The messengers from both Riddell and Pinon reported to Curtis about
daylight, laden with papers and telegrams. The telegrams naturally
received first reading. There was one filled with instructions from the
Secretary of the Interior, and one from the Commissioner, bidding him
stand firm. Several anxious ones from various cities, all of this tenor:
"Is there any danger? my niece is one of your teachers," etc. In the
midst of the others, Curtis came upon a fat one for Elsie, plainly from
her father. This he put aside till after breakfast, when he permitted
himself the pleasure of carrying it to the studio. He found her at work,
painting a little brown tot of a girl in the arms of her smiling mother.
"I have a telegram for you--from your father, no doubt."
She rose quickly and opened the envelope. As she read she laughed. "Poor
papa; he is genuinely alarmed. Read it."
He took it with more interest than he cared to show, and found it most
peremptory in tone.
"Reports from Fort Smith most alarming. Come out at once. Have wired the
agent to furnish escort and conveyance. Shall expect you to reply
immediately, giving news that you have left agency. You should not have
gone there. I will meet you at Pinon City if possible; if I do not, take
train for Alta. Wire me your plans. Country is much alarmed. I must hear
from you at once or shall be worried."
Curtis looked up with an amused light in his eyes. "He's a little
incoherent, but sufficiently mandatory. When will you start?"
"I will send a telegram out at once that I am safe, and all danger over.
He will not want me to leave now."
"Very well. A messenger will start at once with all our letters and
messages. Anything you wish to send can go at the same time."
"What news have you?"
"I only had time to glance at my mail, but the papers are all that
Lawson has predicted. If you would know how important a criminal I am,
read these"--he pointed at a bundle on a chair. "I must go back to the
office now, but I will wait for your letters and telegrams before
despatching a messenger. If you think it better to go than to stay, I
will ask Captain Maynard to escort you to the station."
"I will stay," she replied.
She wrote a brief telegram to her father, saying: "I am quite safe and
hard at work. All quiet; don't worry," and also composed a letter giving
vital details of the situation and taking strong ground against the way
in which the cattlemen had invaded the reservation. In conclusion she
added: "I have a fine studio, plenty of models, and am in fine health; I
cannot think of giving up my work because of this foolish panic. Don't
let these settlers influence you against Captain Curtis; he's right this
time."
As she ran through the papers and caught the full significance of their
precipitate attack on the agent, her teeth clinched in hot indignation.
At the first breath, before they were sure of a single item of news,
they leaped upon an honorable man, accusing him of concealing stolen
cattle and of harboring murderers and thieves. "As for the Indians, it
is time to exterminate these vermin! Let the State wipe out this tribe
and its agency, and send this fellow Curtis back to his regiment where
he belongs," was the burden of their song.
As she read on, tingling with wrath at these vulgarly written and
utterly un-Christian editorials, the girl caught an amazing side-glimpse
of herself and the views she once held. She remembered reading just such
reports once before, and joining with her father in his desire to punish
the redmen. Was Lawson right? Had her notions of the "brave and noble
pioneers fighting the wild beast and the savage" arisen from ignorance
of their true nature? Had they always been as narrow, as bigoted, as
relentless, and as greedy as these articles hinted at? Some of Lawson's
clean-cut, relentless phrases came back to her at the moment, and she
began to believe that he was nearer right than she had been. And her
father? Would he sanction such libels as these? At last the essential
grandeur of the position held in common by both Curtis and Lawson--of
the right of the small people to their place on the planet--came to her,
and in opposition to their grave, sweet eyes she saw again the brutal,
leering faces of the mob, and comprehended the feelings of a chief like
Grayman, as he confronts the oncoming hordes of a destroying race.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, in the grassy hollow between two round-top hills the bands of
Elk and Grayman were gathered in extraordinary council. No one was in
gala-dress, no one was painted, all were serious or sad or morose. Upon
their folded blankets the head men sat in a small circle on the smooth
sod, exposed to the blazing sun. Behind them stood or knelt a larger
circle, the men and boys on one side, the women on the other, while in
the rear, mounted on their fleetest ponies, some two hundred of the
young men were ranked, enthralled listeners to the impassioned speeches
of the old men.
Crawling Elk made the first address, repeating the story which the agent
had told and calling upon all those who sat before him to search for the
guilty one and report to him if they found him. His words were received
in silence.
Then Grayman rose, and, stepping into the circle, began to speak in a
low and sorrowful voice. Something in his manner as well as in his words
enlisted the almost breathless interest of the crowd. There was a tragic
pathos in his voice as he called out: "You see how it is, brothers; we
are like a nest of ants in a white man's field, which he is ploughing.
We are only a few and weak, while all around us our enemies press in
upon us. We have only one friend--our Little Father. We must do as he
says. We must give up a man to the war chief of the cowboys. They will
never believe that any one else killed the sheep-man. The cattlemen and
sheepmen are always quarrelling, but they readily join hands to do the
Tetongs harm."
"It is death to us to fight the white man; I know it. Unless we all wish
to be shot, we must not become angry this time; we must do as the Little
Father says, and if we cannot find the man who did this thing, I will go
and give myself into the hands of the white war chief." A murmur of
protest and anger ran round the circle. "It is better for one to suffer
than many," he said, in answer to the protest, "and I am old. My wife is
dead. I have but one son, and he is estranged from me. I say, if we
cannot find who did this thing, then I am willing to go and be killed of
the white people in order to keep the peace. I have said it."
Standing Elk leaped to his feet, tall, gaunt, excitable. "We will not do
this," he said. "We will fight first." And among the young warriors
there was applause. "The Tetongs are not dogs to be always kicked in the
ribs. I have fought the white man. I have met 'Long Hair' and 'Bear
Robe' in battle. I am not afraid of the cattlemen. I am old, but my
heart is yet big. Let us do battle and die like brave men."
Then Crawling Elk rose, and his broad, good-humored face shone in the
sun like polished bronze as he turned his cheek to the wind.
"The words of my brother are loud and quick," he said, slowly. "In the
ancient time it was always so. He was always ready to fight. I was
always opposed to fighting. We must not talk of fighting now; all that
is put away. It belongs to the suns that have gone over our heads. We
must now talk of cattle-herding and ploughing. We must strive always to
be at peace with the cowboys. I, too, am old. I have not many years to
live; but you young men have a long time to live, and you cannot be
always quarrelling with the settlers; you must be wise and patient. Our
Little Father, Swift Eagle, is our friend; you can trust him. You can
put your hand in his and find it strong and warm. His heart is good and
his words are wise. If we can find the man who did this evil deed, we
must give him up. It is not right that all of us should suffer for the
wickedness of one man. No, it is not right that we who are old should
die for one whose hands are red."
This speech was also received in silence, but plainly produced a
powerful effect. Then one of the men who found the body rose and told
what he knew of the case. "I do not think a Tetong killed the man," he
said, in conclusion.
In this wise the talk proceeded for nearly two hours, and then the
council rose to meet again at sunset, and word of what had been said was
carried to Curtis by Crawling Elk and Grayman.
To them Curtis said: "I am pleased with you. Go over the names of all
your reckless young men, and when you reach one you think might do such
a deed, question him and his people closely. The shells of the rifle
were the largest size--that may help you. Your old men would not do this
thing--their heads are cool; but some of your young men have hot hearts
and may have quarrelled with this herder."
The old men went away very sorrowful. Grayman was especially troubled,
because he could not help thinking all the time of Cut Finger, his
nephew.
Running Fox, or "Cut Finger," as the white people called him, he knew to
be a morose and reckless young man, and probably possessed of some evil
spirit, for at times he was quite crazy. Once he had forced his pony
into the cooking-lodge of Bear Paw for no reason at all, and Bear Paw,
in a rage, had snatched up his rifle and fired, putting a bullet through
the bridle hand of Running Fox, who lost two fingers and gained a new
name. At another time the mad fool had tried to force his horse to leap
a cliff; and once he had attempted to drown himself; and yet, between
these obsessions, he could be very winning, and there were many among
Elk's band who pitied him. He was comely withal, and had married a
handsome girl, the daughter of Standing Wolf. It was easy to imagine
that Cut Finger was the guilty one, and yet to think of him was to think
of his son's intimate friend.
When he reached his tepee Grayman lit his pipe and sat down alone and
remained in deep thought for hours. He feared to find Cut Finger guilty,
for his own son was Cut Finger's friend, or fellow, and that means the
closest intimacy. There are no secrets between a Tetong and his chum.
"If Cut Finger is guilty, then my son knows of it. That I fear."
When any one came to the door he motioned them away; even his daughter
dared not enter, for she saw him in meditation. As he smoked he made
offering to the Great Spirit, and prayed that he might be shown the
right way, and his heart was greatly troubled.
Crawling Elk, with a half-dozen of his head men, was seated in his
tepee, calmly discussing the same question. The canvas of his lodge was
raised, as much to insure privacy as to let the wind sweep through. It
was not easy to accuse any man of this crime, or even to suggest the
name of any one as capable of such a foolish deed of blood. For
relationships were close; therefore it was that he, too, narrowed the
investigation down to Cut Finger. It is easier to accuse the son of a
neighbor than your own son, especially if that other is already a marked
man among reckless youths.
At five o'clock Grayman called his daughter and said, "Send my sister,
Standing Cloud, to me."
Standing Cloud came and took a seat on the outside of the tepee--on the
side where the canvas was fastened up--and there sat with bent head, her
fingers busy with blades of grass, while her brother questioned her. She
was a large and comely woman of middle age. Her expression was still
youthful, and her voice had girlish lightness. She was at once deeply
moved by her brother's questions. She did not know where her son was; he
had not been to see her for several days. She understood whereto the
questioning tended, and stoutly denied that her son would do so evil a
deed. Nevertheless, Grayman was compelled to say:
"You know he has a bad head," and he made the confused, wavering sign of
the hand which signifies crazy or foolish, and the mother rose and went
away sobbing.
Then Grayman recalled the words of the Little Father. "If my own brother
should do wrong, I would give him up to the war chief," he therefore
said. "If my son and my sister's son are guilty, I will give them up,"
and he rose and sought out Crawling Elk and told him of his fears, and
repeated his resolution as they sat together while the sun was going
down and the crier was calling the second council.
"It is right," said Elk. "Those who are guilty must be punished; but we
do not know who fired the shot."
The people were slow in coming together this second time, and darkness
was falling as the head men again took their seats. A small fire was
being built in the centre of the circle, and towards this at last, like
nocturnal insects, the larger number of the people in the two camps
slowly concentrated.
The wind had gone down and the night was dark and still and warm. The
people gathered in comparative silence, though the laugh of a girl
occasionally broke from the clustering masses of the women, to be
followed by a mutter of jests from the young men who stood close packed
behind the older members of the bands. Excitement had deepened since the
morning, for in some way the news had passed from lip to lip that
Grayman had discovered the evil-doer.
On their part the chieftains were slow to begin their painful task. They
smoked in silence till the fire was twice replenished, then began
talking in low tones among themselves. At last Crawling Elk arose and
made a speech similar to that of the morning. He recounted the tale of
the murdered white man, and the details of finding the body, and ended
by saying: "We are commanded by the agent to find the ones who have done
this evil deed. If any one knows anything about this, let him come
forward and speak. It is not right that we should all suffer for the
wrong-doing of some reckless young warriors."
"Come forth and speak, any one who knows," called the head men, looking
round the circle. "He who remains silent does wrong."
Two Horns rose. "We mean you, young men--you too," he said, turning to
the women. "If any of you have heard anything of this matter, speak!"
Then the silence fell again on the circle of old men, and they bent
their heads in meditation. Crawling Elk was just handing the pipe to
Grayman, in order to rise, when a low mutter and a jostling caused every
glance to centre upon one side of the circle, and then, decked in
war-paint, gay with beads and feathers, and carrying a rifle, Cut Finger
stepped silently and haughtily into the circle and stood motionless as a
statue, his tall figure erect and rigid as an oak.
A moaning sound swept over the assembly, and every eye was fixed on the
young man. "Ahee! Ahee!" the women wailed, in astonishment and fear; two
or three began a low, sad chant, and death seemed to stretch a black
wing over the council. By his weapons, by his war-paint, by his bared
head decked with eagle-plumes, and by the haughty lift of his face, Cut
Finger proclaimed louder than words:
"I am the man who killed the herder."
Standing so, he began to sing a stern song:
"I alone killed him--the white man.
He was a thief and I killed him.
No one helped me; I alone fired the shot.
He will drive his sheep no more on Tetong lands.
This dog of a herder.
He lies there in the short grass.
It was I, Cut Finger, who did it."
As his chant died away he turned: "I go to the hills to fight and die
like a man." And before the old men could stay him he had vanished among
the young horsemen of the outer circle, and a moment later the loud
drumming of his pony's hoofs could be heard as he rode away.
* * * * *
Curtis was sitting alone in the library when a tap at his window
announced the presence of Grayman.
Following a gesture, the chieftain came in, and, with a look on his face
which expressed high resolution and keen sorrow, he said:
"The man who killed the herder is found. He has proclaimed himself at
our council, and he has ridden away into the hills."
"Who was he?"
"Cut Finger."
"Ah! So? Well, you have done your duty. I will not ask you to arrest
him. Crow will do that. I hope"--he hesitated--"I hope your son was not
with him?"
"'I alone did it,' he says. My son is innocent."
"I am very glad," replied Curtis, looking into the old man's tremulous
face. "Go home and sleep in peace."
With a clasp of the hand Grayman said good-night and vanished.
There was nothing to be done till morning, and Curtis knew the habits of
the Indians too well to be anxious about the criminal. Calling his
faithful Crane's Voice, he said:
"Crane, will you go to Pinon City?"