There is a good wagon-road leading to old Fort Smith from Pinon City,
but it runs for the most part through an uninteresting country, and does
not touch the reservation till within a few miles of the agency
buildings. From the other side, however, a rough trail crosses a low
divide, and for more than sixty miles lies within the Tetong boundaries,
a rolling, cattle country rising to grassy hills on the west.
For these reasons Curtis determined to go in on horseback and in
civilian's dress, leaving his sister to follow by rail and buckboard;
but here again Jennie promptly made protest.
"I'll not go that way, George. I am going to keep with you, and you
needn't plan for anything else--so there!"
"It's a hard ride, sis--sixty miles and more. You'll be tired out."
"What of that? I'll have plenty of time to rest afterwards."
"Very well. It is always a pleasure to have you with me, you stubborn
thing," he replied, affectionately.
It had been hard to leave everything at the Fort, hard to look back from
the threshold upon well-ordered books and furniture, and harder still
to know that rude and careless hands would jostle them into heaps on the
morrow, but Jennie was accustomed to all the hardships involved in being
sister to a soldier, and, after she had turned the key in the lock, set
her face to the south cheerfully. There was something of the missionary
in her, and she had long burned with a desire to help the red people.
They got off at a squalid little cow-town called "Riddell" about noon of
the second day, and Curtis, after a swift glance around him, said: "Sis,
our chances for dinner are poor."
The hotel, a squat, battlemented wooden building, was trimmed with
loafing cowboys on the outside and speckled with flies on the inside,
but the landlord was unexpectedly attractive, a smiling, courteous host,
to whom flies and cowboys were matters of course. It was plain he had
slipped down to his present low level by insensible declinations.
"The food is not so bad if it were only served decently," said Jennie,
as they sat at the table eying the heavy china chipped and maimed in the
savage process of washing.
"I hope you won't be sorry we've left the army, sis."
"I would, if we had to live with these people," she replied, decisively,
looking about the room, which was filled with uncouth types of men,
keen-eyed, slouchy, and loud-voiced. The presence of a pretty woman had
subdued most of them into something like decorum, but they were not
pleasant to look at. They were the unattached males of the town, a mob
of barkeepers, hostlers, clerks, and railway hands, intermixed with a
half-dozen cowboys who had ridden in to "loaf away a day or two in
town."
"The ragged edge of the cloth of gold," said Curtis, as he glanced round
at them. "Civilization has its seamy side."
"This makes the dear old Fort seem beautiful, doesn't it?" the girl
sighed. "We'll see no more green grass and well-groomed men."
An hour later, with a half-breed Indian boy for a guide, they rode away
over the hills towards the east, glad to shake the dust of Riddell off
their feet.
The day was one of flooding sunlight, warm and golden. Winter seemed far
away, and only the dry grass made it possible to say, "This is autumn."
The air was without dust or moisture--crystalline, crisp, and
deliciously invigorating.
The girl turned to her brother with radiant face. "This is living! Isn't
it good to escape that horrid little town?"
"You'd suppose in an air like this all life would be clean and sweet,"
he replied. "But it isn't. The trouble is, these people have no inner
resource. They lop down when their accustomed props are removed. They
come from defective stock."
The half-breed guide had the quality of his Indian mother--he knew when
to keep silence and when to speak. He led the way steadily, galloping
along on his little gray pony, with elbows flapping like a rooster about
to take flight.
There was a wonderful charm in this treeless land, it was so lonely and
so sinister. It appealed with great power to Curtis, while it appalled
his sister. The solitary buttes, smooth of slope and grotesque of line;
the splendid, grassy hollows, where the cattle fed; the burned-up mesas,
where nothing lived but the horned toad; the alkaline flats, leprous and
ashen; the occasional green line of cottonwood-trees, deep sunk in a dry
water-course--all these were typical of the whole vast eastern
water-shed of the continental divide, and familiar to the young officer,
for in such a land he had entered upon active service.
It was beautiful, but it was an ill place for a woman, as Jennie soon
discovered. The air, so dry, so fierce, parched her skin and pinched her
red lips. The alkali settled in a gray dust upon her pretty hair and
entered her throat, increasing her thirst to a keen pain.
"Oh, George! here is a little stream," she cried out.
"Courage, sis. We will soon get above the alkali. That water is rank
poison."
"It looks good," she replied, wistfully.
"We'll find some glorious water up there in that clump of willows," and
a few minutes' hard riding brought them to a gurgling little brook of
clear, cold water, and the girl not merely drank--she laved away all
traces of the bitter soil of the lower levels.
At about four o'clock the guide struck into a transverse valley, and
followed a small stream to its source in a range of pine-clad hills
which separate the white man's country from the Tetong reservation. As
they topped this divide, riding directly over a smooth swell, Curtis
drew rein, crying out, "Wait a moment, Louie."
They stood on the edge of a vast dip in the plain, a bowl of amethyst
and turquoise. Under the vivid October sun the tawny grass seemed to be
transmuted into something that shimmered, was translucent, and yet was
firm, while the opposite wall, already faintly in shadow, rose by two
degrees to snow-flecked mountains, faintly showing in the west and
north. On the floor of this resplendent amphitheatre a flock of cattle
fed irregularly, luminous as red and white and deep-purple beads. The
landscape was silent--as silent as the cloudless sky above. No bird or
beast, save the cattle, and the horses the three travellers rode, was
abroad in this dream-world.
"Oh, isn't it beautiful!" exclaimed Jennie.
Curtis sat in silence till the guide said: "We must hurry. Long ways to
Streeter."
Then he drew a sigh. "That scene is typical of the old time. Nothing
could be more moving to me. I saw the buffaloes feed like that once.
Whose are the cattle?" he asked of the boy.
"Thompson's, I think."
"But what are they doing here--that's Tetong land, isn't it?"
The guide grinned. "That don't make no difference to Thompson. All same
to him whose grass he eats."
"Well, lead on," said Curtis, and the boy galloped away swiftly down the
trail. As they descended to the east the sun seemed to slide down the
sky and the chill dusk rose to meet them from the valley of the Elk,
like an exhalation from some region of icy waters. Night was near, but
Streeter's was in sight, a big log-house, surrounded by sheds and
corrals of various sorts and sizes.
"How does Mr. Streeter happen to be so snugly settled on Indian land?"
asked Jennie.
"He made his location before the reservation was set aside. I believe
there are about twenty ranches of the same sort within the lines,"
replied Curtis, "and I think we'll find in these settlers the chief
cause of friction. The cattle business is not one that leads to
scrupulous regard for the rights of others."
As they clattered up to the door of the ranch-house a tall young fellow
in cowboy dress came out to meet them. He was plainly amazed to find a
pretty girl at his door, and for a moment fairly gaped with lax jaws.
"Good-evening," said Curtis. "Are you the boss here?"
He recovered himself quickly. "Howdy--howdy! Yes, I'm Cal Streeter.
Won't you 'light off?"
"Thank you. We'd like to take shelter for the night if you can spare us
room."
"Why, cert. Mother and the old man are away just now, but there's plenty
to eat." He took a swift stride towards Jennie. "Let me help you down,
miss."
"Thank you, I'm already down," said Jennie, anticipating his service.
The young man called shrilly, and a Mexican appeared at the door of the
stable. "Hosy, come and take these horses." Turning to Jennie with a
grin, he said: "I can't answer for the quality of the grub, fer Hosy is
cooking just now. Mother's been gone a week, and the bread is wiped out.
If you don't mind slapjacks I'll see what we can do for you."
Jennie didn't know whether she liked this young fellow or not. After his
first stare of astonishment he was by no means lacking in assurance.
However, she was plains-woman enough to feel the necessity of making the
best of any hospitality when night was falling, and quickly replied:
"Don't take any trouble for us. If you'll show me your kitchen and
pantry I'll be glad to do the cooking."
"Will you? Well, now, that's a sure-enough trade," and he led the way
into the house, which was a two-story building, with one-story wings on
either side. The room into which they entered was large and bare as a
guard-room. The floor was uneven, the log walls merely whitewashed, and
the beams overhead were rough pine boles. Some plain wooden chairs, a
table painted a pale blue, and covered with dusty newspapers, comprised
the visible furniture, unless a gun-rack which filled one entire wall
could be listed among the furnishings. Curtis brought a keen gaze to
bear on this arsenal, and estimated that it contained nearly a score of
rifles--a sinister array.
Young Streeter opened a side door. "This is where you are to sleep. Just
make yourself to home, and I'll rub two sticks together and start a
fire."
After Jennie left the room, the young fellow turned abruptly. "Stranger,
what might I call you?"
"My name is Curtis. I'm going over to visit the agency."
"She your wife?" He pointed his thumb in Jennie's direction.
"No, my sister."
"Oh! Well, then, you can bunk with me in this room." He indicated a door
on the opposite side of the hall. "When she gets ready, bring her out to
the kitchen. It's hard lines to make her cook her own grub, but I tell
you right now I think she'd better."
As Jennie met her brother a few moments later, she exclaimed, "Isn't he
handsome?"
"M--yes. He's good-looking enough, but he's just a little
self-important, it seems to me."
"Are you going to let him know who you are?"
"Certainly not. I want to draw him out. I begin to suspect that this
house is a rendezvous for all the interests we have to fight. These guns
are all loaded and in prime order."
"What a big house you have here," said Jennie, ingratiatingly, as she
entered the kitchen. "And what a nice kitchen."
"Oh, purty fair," replied the youth, busy at the stove. "Our ranch ain't
what we'd make it if these Injuns were out o' the way. Now, here's the
grub--if you can dig up anything you're welcome."
He showed her the pantry, where she found plenty of bacon and flour, and
some eggs and milk.
"I thought cattlemen never had milk?"
"Well, they don't generally, but mother makes us milk a cow. Now, I'll
do this cooking if you want me to, but I reckon you won't enjoy seein'
me do it. I can't make biscuits, and we're all out o' bread, as I say,
and Hosy's sinkers would choke a dog."
"Oh, I'll cook if you'll get some water and keep a good fire going."
"Sure thing," he said, heartily, taking up the water-pail to go to the
spring. When he came back Jennie was dabbling the milk and flour. He
stood watching her in silence for some minutes as she worked, and the
sullen lines on his face softened and his lips grew boyish.
"You sure know your business," he said, in a tone of conviction. "When I
try to mix dough I get all strung up with it."
She replied with a smile. "Is the oven hot? These biscuit must come out
just right."
He stirred up the fire. "A man ain't fitten to cook; he's too blame long
in the elbows. We have an old squaw when mother is home, but she don't
like me, and so she takes a vacation whenever the old lady does. That
throws us down on Hosy, and he just about poisons us. A Mexican can't
cook no more'n an Injun. We get spring-poor by the time the old lady
comes back." Jennie was rolling at the dough and did not reply to him.
He held the door open for her when she was ready to put the biscuit in
the oven, and lit another bracket-lamp in order to see her better.
"Do you know, you're the first girl I ever saw in this kitchen."
"Am I?"
"That's right." After a pause he added: "I'm mighty glad I didn't get
home to eat Hosy's supper. I want a chance at some of them biscuit."
"Slice this bacon, please--not too thick," she added, briskly.
He took the knife. "Where do you hail from, anyway?" he asked,
irrelevantly.
"From the coast," she replied.
"That so? Born there?"
"Oh no. I was born in Maryland, near Washington."
"There's a place I'd like to live if I had money enough. A feller can
have a continuous picnic in Washington if he's got the dust to spare, so
I hear."
"Now you set the table while I make the omelette."
"The how-many?"
"The omelette, which must go directly to the table after it is made."
He began to pile dishes on the table, which ran across one end of the
room, but found time to watch her as she broke the eggs.
"If a feller lives long enough and keeps his mouth shut and his eyes
open he'll learn a powerful heap, won't he? I've seen that word in the
newspaper a whole lot, but I'll be shot if I ever knew that it was jest
aigs."
Jennie was amused, but too hungry to spend much time listening. "You may
call them in," she said, after a glance at the biscuit.