"White Dove, we are alone in the mountains, where neither friend nor foe
can reach us. Here we will stay. Soon the sun will seek his bed to rest,
and the night will smile down upon us from its starry eyes, while it
breathes a soft breath to smooth the ruffled feathers of the White Dove.
You must have no fear of day or night, for I am with you, and I will
guard you as the she-bear guards its cubs."
Inza Burrage, her face tear-wet, her hair tumbled and tangled, her
clothing torn in two or three places, turned her gaze reproachingly upon
John Swiftwing.
"It is not the day or the night that I fear," she said, slowly, with a
dignity that was womanly. "I do not fear the dangers of the mountains.
Wild beasts have no terrors for me now. And still my heart is frozen
within me, and all my body is like ice."
They were standing on a small plateau, where they could look away across
a plain that lay below them. The sun was in the western sky. Behind them
the sweat-stained horse that had brought them thither was feeding.
"Why should your heart be frozen and your body like ice?" asked the
Indian, gently, his voice soft and musical, and a light of tenderness
gleaming in his eyes.
"Because, John Swiftwing--because I fear you!"
"The White Dove should not fear me, for I will guard and protect her
with my life. I will face any peril in defense of her."
He took a step toward her, but she drew back, flinging out her hand.
"Stop!" she gasped. "Please--please don't touch me! I want to talk to
you--I wish to beg you to be merciful and take me back to those from
whom you carried me away!"
He folded his arms and looked at her in silence. It was an unconscious
pose, and never had he looked handsomer than at that moment. After a
little silence he spoke:
"Why should I take you back?" he asked. "I love you, and I want you for
my mate. You shall be my mate. You shall be my wife, White Dove. We will
live together in some beautiful valley, far away from all the
world--live in a little nest that I will find for you. The sunny days
will glide by like a soft-floating stream, and every starry night shall
be a dream of happiness."
"No! no! no!" she cried, with her hands outflung. "That could not be!"
"Why not?"
"Because--oh, because!"
"White Dove, don't you love me?"
"No! no! no!"
"Then your eyes have deceived me, for I fancied I saw love deep down in
them. It must have been the reflection of the love that was in my heart.
But still I know there was encouragement in them. They spoke like
words."
"And this is my punishment!" sobbed the poor girl. "Oh, Mr. Swiftwing,
it was not love--it was admiration! I thought you so brave and so noble!
I did not dream you could do such a wicked thing as you have done! No
one could have made me believe it was in your heart. I would have
defended you against the tongues of all accusers. But now--how my idol
is shattered!"
He shrank beneath her words, as if they were blows from a whip. For a
moment he cowered, and then he lifted his head with an angry, defiant
toss.
"They told you," he said--"they told you the red streak was in me! They
were right! I heard them say it! They told you that my heart was the
heart of an Indian, even though I wore white man's clothes and read
white man's books. They were right! They told you all the education I
might receive would not change my nature. They were right! God made the
white man, and He made the Indian. He did not make them alike, and what
God has made man cannot change. The white man took me to give me an
education. Bah! What is an education to me? What would it mean if I had
the finest education that the white man could give me? I would still
remain an Indian, and, with all my education, I would turn back to my
people, live as they live and die as they die--no better. I have thought
it all out. I have thought it is no use to try to be anything but an
Indian. The fight is ended! I am an Indian again!"
Inza's heart was full of despair.
"I will not believe you are as bad as you think!" she cried. "I saw
something noble in your face, and I think it came from your heart. See,
Swiftwing--on my knees I beg you to take me back to my friends! I know
you will not refuse me! Take me back to them, and always will I remember
you with gratitude. Always will I think of you as noble and true when
the great test came!"
Thus she entreated him, and the pleading of her face and eyes was more
than her words. He stirred uneasily.
"You do not love me?"
"No! no!"
"You love Frank Merriwell?"
"Yes! I think more of him than any one else."
"I would be a fool to give you up to him now. I would be a fool to take
you back to him when I have you safe. If I did that, I would not be an
Indian. I love you."
She continued to entreat him to take her back, and her words were
wonderfully eloquent. He stood like an image of stone, his brow dark,
his arms folded, looking down at her. She grew weak with fear, for she
could see nothing of relenting in his face. Tears rained down her cheeks
and she wrung her hands. He turned away.
"Give me time to think," he said.
For a long time he stood there, looking down upon the plain, moveless as
a thing inanimate. She prayed that his heart might be softened.
At last he turned and held out one hand.
"White Dove," he said, and his voice was as sweet and gentle as the
murmur of a brook, "come to me."
Somehow she did not fear him then. She arose and went, to him,
permitting him to take her hand.
"Look," he said, pointing toward a black speck upon the plain, "there is
Frank Merriwell! He is coming for you! He is on my trail, but I could
take you where he could never find us. Instead of that, White Dove, I am
going to take you down there to meet him!"
She gave a scream of joy.
"Oh, you dear, good fellow!" she cried, once more like a girl. "I could
hug you for that!"
"Don't do it!" warned John Swiftwing, hoarsely. "I might change my
mind!"
She waved her handkerchief, and the black speck on the plain fluttered
something white. The black speck was moving, and dust arose in a tiny
cloud behind it.
"He has seen us," said the Indian. "Come on; we will go down."
He led her to the horse and lifted her upon the animal's back. Then he
led the horse down the mountain to meet the trailer.
The sun was low when they met. Frank Merriwell had a rifle in his hands,
and it was aimed straight at the Indian's heart.
"Up with your hands, Swiftwing!" he ordered, sternly. "Don't try
anything crooked, for a hundred armed men are coming behind me, and they
have sworn to hunt you down like a dog."
The redskin smiled scornfully.
"If they were a thousand it would make no difference," he said. "They
could not find me. I will not put up my hands, Merriwell, so shoot if
you wish!"
"Don't shoot, Frank!" screamed Inza. "He saw you coming, and he brought
me to meet you!"
"Brought you to meet me?" repeated Frank, doubtingly. "Why should he do
that?"
"He is going to give me up--going to let me go back with you."
"Is that right, Swiftwing?"
The Indian bowed.
"The White Dove speaks straight," he said, quietly.
"But--but I do not understand! They said the only way to save her was to
kill you--that you were like all Indians, and----"
Swiftwing seemed to cringe a bit, and the black look on his face
deepened.
"They were wrong," he said. "To-day I am not an Indian--I am a fool!
Tell them I was a fool, and I brought the White Dove to meet you! Do you
know what I have done, Merriwell? I will tell you. By giving the White
Dove up after taking her away as I did, I shall win the contempt of my
people. They will look on me as a coward! They will spit on me with
scorn! They will say I have the heart of a chicken! With them I shall be
an outcast and a thing of contempt. Is it nothing? I have done this for
you--and for the White Dove. I thought she loved me; she says she does
not. Take her--take her away. Never shall I look on her again! Farewell,
Merriwell!"
"Your hand, John Swiftwing!" cried Frank. "Your heart is all right,
after all! Old fellow, I'll see you this fall, when we play Carlisle
again!"
With a sad smile, the Indian youth shook his head.
"I shall not be there," he said.
"No? Why, how is that? I do not understand!"
"I shall not go back to the white man's school."
"You won't? What is the meaning of that? Why won't you go back?"
"Because it is useless. They are right when they say the Indian can
never become like the white man. I shall try no more."
"But--but you are different! Think what you have done this day! By Jove!
you have shown yourself all right! Think what a hero you would be at
school if they knew the story! You are the lion of the football team
anyhow. They can't get along without you."
"They must, for they will have me no more. You say I am different from
the Indians. Perhaps I am to-day; but to-morrow and ever after that I
shall be an Indian in everything! I shall forget that I was at the white
man's school. I shall forget that I can read and write and make the
white man's figures. I shall go back to be the same as I was before I
learned such things, and my people will despise me, for they will say I
am neither a white man nor an Indian."
Frank used all his eloquence to influence the Indian to change his mind,
but it was useless. Then Inza tried, but with no better success.
"Farewell," said John again. "Take the horse to the Pueblo. It is owned
there. Farewell forever!"
Inza's eyes were full of tears.
"It's too bad!" she sobbed. "I am so sorry!"
John Swiftwing said not another word, but, turning his face toward the
mountains, walked swiftly away. Not once did he turn about and look
back.
Frank and Inza rode to meet the white men, who were seen in the
distance, coming madly along the trail. When they had traveled for a
time they turned to look for John Swiftwing.
He was near the foot of the mountains, and, as they looked, he was
swallowed from view by the deep shadows at the base of the Taos Range.
"Oh, Frank, it was noble of him, after all," said Inza, half tearfully.
"But--but I hope we don't meet again."
"It is not likely," returned Frank.
"And, Frank----"
"Well?"
"Can you forgive me?"
"Willingly," he cried, and gave her a gentle hug that meant a great
deal.
When they reached the other horsemen Frank sprang a surprise on them.
"It was only a bit of fun," he said. "But Swiftwing thought best not to
come back for fear there would be trouble."
But in secret he told his companions the truth, and it was decided to
leave the Pueblo of Taos early the next morning.
"Sure, an' it was great sport, that contist," said Barney.
"We'll never see anything galf as hood--no, half as good," came from
Harry.
"Don't be too sure of that," put in Diamond. "We are not home yet by a
jugful. Lots may happen before we get there."