looked at each other. He would, if the men +stayed. They knew that. + +“And I was going to marry him!” Evadna shuddered when she said it, and +covered her face with her two hands. “He wasn't sorry afterward; you +could see he wasn't sorry. He was ready to kill more men. It's the +Indian in him. He LIKES to kill people. He'll kill those men, and he +won't be a bit sorry he did it. And he could come to me afterward and +expect me--Oh, what does he think I AM?” She leaned against the wall, +and sobbed. + +“I suppose,” she wailed, lashing herself with every bitter thought +she could conjure, “he killed Saunders, too, like old Hagar said. He +wouldn't tell me where he was that morning. I asked him, and he wouldn't +tell. He was up there killing Saunders--” + +“If you don't shut up, I'll shake you!” Miss Georgie in her fury did not +wait, but shook her anyway as if she had been a ten-year-old child in a +tantrum. + +“My Heavens above! I'll stand for nerves and hysterics, and almost any +old thing, but you're going a little bit too far, my lady. There's no +excuse for your talking such stuff as that, and you're not going to +do it, if I have to gag you! Now, you march to your own room and--STAY +there. Do you hear? And don't you dare let another yip out of you till +you can talk sense.” + +Good Indian stood upon the porch, and heard every word of that. He heard +also the shuffle of feet as Miss Georgie urged Evadna to her room--it +sounded almost as if she dragged her there by force--and he rolled a +cigarette with fingers that did not so much as quiver. He scratched a +match upon the nearest post, and afterward leaned there and smoked, +and stared out over the pond and up at the bluff glowing yellow in +the sunlight. His face was set and expressionless except that it was +stoically calm, and there was a glitter deep down in his eyes. Evadna +was right, to a certain extent the Indian in him held him quiet. + +It occurred to him that someone ought to pick up Baumberger, and put him +somewhere, but he did not move. The boys and Peaceful must have stayed +down in the garden, he thought. He glanced up at the tops of the nodding +poplars, and estimated idly by their shadow on the bluff how long it +would be before sundown, and as idly wondered if Stanley and the others +would go, or stay. There was nothing they could gain by staying, he +knew, now that Baumberger was out of it. Unless they got stubborn +and wanted to fight. In that case, he supposed he would eventually be +planted alongside his father. He wished he could keep the boys and old +Peaceful out of it, in case there was a fight, but he knew that would be +impossible. The boys, at least, had been itching for something like this +ever since the trouble started. + +Good Indian had, not so long ago, spent hours in avoiding all thought +that he might prolong the ecstasy of mere feeling. Now he had reversed +the desire. He was thinking of this thing and of that, simply that he +might avoid feeling. If someone didn't kill him within the next hour or +so, he was going to feel something--something that would hurt him more +than he had been hurt since his father died in that same house. But in +the meantime he need only think. + +The shadow of the grove, with the long fingers of the poplars to +point the way, climbed slowly up the bluff. Good Indian smoked another +cigarette while he watched it. When a certain great bowlder that was +like a miniature ledge glowed rosily and then slowly darkened to a chill +gray, he threw his cigarette stub unerringly at a lily-pad which had +courtesied many a time before to a like missile from his hand, pulled +his hat down over his eyes, jumped off the porch, and started around the +house to the gate which led to the stable. + +Phoebe came out from the sitting-room, ran down the steps, and barred +his way. + +“Grant!” she said, and there were tears in her eyes, “don't do anything +rash--don't. If it's for our sakes--and I know it is--don't do it. +They'll go, anyway. We'll have the law on them and make them go. But +don't YOU go down there. You let Thomas handle that part. You're like +one of my own boys. I can't let you go!” + +He looked down at her commiseratingly. “I've got to go, Mother Hart. +I've made my war-talk.” He hesitated, bent his head, and kissed her on +the forehead as she stood looking up at him, and went on. + +“Grant--GRANT!” she cried heartbrokenly after him, and sank down on the +porch-steps with her face hidden in her arms. + +Miss Georgie was standing beside the gate, looking toward the stable. +She may not have been waiting for him, but she turned without any show +of surprise when he walked up behind her. + +“Well, your jumpers seem to have taken the hint,” she informed him, with +a sort of surface cheerfulness. “Stanley is down there talking to Mr. +Hart now, and the others have gone on. They'll all be well over the +dead-line by sundown. There goes Stanley now. Do you really feel that +your future happiness depends on getting through this gate? Well--if you +must--” She swung it open, but she stood in the opening. + +“Grant, I--it's hard to say just what I want to say--but--you did right. +You acted the man's part. No matter what--others--may think or say, +remember that I think you did right to kill that man. And if there's +anything under heaven that I can do, to--to help--you'll let me do it, +won't you?” Her eyes held him briefly, unabashed at what they might +tell. Then she stepped back, and contradicted them with a little laugh. +“I will get fired sure for staying over my time,” she said. “I'll wire +for the coroner soon as I get to the office. This will never come to a +trial, Grant. He was like a crazy man, and we all saw him shoot first.” + +She waited until he had passed through and was a third of the way to +the stable where Peaceful Hart and his boys were gathered, and then she +followed him briskly, as if her mind was taken up with her own affairs. + +“It's a shame you fellows got cheated out of a scrap,” she taunted Jack, +who held her horse for her while she settled herself in the saddle. “You +were all spoiling for a fight--and there did seem to be the makings of a +beautiful row!” + +Save for the fact that she kept her eyes studiously turned away from a +certain place near by, where the dust was pressed down smoothly with +the weight of a heavy body, and all around was trampled and tracked, one +could not have told that Miss Georgie remembered anything tragic. + +But Good Indian seemed to recall something, and went quickly over to her +just in time to prevent her starting. + +“Was there something in particular you wanted when you came?” he asked, +laying a hand on the neck of the bay. “It just occurred to me that there +must have been.” + +She leaned so that the others could not hear, and her face was grave +enough now. + +“Why, yes. It's old Hagar. She came to me this afternoon, and she had +that bunch of hair you cut off that was snarled in the bush. She had +your knife. She wanted me to buy them--the old blackmailer! She made +threats, Grant--about Saunders. She says you--I came right down to tell +you, because I was afraid she might make trouble. But there was so much +more on hand right here”--she glanced involuntarily at the trampled +place in the dust. “She said she'd come back this evening, 'when the +sun goes away.' She's there now, most likely. What shall I tell her? We +can't have that story mouthed all over the country.” + +Good Indian twisted a wisp of mane in his fingers, and frowned +abstractedly. + +“If you'll ride on slowly,” he told her, at last straightening the +twisted lock, “I'll overtake you. I think I'd better see that old +Jezebel myself.” + +Secretly he was rather thankful for further action. He told the boys +when they fired questions at his hurried saddling that he was going to +take Miss Georgie home, and that he would be back before long; in an +hour, probably. Then he galloped down the trail, and overtook her at the +Point o' Rocks. + +The sun was down, and the sky was a great, glowing mass of color. Round +the second turn of the grade they came upon Stanley, walking with his +hands thrust in his trousers pockets and whistling softly to himself as +if he were thinking deeply. Perhaps he was glad to be let off so easily. + +“Abandoning my claim,” he announced, lightly as a man of his prosaic +temperament could speak upon such a subject. “Dern poor placer mining +down there, if yuh want to know!” + +Good Indian scowled at him and rode on, because a woman rode beside him. +Seven others they passed farther up the hill. Those seven gave him scowl +for scowl, and did not speak a word; that also because a woman rode +beside him. And the woman understood, and was glad that she was there. + +From the Indian camp, back in the sage-inclosed hollow, rose a sound +of high-keyed wailing. The two heard it, and looked at each other +questioningly. + +“Something's up over there,” Good Indian said, answering her look. “That +sounds to me like the squaws howling over a death.” + +“Let's go and see. I'm so late now, a few minutes more won't matter, one +way or the other.” Miss Georgie pulled out her watch, looked at it, and +made a little grimace. So they turned into the winding trail, and rode +into the camp. + +There were confusion, and wailing, and a buzzing of squaws around a +certain wikiup. Dogs sat upon their haunches, and howled lugubriously +until someone in passing kicked them into yelping instead. Papooses +stood nakedly about, and regarded the uproar solemnly, running to peer +into the wikiup and then scamper back to their less hardy fellows. Only +the bucks stood apart in haughty unconcern, speaking in undertones when +they talked at all. Good Indian commanded Miss Georgie to remain just +outside the camp, and himself rode in to where the bucks were gathered. +Then he saw Peppajee sitting beside his own wikiup, and went to him +instead. + +“What's the matter here, Peppajee?” he asked. “Heap trouble walk down at +Hart Ranch. Trouble walk here all same, mebbyso?” + +Peppajee looked at him sourly, but the news was big, and it must be +told. + +“Heap much trouble come. Squaw callum Hagar make much talk. Do much bad, +mebbyso. Squaw Rachel ketchum bad heart along yo'. Heap cry all time. +No sleepum, no eatum--all time heap sad. Ketchum bad spirit, mebbyso. +Ketchum debbil. Sun go 'way, ketchum knife, go Hagar wikiup. +Killum Hagar--so.” He thrust out his arm as one who stabs. “Killum +himself--so.” He struck his chest with his clenched fist. “Hagar heap +dead. Rachel heap dead. Kay bueno. Mebbyso yo' heap bad medicine. Yo' +go.” + +“A squaw just died,” he told Miss Georgie curtly, when they rode on. But +her quick eyes noted a new look in his face. Before it had been grave +and stern and bitter; now it was sorrowful instead. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. LIFE ADJUSTS ITSELF AGAIN TO SOME THINGS + +The next day was a day of dust hanging always over the grade because of +much hurried riding up and down; a day of many strange faces whose eyes +peered curiously at the place where Baumberger fell, and at the cold +ashes of Stanley's campfire, and at the Harts and their house, and their +horses and all things pertaining in the remotest degree to the drama +which had been played grimly there to its last, tragic “curtain.” They +stared up at the rim-rock and made various estimates of the distance and +argued over the question of marksmanship, and whether it really took a +good shot to fire from the top and hit a man below. + +As for the killing of Baumberger, public opinion tried--with the aid of +various plugs of tobacco and much expectoration--the case and rendered +a unanimous verdict upon it long before the coroner arrived. “Done just +right,” was the verdict of Public Opinion, and the self-constituted +judges manifested their further approval by slapping Good Indian upon +the back when they had a chance, or by solemnly shaking hands with him, +or by facetiously assuring him that they would be good. All of which +Grant interpreted correctly as sympathy and a desire to show him that +they did not look upon him as a murderer, but as a man who had the +courage to defend himself and those dear to him from a great danger. + +With everything so agreeably disposed of according to the crude--though +none the less true, perhaps--ethics of the time and the locality, it was +tacitly understood that the coroner and the inquest he held in the grove +beside the house were a mere concession to red tape. Nevertheless +a general tension manifested itself when the jury, after solemnly +listening, in their official capacity, to the evidence they had heard +and discussed freely hours before, bent heads and whispered briefly +together. There was also a corresponding atmosphere of relief when the +verdict of Public Opinion was called justifiable homicide by the coroner +and so stamped with official approval. + +When that was done they carried Baumberger's gross physical shell away +up the grade to the station; and the dust of his passing settled upon +the straggling crowd that censured his misdeeds and mourned not at all, +and yet paid tribute to his dead body with lowered voices while they +spoke of him, and with awed silence when the rough box was lowered to +the station platform. + +As the sky clears and grows blue and deep and unfathomably peaceful +after a storm, as trees wind-riven straighten and nod graciously to the +little cloud-boats that sail the blue above, and wave dainty finger-tips +of branches in bon voyage, so did the Peaceful Hart ranch, when the +dust had settled after the latest departure and the whistle of the +train--which bore the coroner and that other quiet passenger--came +faintly down over the rim-rock, settle with a sigh of relief into its +old, easy habits of life. + +All, that is, save Good Indian himself, and perhaps one other. + + . . . . . . . . . + +Peaceful cleared his white mustache and beard from a few stray drops of +coffee and let his mild blue eyes travel slowly around the table, from +one tanned young face to another. + +“Now the excitement's all over and done with,” he drawled in his +half-apologetic tones, “it wouldn't be a bad idea for you boys to get +to work and throw the water back where it belongs. I dunno but what the +garden's spoiled already; but the small fruit can be saved.” + +“Clark and I was going up to the Injun camp,” spoke up Gene. “We wanted +to see--” + +“You'll have to do some riding to get there,” Good Indian informed them +dryly. “They hit the trail before sunrise this morning.” + +“Huh! What were YOU doing up there that time of day?” blurted Wally, +eying him sharply. + +“Watching the sun rise.” His lips smiled over the retort, but his eyes +did not. “I'll lower the water in your milk-house now, Mother Hart,” he +promised lightly, “so you won't have to wear rubber-boots when you go to +skim the milk.” He gave Evadna a quick, sidelong glance as she came into +the room, and pushed back his chair. “I'll get at it right away,” he +said cheerfully, picked up his hat, and went out whistling. Then he put +his head in at the door. “Say,” he called, “does anybody know where that +long-handled shovel is?” Again he eyed Evadna without seeming to see her +at all. + +“If it isn't down at the stable,” said Jack soberly, “or by the +apple-cellar or somewhere around the pond or garden, look along the +ditches as far up as the big meadow. And if you don't run across it +there--” The door slammed, and Jack laughed with his eyes fast shut and +three dimples showing. + +Evadna sank listlessly into her chair and regarded him and all her +little world with frank disapproval. + +“Upon my WORD, I don't see how anybody can laugh, after what has +happened on this place,” she said dismally, “or--WHISTLE, after--” Her +lips quivered a little. She was a distressed Christmas angel, if ever +there was one. + +Wally snorted. “Want us to go CRYING around because the row's over?” he +demanded. “Think Grant ought to wear crepe, I suppose--because he ain't +on ice this morning--or in jail, which he'd hate a lot worse. Think we +ought to go around with our jaws hanging down so you could step on 'em, +because Baumberger cashed in? Huh! All hurts MY feelings is, I didn't +get a whack at the old devil myself!” It was a long speech for Wally to +make, and he made it with deliberate malice. + +“Now you're shouting!” applauded Gene, also with the intent to be +shocking. + +“THAT'S the stuff,” approved Clark, grinning at Evadna's horrified eyes. + +“Grant can run over me sharp-shod and I won't say a word, for what he +did day before yesterday,” declared Jack, opening his eyes and looking +straight at Evadna. “You don't see any tears rolling down MY cheeks, I +hope?” + +“Good Injun's the stuff, all right. He'd 'a' licked the hull damn--” + +“Now, Donny, be careful what language you use,” Phoebe admonished, and +so cut short his high-pitched song of praise. + +“I don't care--I think it's perfectly awful.” Evadna looked +distastefully upon her breakfast. “I just can't sleep in that room, Aunt +Phoebe. I tried not to think about it, but it opens right that way.” + +“Huh!” snorted Wally. “Board up the window, then, so you can't see the +fatal spot!” His gray eyes twinkled. “I could DANCE on it myself,” he +said, just to horrify her--which he did. Evadna shivered, pressed her +wisp of handkerchief against her lips, and left the table hurriedly. + +“You boys ought to be ashamed of yourselves!” Phoebe scolded +half-heartedly; for she had lived long in the wild, and had seen much +that was raw and primitive. “You must take into consideration that +Vadnie isn't used to such things. Why, great grief! I don't suppose the +child ever SAW a dead man before in her life--unless he was laid out in +church with flower-anchors piled knee-deep all over him. And to see +one shot right before her very eyes--and by the man she expects--or did +expect to marry--why, you can't wonder at her looking at it the way she +does. It isn't Vadnie's fault. It's the way she's been raised.” + +“Well,” observed Wally in the manner of delivering an ultimatum, “excuse +ME from any Eastern raising!” + +A little later, Phoebe boldly invaded the secret chambers of Good +Indian's heart when he was readjusting the rocks which formed the floor +of the milk-house. + +“Now, Grant,” she began, laying her hand upon his shoulder as he knelt +before her, straining at a heavy rock, “Mother Hart is going to give you +a little piece of her mind about something that's none of her business +maybe.” + +“You can give me as many pieces as you like. They're always good +medicine,” he assured her. But he kept his head bent so that his +hat quite hid his face from her. “What about?” he asked, a betraying +tenseness in his voice. + +“About Vadnie--and you. I notice you don't speak--you haven't that I've +seen, since that day--on the porch. You don't want to be too hard on +her, Grant. Remember she isn't used to such things. She looks at it +different. She's never seen the times, as I have, where it's kill or be +killed. Be patient with her, Grant--and don't feel hard. She'll get over +it. I want,” she stopped because her voice was beginning to shake “--I +want my biggest boy to be happy.” Her hand slipped around his neck and +pressed his head against her knee. + +Good Indian got up and put his arms around her and held her close. He +did not say anything at all for a minute, but when he did he spoke very +quietly, stroking her hair the while. + +“Mother Hart, I stood on the porch and heard what she said in the +kitchen. She accused me of killing Saunders. She said I liked to kill +people; that I shot at her and laughed at the mark I made on her arm. +She called me a savage--an Indian. My mother's mother was the daughter +of a chief. She was a good woman; my mother was a good woman; just as +good as if she had been white. + +“Mother Hart, I'm a white man in everything but half my mother's blood. +I don't remember her--but I respect her memory, and I am not ashamed +because she was my mother. Do you think I could marry a girl who thinks +of my mother as something which she must try to forgive? Do you think +I could go to that girl in there and--and take her in my arms--and love +her, knowing that she feels as she does? She can't even forgive me for +killing that beast! + +“She's a beautiful thing--I wanted to have her for my own. I'm a man. +I've a healthy man's hunger for a beautiful woman, but I've a healthy +man's pride as well.” He patted the smooth cheek of the only woman he +had ever known as a mother, and stared at the rough rock wall oozing +moisture that drip-dripped to the pool below. + +“I did think I'd go away for awhile,” he said after a minute spent in +sober thinking. “But I never dodged yet, and I never ran. I'm going to +stay and see the thing through, now. I don't know--” he hesitated and +then went on. “It may not last; I may have to suffer after awhile, but +standing out there, that day, listening to her carrying on, kind of--oh, +I can't explain it. But I don't believe I wes half as deep in love as I +thought I was. I don't want to say anything against her; I've no right, +for she's a thousand times better than I am. But she's different. She +never would understand our ways, Mother Hart, or look at life as we +do; some people go through life looking at the little things that don't +matter, and passing by the other, bigger things. If you keep your eye +glued to a microscope long enough, you're sure to lose the sense of +proportion. + +“She won't speak to me,” he continued after a short silence. “I tried to +talk to her yesterday--” + +“But you must remember, the poor child was hysterical that day when--she +went on so. She doesn't know anything about the realities of life. She +doesn't mean to be hard.” + +“Yesterday,” said Grant with an odd little smile, “she was not +hysterical. It seems that--shooting--was the last little weight that +tilted the scale against me. I don't think she ever cared two whoops +for me, to tell you the truth. She's been ashamed of my Indian blood all +along; she said so. And I'm not a good lover; I neglected her all the +while this trouble lasted, and I paid more attention to Georgie Howard +than I did to her--and I didn't satisfactorily explain about that hair +and knife that Hagar had. And--oh, it isn't the killing, altogether! I +guess we were both a good deal mistaken in our feelings.” + +“Well, I hope so,” sighed Phoebe, wondering secretly at the decadence of +love. An emotion that could burn high and hot in a week, flare bravely +for a like space, and die out with no seared heart to pay for the +extravagance--she shook her head at it. That was not what she had been +taught to call love, and she wondered how a man and a maid could be +mistaken about so vital an emotion. + +“I suppose,” she added with unusual sarcasm for her, “you'll be falling +in love with Georgie Howard, next thing anybody knows; and maybe that +will last a week or ten days before you find out you were MISTAKEN!” + +Good Indian gave her one of his quick, sidelong glances. + +“She would not be eternally apologizing to herself for liking me, +anyway,” he retorted acrimoniously, as if he found it very hard to +forgive Evadna her conscious superiority of race and upbringing. +“Squaw.” + +“Oh, I haven't a doubt of that!” Phoebe rose to the defense of her own +blood. “I don't know as it's in her to apologize for anything. I never +saw such a girl for going right ahead as if her way is the only way! +Bull-headed, I'd call her.” She looked at Good Indian afterward, +studying his face with motherly solicitude. + +“I believe you're half in love with her right now and don't know it!” + she accused suddenly. + +Good Indian laughed softly and bent to his work again. + +“ARE you, Grant?” Phoebe laid a moist hand on his shoulder, and felt the +muscles sliding smoothly beneath his clothing while he moved a rock. “I +ain't mad because you and Vadnie fell out; I kind of looked for it to +happen. Love that grows like a mushroom lasts about as long--only _I_ +don't call it love! You might tell me--” + +“Tell you what?” But Grant did not look up. “If I don't know it, I can't +tell it.” He paused in his lifting and rested his hands upon his knees, +the fingers dripping water back into the spring. He felt that Phoebe was +waiting, and he pressed his lips together. “Must a man be in love with +some woman all the time?” He shook his fingers impatiently so that the +last drops hurried to the pool. + +“She's a good girl, and a brave girl,” Phoebe remarked irrelevantly. + +Good Indian felt that she was still waiting, with all the quiet +persistence of her sex when on the trail of a romance. He reached up +and caught the hand upon his shoulder, and laid it against his cheek. He +laughed surrender. + +“Squaw-talk-far-off heap smart,” he mimicked old Peppajee gravely. “Heap +bueno.” He stood up as suddenly as he had started his rock-lifting a +few minutes before, and taking Phoebe by the shoulders, shook her with +gentle insistence. “Put don't make me fall out of one love right into +another,” he protested whimsically. “Give a fellow time to roll a +cigarette, can't you?” + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Good Indian, by B. M. 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