"What did you go in there for?"
"Cowboy no good--mebbe so shoot."
"They won't hurt you," said Jennie, gently. "Go to work again. The
Captain will take care of you."
"Little Father no got gun--cowboy heap gun."
"Little Father don't need gun now; you are all right," Jennie said, and
the old woman went to her work again, though nervously alert to every
sound.
From nowhere in particular, two sharp-eyed lads sauntered up the road to
play under the office window, so that if any loud word should be spoken
the tribe might know of it.
Jennie and Elsie discussed the situation while sitting at the library
window with a view of the agency front door.
"I can't for the life of me take a serious view of this episode," said
Jennie. "These cowboys wouldn't be so foolish as to fire a first shot.
They are like big, country school-boys."
"The Parkers!" cried Elsie, suddenly. "Where are the Parkers?"
Jennie gasped. "True enough! I had forgotten all about them. I don't
believe they have got back from their ride."
"They will be scared blue. We must send for them."
"I'll have Crane's Voice go at once," said Jennie. "I will go with him."
"Don't do that--not without letting the Captain know. How far is it?"
"Just over the hill--not more than five miles."
But even as she was hurrying across to the corral to find an angel for
this mission of mercy, she saw the Parkers coming down the hill-side,
moving slowly, for both were very bad riders. It was plain they had
heard nothing, and as she watched them approach Jennie cried:
"Don't say a word. They won't see anything suspicious."
There was something irresistibly funny in the calm stateliness of the
blond Parker as he led the way past the store which was deserted of its
patrons, past the school-house where the students were quivering with
excitement, and close beside the office behind whose doors Curtis was
still in legal battle with the sheriff.
Jennie met her visitors at the gate, her hands clinched in the effort to
control her laughter. "You are late. Are you hungry?" she asked.
"Famished!" said Parker. "I had to ride slow on Mrs. Parker's account."
"I like that!" cried Jennie. "As if any one could be a worse rider than
you are."
"How do women get off, anyway?" asked Parker, as he approached his
wife's pony.
"Fall off," suggested Jennie, and this seemed so funny that she and
Elsie went off into simultaneous hysterical peals of laughter.
"You are easily amused," remarked Parker, eying them keenly. "Laugh on;
it is good for digestion. Excuse me from joining; I haven't anything to
digest."
Putting his angular shoulder to Mrs. Parker's waist, he eased her to the
ground awkwardly but tenderly. Upon facing the girls again and
discovering them still in foolish mirth, Parker looked himself all over
carefully, then turned to his wife. "We seem to be affording these young
ladies a great deal of hearty pleasure, Mrs. Parker."
Mrs. Parker was not so dense. "What is the matter?" she asked, sharply.
"What has happened? This laughter is not natural--you are both
hysterical."
Both girls instantly became as grave as they had been hilarious a moment
before.
"Now I _know_ something is wrong," said Mrs. Parker. "Where is the
Captain? What made you laugh that way? Have the savages broken out?"
Jennie met Parker's eyes fairly popping from his head, and went off into
another shout. At last she paused and said, breathlessly: "Oh, you are
funny! Come into the house. We've been entertaining a lynching
party--all the Indians are in the hills and the sheriff's in the office
throttling the agent."
While the Parkers consumed their crusts of bread and scraps of cold
meat, Jennie told them what had happened.
Parker rose to the occasion. "We must get out o' here--every one of us!
We should never have come in here. Your brother is to blame; he deceived
us."
"He did not!" replied Jennie. "You shall not hold him responsible!"
"He knew the situation was critical," Parker hotly retorted. "He knew an
outbreak was likely. It was criminal on his part."
"Jerome Parker, you are a donkey," remarked Elsie, calmly. "Nothing has
really happened. If you're so nervous, go home. You can't sculp an
Indian, anyway--grasshoppers and sheep are in your line." She had
reverted to the plain talk of the studios. "Your nervousness amused us
for a while, but it bores us now. Please shut up and run away if you are
afraid."
"You're not very nice," said Mrs. Parker, severely.
"I don't think it's very manly of your husband when he begins to blame
Captain Curtis for an invasion of cowboys."
"You admitted you were scared," pursued Parker.
"Well, suppose we were, we didn't weep and complain; we set to work to
tide over the crisis."
Jennie put in a word. "If you'd feel safer in the camp of the enemy, Mr.
Parker, we'll set you down the valley with the settlers. I intend to
stay right here with my brother."
"So do I," added Elsie; "if there is danger it is safer here than with
the cowboys; but the mob is gone, and the Captain and Osborne will see
that we are protected."
Meanwhile the office resounded with the furious argument of the sheriff.
"The whole western part of the State is disgusted with the way in which
these Indians escape arrest. They commit all kinds of depredations, and
not one is punished. This has got to stop. We intend to learn this tribe
it can't hide thieves and murderers any longer." He ended, blustering
like a northwest wind.
"Produce your warrants and I'll secure the men," replied Curtis,
patiently. "You shall not punish a whole tribe on a pure assumption. You
must come to me with a proper warrant for a particular man, and when you
receive him from me you must prove his guilt in court. As the case now
stands, you haven't the slightest evidence that an Indian killed this
herder, and I will not give over an innocent man to be lynched by you."
As the sheriff stormed up and down the floor Lawson said, in a low
voice: "Delay--delay."
Curtis, who had been writing a note, slipped it to Lawson, who rose and
went out of the door. Curtis continued to parley.
"I appreciate your feeling in this matter, Mr. Sheriff, and I am willing
to do what is right. I have called a council of my head men to-night,
and I will ask them to search for the murderer. An Indian cannot keep a
secret. If one of the Tetongs killed your herder he will tell of it. I
again suggest that you go back to your people and assure them of my
willingness to aid in this affair. Give me three days in which to act."
"That crowd will not be satisfied unless we bring an Injun with us.
We've got to do that or they'll come rompin' in here and raise hell with
you. I propose to take old Crawling Elk himself and hold him till the
tribe--"
"If you attempt such a crime I will put you off the reservation,"
replied Curtis, sharply.
"Put me off! By ----, I think I see you doing that! Why, the whole State
would rise and wipe you and your tribe out of existence." He turned
threateningly and towered over Curtis, who was seated.
"Be quiet, and keep your distance, or I'll put you in irons! Sit down!"
These words were not spoken loudly, but they caused the sheriff's face
to blanch and his knees to tremble. There was a terrifying, set glare in
the officer's eyes as he went on:
"What do you suppose would be the consequences of firing upon a captain
of the United States army in the discharge of his duty, by a sheriff
acting outside the law? You have only three men out there, and one of
them is my friend, and you know the quality of Calvin Streeter. I am
still in command of this reservation, Mr. Sheriff."
Lawson re-entering at this moment, Curtis said: "Ask Streeter to come
in, will you, Mr. Lawson?"
Calvin entered smilingly. "Well, what's the up-shot?" he asked.
"It is this, Calvin. The sheriff has no warrant for anybody, not even
for a suspect. I have asked him to go back and wait till I can find some
clew to the murderer. Do you consider that reasonable?"
"It sounds fair," admitted Calvin, growing grave.
"Now the question of whether the State or county authority covers a
federal reservation or not is too big a question for us to settle. You
see that, Calvin?"