"I'LL KILL HIM THIS TIME!"
Rumors were beginning to drift into camp of hostile intents of the
Blackfeet; and a general feeling of uneasiness became apparent as no
word came from the chief of their scouts, who had not shown up since
locating the troops.
The Major's interest was decidedly alive in regard to him, since not a
messenger entered camp from any direction who was not questioned on the
subject. But from none of them came any word of Genesee.
Other scouts were there--good men, too, and in the southern country of
much value; but the Kootenai corner of the State was almost an unknown
region to them. They were all right to work under orders; but in those
hills, where everything was in favor of the native, a man was needed who
knew every gully and every point of vantage, as well as the probable
hostile.
While Major Dreyer fretted and fumed over the absentee, there was more
than one of the men in camp to remember that their chief scout was said
to be a squaw man; and as most of them shared his own expressed idea of
that class, conjectures were set afloat as to the probability of his not
coming back at all, or if it came to a question of fighting with the
northern Indians, whether he might not be found on the other side.
"You can't bet any money on a squaw man," was the decision of one of the
scouts from over in Idaho--one who did not happen to be a squaw man
himself, because the wife of his nearest neighbor at home objected. "No,
gentlemen, they're a risky lot. This one is a good man; I allow that--a
damned good man, I may say, and a fighter from away back; but the thing
we have to consider is that up this way he's with his own people, as you
may say, having taken a squaw wife and been adopted into the tribe; an'
I tell you, sirs, it's jest as reasonable that he will go with them as
against them--I'm a tellin' you!"
Few of these rumors were heard at the ranch. It was an understood thing
among the men that the young ladies at Hardy's were to hear nothing of
camp affairs that was likely to beget alarm; but Stuart heard them, as
did the rest of the men; and like them, he tried to question the only
one in camp who shared suspicion--Kalitan. But Kalitan was
unapproachable in English, and even in Chinook would condescend no
information. He doubtless had none to give, but the impression of
suppressed knowledge that he managed to convey made him an object of
close attention, and any attempt to leave camp would have been hailed as
proof positive of many intangible suspicions. He made no such attempt.
On the contrary, after his arrival there from the Gros Ventres, he
seemed blissfully content to live all winter on Government rations and
do nothing. But he was not blind by any means and understanding English,
though he would not speak it, the chances were that he knew more of the
thought of the camp than it guessed of his; and his stubborn resentment
showed itself when three Kootenai braves slouched into camp one day, and
Kalitan was not allowed to speak to them save in the presence of an
interpreter, and when one offered in the person of a white scout,
Kalitan looked at him with unutterable disdain, and turning his back,
said not a word.
The Major was not at camp. He had just left to pay his daily visit to
Hardy's; for, despite all persuasions, he refused to live anywhere but
with his men, and if Fred did not come to see him in the morning, he was
in duty bound to ride over to her quarters in the afternoon.
The officer in command during his absence was a Captain Holt, a man who
had no use for an Indian in any capacity, and whose only idea of
settling the vexed question of their rights was by total extermination
and grave-room--an opinion that is expressed by many a white man who has
had to deal with them. But he was divided between his impulse to send
the trio on a double-quick about their business and the doubt as to what
effect it would have on the tribe if they were sent back to it in the
sulks. Ordinarily he would not have given their state of mind a moment's
consideration; but the situation was not exactly ordinary, and he
hesitated.
After stowing away enough provender in their stomachs to last an
ordinary individual two days, and stowing the remainder in convenient
receptacles about their draperies, intercourse was resumed with their
white hosts by the suggestive Kalitan.
Just then Stuart and Rachel rode into camp. They had taken to riding
together into camp, and out of camp, and in a good many directions of
late; and in the coffee-colored trio she at once recognized the brave of
the bear-claws whom she had spoken with during that "olallie" season
in the western hills, and who she had learned since was a great friend
of Genesee's. She spoke to him at once--a great deal more intelligibly
than her first attempt--and upon questioning, learned that she was well
remembered. She heard herself called "the squaw who rides" by him,
probably from the fact that she was the only white woman met by their
hunters in the hills, though she had not imagined herself so well known
by them as his words implied.
He of the bear-claws--their spokesman--mentioned Kalitan, giving her for
the first time an idea of what had occurred. She turned at once to
Captain Holt--not protesting, but interested--and learned all she wanted
to.
"Kalitan does not like your southern scouts, for some reason," she said,
"and I rather think it was his dignity rather than his loyalty that
would suffer from having one of them a listener. Let them speak in my
presence; I can understand them, and not arouse Kalitan's pride,
either."
The Captain, nothing loath, accepted her guidance out of the dilemma,
though it was only by a good deal of flattery on her part that Kalitan
could at all forget his anger enough to speak to anyone.
The conversation was, after all, commonplace enough, as it was mostly a
recital of his--Kalitan's--glories; for in the eyes of these provincials
he posed as a warrior of travel and accumulated knowledge. The impassive
faces of his listeners gave no sign as to whether they took him at his
own valuation or not. Rachel now and then added a word, to keep from
having too entirely the appearance of a listener, and she asked about
Genesee.
The answer gave her to understand that weeks ago--five weeks--Genesee
had been in their village; asked for a runner to go south to the Fort
with talking-paper. Had bought pack-horse and provisions, and started
alone to the northeast--may be Blackfoot Agency, they could not say; had
seen him no more. Kalitan made some rapid estimate of probabilities that
found voice in--
"Blackfoot--one hundred and twenty miles; go slow--Mowitza tired; long
wau-wau (talk); come slow--snows high; come soon now, may be."
That was really the only bit of information in the entire "wau-wau"
that was of interest to the camp--information that Kalitan would have
disdained to satisfy them with willingly; and even to Rachel, whom he
knew was Genesee's friend, and his, he did not hint the distrust that
had grown among the troops through that suspicious absence.
He would talk long and boastfully of his own affairs, but it was a habit
that contrasted strangely with the stubborn silence by which he guarded
the affairs of others.
"What is the matter back there?" asked Rachel, as she and Stuart started
back to the ranch. "Ill-feeling?"
"Oh, I guess not much," he answered; "only they are growing careful of
the Indians of late--afraid of them imposing on good nature, I suppose."
"A little good nature in Captain Holt would do him no harm with the
Indians," she rejoined; "and he should know better than to treat Kalitan
in that suspicious way. Major Dreyer would not do it, I feel sure, and
Genesee won't like it."
"Will that matter much to the company or the command?"
He spoke thus only to arouse that combative spirit of hers; but she did
not retort as usual--only said quietly:
"Yes, I think it would--they will find no man like him."
They never again referred to that conversation that had been in a way a
confession on his part--the question of the woman at least was never
renewed, though he told her much of vague plans that he hoped to
develop, "when the time comes."
Three days after the visit of Bear-claws and his brethren, Stuart and
Rachel were again at the camp; this time accompanying Miss Fred, who
thought it was a good-enough day to go and see the "boys."
Surely it was a good-enough day for any use--clear and fresh overhead,
white and sparkling underfoot, and just cold enough to make them think
with desire of the cheery wood fires in the camp they were making for.
From above, a certain exhilaration was borne to them on the air, sifted
through the cedars of the guardian hills; even the horses seemed
enthused with the spirit of it, and joyously entered into a sort of a
go-as-you-please race that brought them all laughing and breathless down
the length of "the avenue," a strip of beaten path about twenty feet
wide, along which the tents were pitched in two rows facing each
other--and not very imposing looking rows, either.
There were greetings and calls right and left, as they went
helter-skelter down the line; but there was no check of speed until they
stopped, short, at the Major's domicile, that was only a little more
distinguished on the outside than the rest, by having the colors
whipping themselves into shreds from the flagstaff at the door.
It was too cold for ceremony; and throwing the bridles to an orderly,
they made a dash for the door--Miss Fred leading.
"Engaged, is he?" she said good-humoredly to the man who stepped in her
path. "I don't care if he is married. I don't intend to freeze on the
place where his door-step ought to be. You tell him so."
The man on duty touched his cap and disappeared, and from the sound of
the Major's laughter within, must have repeated the message verbatim,
and a moment later returned.
"Major Dreyer says you may enter;" and then, laughing and shivering, the
Major's daughter seized Rachel with one hand, Stuart with the other, and
making a quick charge, darted into the ruling presence.
"Oh, you bear!" she said, breaking from her comrades and into the bear's
embrace; "to keep us out there--and it so cold! And I came over
specially for--"
And then she stopped. The glitter of the sun on the sun had made a
glimmer of everything under a roof, and on her entrance she had not
noticed a figure opposite her father, until a man rose to his feet and
took a step forward as if to go.
"Let me know when you want me, Major," he said; and the voice startled
those two muffled figures in the background, for both, by a common
impulse, started forward--Rachel throwing back the hood of her jacket
and holding out her hand.
"I am glad you have come," she said heartily, and he gripped the offered
member with a sort of fierceness as he replied:
"Thank you, Miss."
But his eyes were not on her. The man who had come with her--who still
held her gloves in his hand--was the person who seemed to draw all his
attention.
"You two are old neighbors, are you not?" remarked the Major. "Fred, my
dear, you have met Mr. Genesee, our scout? No? Mr. Genesee, this is my
daughter; and this, a friend of ours--Mr. Stuart."
An ugly devil seemed alive in Genesee's eyes, as the younger man came
closer, and with an intense, expressive gesture, put out his hand.
Then, with a bow that might have been an acknowledgment of the
introduction, and might have been only one of adieu to the rest of the
group, the scout walked to the door without a word, and Stuart's hand
dropped to his side.
"Come back in an hour, Genesee," said the Major; "I will think over the
trip to the Fort in the meantime."
"I hear. Good-morning, ladies;" and then the door closed behind him, and
the quartette could not but feel the situation awkward.
"Come closer to the fire--sit down," said the Major hospitably, intent
on effacing the rudeness of his scout. "Take off your coat, Stuart;
you'll appreciate it more when outside. And I'm going to tell you right
now, that, pleased as I am to have you all come this morning, I intend
to turn you out in twenty minutes--that's all the time I can give to
pleasure this morning."
"Well, you are very uncivil, I must say," remarked Fred. "But we will
find some of the other boys not so unapproachable. I guess," she added,
"that we have to thank Mr. Man-with-the-voice for being sent to the
right-about in such short order."
"You did not hear him use it much," rejoined her father, and then turned
to the others, neither of whom had spoken. "He is quite a character, and
of great value to us in the Indian troubles, but I believe is averse to
meeting strangers; anyway, the men down at the Fort did not take to him
much--not enough to make him a social success."
"I don't think he would care," said Fred. "He impressed me very much as
Kalitan did when I first met him. Does living in the woods make people
feel like monarchs of all they survey? Does your neighbor ever have any
better manners, Rachel?"
"I have seen him with better--and with worse."
"Worse? What possibilities there must be in that man! What do you think,
Mr. Stuart?"
"Perhaps he lacks none of the metal of a soldier because he does not
happen to possess that of a courtier," hazarded Stuart, showing no sign
that the scout's rudeness had aroused the slightest feeling of
resentment; and Rachel scored an opinion in his favor for that
generosity, for she, more than either of the others, had noted the
meeting, and Genesee's entire disregard of the Stuart's feelings.
Major Dreyer quickly seconded Stuart's statement.
"You are right, sir. He may be as sulky as Satan--and I hear he is at
times--but his work makes amends for it when he gets where work is
needed. He got in here last night, dead-beat, from a trip that I don't
believe any other man but an Indian could have made and get back alive.
He has his good points--and they happen to be points that are in decided
demand up here."
"I don't care about his good points, if we have to be turned out for
him," said Fred. "Send him word he can sleep the rest of the day, if he
is tired out; may be he would wake up more agreeable."
"And you would not be ousted from my attention," added her father,
pinching her ear. "Are you jealous of Squaw-man-with-a-voice?"
"Is he that?" asked the girl, with a great deal of contempt in her tone.
"Well, that is enough to hear of him. I should think he would avoid
white people. The specimens we have seen of that class would make you
ashamed you were human," she said, turning to Rachel and Stuart. "I know
papa says there are exceptions, but papa is imaginative. This one looks
rather prosperous, and several degrees cleaner than I've seen them,
but--"
"Don't say anything against him until you know you have reason, Fred,"
suggested Rachel. "He did me a favor once, and I can't allow people to
talk about him on hearsay. I think he is worse than few and better than
many, and I have known him over a year."
"Mum is the word," said Fred promptly, proceeding to gag herself with
two little fists; but the experiment was a failure.
"If she takes him under her wing, papa, his social success is an assured
fact, even if he refuses to open his mouth. May I expect to be presented
to his interesting family to-morrow, Rachel?"
Rachel only laughed, and asked the Major some questions about the
reports from the northeast; the attitude of the Blackfeet, and the
snow-fall in the mountains.
"The Blackfeet are all right now," he replied, "and the snows in the
hills to the east are very heavy--that was what caused our scout's
delay. But south of us I hear they are not nearly so bad, for a wonder,
and am glad to hear it, as I myself may need to make a trip down to Fort
Owens."
"Why, papa," broke in his commanding officer, "you are not going to turn
scout or runner, are you, and leave me behind? I won't stay!"
"You will obey orders, as a soldier should," answered her father. "If I
go instead of sending, it will be because it is necessary, and you will
have to bow to necessity, and wait until I can get back."
"And we've got to thank Mr. Squaw-man for that, too!" burst out Fred
wrathfully. "You never thought of going until he came; oh, I know it--I
hate him!"
"He would be heart-broken if he knew it," observed her father dryly. "By
the way, Miss Rachel, do you know if there is room in the ranch stables
for another horse?"
"They can make room, if it is necessary. Why?"
"Genesee's mare is used up even worse than her master by the long, hard
journey he has made. Our stock that is in good condition can stand our
accommodations all right, but that fellow seemed miserable to think the
poor beast had not quarters equal to his own. He is such a queer fellow
about asking a favor that I thought--"
"And the thought does you credit," said the girl with a suspicious
moisture in her eyes. "Poor, brave Mowitza! I could not sleep very
soundly myself if I knew she was not cared for, and I know just how he
feels. Don't say anything about it to him, but I will have my cousin
come over and get her, before evening."
"You are a trump, Miss Rachel!" said the Major emphatically; "and if you
can arrange it, I know you will lift a load off Genesee's mind. I'll
wager he is out there in the shed with her at this moment, instead of
beside a comfortable fire; and this camp owes him too much, if it only
knew it, to keep from him any comforts for either himself or that plucky
bit of horse-flesh."
Then the trio, under guard of the Lieutenant, paid some other calls
along the avenue--were offered more dinners, if they would remain, than
they could have eaten in a week; but in all their visits they saw
nothing more of the scout. Rachel spoke of his return to one of the men,
and received the answer that they reckoned he was putting in most of his
time out in the shed tying the blankets off his bunk around that mare of
his.
"Poor Mowitza! she was so beautiful," said the girl, with a memory of
the silken coat and wise eyes. "I should not like to see her looking
badly."
"Do you know," said Stuart to her, "that when I heard you speak of
Mowitza and her beauty and bravery, I never imagined you meant a
four-footed animal?"
"What, then?"
"Well, I am afraid it was a nymph of the dusky tribe--a woman."
"Naturally!" was the one ironical and impatient word he received as
answer, and scarcely noted.
He was talking with the others on multitudinous subjects, laughing, and
trying to appear interested in jests that he scarcely heard, and all the
while the hand he had offered to Genesee clenched and opened nervously
in his seal glove.
Rachel watched him closely, for her instincts had anticipated something
unusual from that meeting; the actual had altered all her preconceived
fancies. More strong than ever was her conviction that those two were
not strangers; but from Stuart's face or manner she could learn nothing.
He was a much better actor than Genesee.
They did not see any more of him, yet he saw them; for from the shed,
off several rods from the avenue, the trail to Hardy's ranch was in
plain sight half its length. And the party, augmented by Lieutenant
Murray, galloped past in all ignorance of moody eyes watching them from
the side of a blanketed horse.
Out a half-mile, two of the riders halted a moment, while the others
dashed on. The horses of those two moved close--close together. The arms
of the man reached over to the woman, who leaned toward him. At that
distance it looked like an embrace, though he was really but tying a
loose scarf, and then they moved apart and went on over the snow after
their comrades. A brutal oath burst from the lips of the man she had
said was worse than few.
"If it is--I'll kill him this time! By God!--I'll kill him!"