Dolores's suggestion that he should purchase Rita from the Indian chief
had made a great impression upon Murray's mind. Steve's advice also
helped him to the conclusion that the plan was the best that could be
devised.
Many Bears had taken a great fancy both to Send Warning and to Knotted
Cord. The chief had indeed proposed more than once that his pale-face
friends should remain among the Apache band, and cast in their lots with
them. Meanwhile Murray held many an anxious consultation with Steve over
their plan.
"It's an idea, Steve; it's a good one," he said, finally, "and I'm going
to try and carry it out."
Still, it was a delicate piece of business, and Murray went at it very
carefully.
That afternoon, as they were riding along, Many Bears again remarked to
him that he would be better off among his Apache friends than anywhere
else. "Have lodge. Have squaw. Be chief a little. Be great brave."
"Got good lodge now."
"Yes, but lodge empty. Want squaw."
"Send Warning is old. No child. Rather have daughter. He has taken the
Knotted Cord for a son. All he needs now is a young squaw."
"Ugh! Good. All Apaches say Send Warning is wise. Know what he likes
best. Buy young squaw. Braves get killed in fight. Plenty young squaws
have no father. All glad to come into good lodge. Have plenty meat.
Plenty nice blanket. Good for squaw."
The notion of Many Bears was one that fitted him very well, for, as
chief of the band, it was his duty to keep an eye upon the fortunes of
its "orphans." There could be no better "asylum" for one of them than
the lodge of a wise old brave like Send Warning.
"No," said Murray, after a moment of silence. "Only one young squaw in
camp for me. The great chief must let me have Rita."
Many Bears was as nearly startled as an Indian chief could be by this
sudden and daring proposal. He shook his head. Only a chief who could
bring rich presents could expect to buy the daughter of a great man like
Many Bears. Something far beyond the power of a seemingly poor warrior
like Send Warning.
"Good," said Murray, calmly. "Heap give. Suppose you say what you think.
How big heap?"
There was a grim smile on the face of Many Bears as he turned and looked
in the face of his friend.
"How much? Ugh. Suppose chief bring fifty ponies?"
"Good," said Murray. "Go on."
"Fifty new blanket?"
"Good. All right."
"Five new gun. Fifty knife. Much heap powder. Big roll cloth for squaws.
What say?"
"Good. All right."
"Much pistol too. Suppose chief think of something more?"
"All right. Send Warning give it all."
"Ugh! No got 'em. No find 'em. Send Warning laugh at chief. Bad."
There was an offended look in his eyes, but Murray laid his hand on his
arm, saying:
"Listen. Send Warning is white. He is a great man among his own people.
He can give heap to chief. Can't find all here. Go to fort. See
blue-coat chief. See traders. Get all he wants there."
"Ugh! Good. Make Talking Leaf. Send it to fort. Young brave carry it.
All things come back."
Many Bears had seen something like that, and had never ceased envying
the white man's power to obtain presents by means of a little piece of
paper. Murray replied:
"No. Send Warning in no hurry. Wait till we get to fort."
That would not be for many days, and the more Many Bears thought of all
the good things he had mentioned, the more anxious he became to see his
adopted daughter set up in a lodge of her own, or at least under the
care of a warrior who was willing to give such a "big heap" for the
privilege. He "thought of something more" almost every hour from that
time on, but his demands were mainly for items of moderate cost, and he
did not feel at liberty to mention any larger number of ponies or
blankets.
"We can buy the blankets easily enough," said Steve, when he was told
the terms of the bargain, "but what about the ponies?"
"Cheaper than blankets, my boy. I've seen droves of them going for ten
dollars a head. We won't have to give more than twenty. As to the other
things, there are always traders around the posts."
They had already counted the contents of their little buckskin bags, and
Steve had been surprised to find how much money there was in little more
than twenty pounds of gold coin. He had found, indeed, a strange
pleasure in counting it over and over, while Murray told him of his
beautiful home away across the sea.
"You'll be a rich man there."
"Have three or four times as much as this every year. You must come and
visit with me, Steve. As soon as you've seen your own people."
"I dare not think much of them, Murray. I can't talk about them. It will
be time enough when I learn if any of them are yet alive."
"Your father and mother?"
"Don't, Murray. I'd rather talk about Rita and our plans here."
Ni-ha-be was indignant at the proposed change. Rita had never imagined
until that moment how much she was beloved by the earnest-hearted Apache
girl. Ni-ha-be's arms were twining around her neck, and she was weeping
fiercely as she exclaimed:
"He shall not take you away from me. You are not a pale-face any more.
You are Apache."
Rita could not help crying, and the two friends were glad to go into the
lodge, as they were told, and mingle their tears together.
The nearest United States post at which there were likely to be any
traders was still a "two days' journey" to the northward, but Many Bears
had actually now received a message from his tribe that there would be
"heap presents" for those who should come in time to get them, and he
was more than ever anxious to discover if Send Warning had been telling
him the truth. His first proposition had been, as before, that Murray
should send for what he wanted, and have it brought to the Apache camp,
but that had been declared out of the question.
"Ugh! Good. Then Send Warning go with chief. Buy pony. Buy heap other
things. Come back and take young squaw to lodge."
"No. The great chief can bring young squaw with him. Send Warning take
then what he pay for. Give pony, take young squaw."
After some little argument, this was agreed to, but there were almost as
serious objections made to Steve Harrison's joining the party who were
to visit the post.
"Tell them I'm going anyhow," said Steve to Red Wolf, "whether they like
it or not. You come too. I'll buy you a new rifle. Best there is at the
fort." That settled the matter.
Both Dolores and Ni-ha-be were to be of the party.
"Rita," said Murray, in a low voice, the morning they rode out of the
village camp, "take a good look back. That's the last you will ever see
of it."
Then for the first time it came into the mind of Rita that she loved not
only Ni-ha-be, but all those wild, dark, savage people among whom she
had been living ever since she was a little girl.
"Father, will I never see any of them again?"
"I think not, Rita."
"You will let me send them presents, will you not?"
"As many as you please, Rita."
"Then I will make the whole village happy some day."
On arriving at the fort they were fortunate in finding a trader who had
bought a great many more ponies than he knew what to do with. Fifty of
them were promptly secured and turned over to Many Bears.
Even while that was being cared for, Murray sought and obtained two or
three important interviews. One was with the United States army officer
in command of the post, to whom he told his story.
"It's a little the biggest romance I ever heard of," said the gallant
Major. "I'll tell you what--you'd better have the final transfer made in
my presence."
"Thank you heartily. That will be just the thing."
The Major told the story as a great secret to his wife, and she told it
to the other ladies at the fort, and they all went wild together over a
grand new wardrobe for Rita. Never had any daughter of the Apaches owned
a tenth of the varied material the enthusiastic ladies prepared in less
than twenty-four hours after their first glimpse of Rita.
"We must make quite an affair," said the Major to Murray, "of your
making the payment. Then they will not think of trying to back out."
"There would be danger to Rita, I fear, if I were to make the truth
known publicly too soon."
Major Norris was an experienced "Indian fighter," and just the man to be
in command of such a post, for the reason that he had learned how much
cheaper it was to have the red men as friends than as enemies. He sent
word at once to Many Bears and a number of other "great chiefs" that
Send Warning was also a "great chief," and that proper honor must be
shown him by his pale-face friends on so great an occasion.
* * * * *
It was quite a procession that marched out of the fort barracks with
Rita on the day appointed. The Apache warriors and squaws who were
looking on felt that a high compliment was paid to their nation. There
were the troops drawn up in splendid array, with flags and cannon and
music, and the "white chiefs" in their bright uniforms.
There were the great warriors of several bands of the Apaches in their
paint and feathers. There were the beautiful white squaws in their
strange dresses. Many Bears had been looking very intently at a
collection of things just in front of where Major Norris was standing
with Murray and Steve Harrison. Ponies, blankets, guns--all, and more
than all, that had been agreed upon. No chief who was looking on could
say he had ever received more than that for one of his daughters, and
the heart of Many Bears swelled proudly within him. There was a cloud
upon his haughty face, however, and another on that of Red Wolf, who was
standing at his side. The clouds did not go away when they searched the
approaching party of ladies with their eyes for Rita.
Rita? Could that be the adopted daughter of Many Bears walking there
behind Mrs. Norris and Mother Dolores--the beautiful young lady whose
face was so very pale, and who was dressed so splendidly? They had never
before seen her look anything like that.
The band played, the soldiers "presented arms," the officers touched
their hats, and Murray stepped forward and held out his right hand to
Many Bears, pointing with his left to the ponies and things.
"There they are. Send Warning has kept his word. Rita is mine."
"Ugh! Good. Presents all right. Young squaw is the daughter of Send
Warning."
He shook hands heartily as he said it; but Murray had something more on
his mind, and was only waiting for the music to stop.
"Listen," he said. "I tell you a big truth. Rita is my own daughter.
When you burn ranche in Mexico many summers ago, burn mine, take horses,
cattle, mules, take away little girl--all that was mine. Got little girl
back now. Apaches all good friends of mine."
"Send Warning not come back to lodge?"
"Not now. Go to my own people for a while. Show them my daughter. Say
found her again."
"Ugh! Send Warning is a wise man. Cunning chief. Throw dust in the eyes
of the Apaches."
It was plain that the chief was troubled in his mind; he hardly knew
whether to be angry or not. But there was no reasonable objection to
Murray's doing as he pleased with his own daughter after she had cost
him so many ponies.
Murray spoke again. "Send Warning say what great chief do. Let Ni-ha-be
come with Rita to pale-face lodges. Stay awhile. Learn to hear Talking
Leaves. Then come back to her friends. What say?"
The chief pondered a moment, but Ni-ha-be had heard and understood, and
a scared look arose in her face.
"Rita! Rita! you are going away? you will not be an Apache girl any
more?"
[Illustration: "'OH, NI-HA-BE, COME WITH ME!'"]
"Oh, Ni-ha-be, come with me!"
Their arms were around each other, and they were both weeping; but
Ni-ha-be's mind was made up instantly.
"No. You are born white. You will go with your father. I am an Apache,
and I will go with my father."
Many Bears was listening. "Send Warning hear what young squaw say? All
Apaches say, good. She will stay with her own people."
Murray and Steve were anxious to begin their return to civilization, but
it would be several days before a "train" would go with an escort, and
they did not care to run any further risks. So the "farewell" was spread
over sufficient time to make all sorts of explanations and promises, and
Rita's mind became so full of dreams of her new life that she could
easily give up the old one.
Ni-ha-be had never seen so much of the pale-faces before, and Rita tried
again and again to persuade her to change her mind, but on the very last
morning of all she resolutely responded: "No, Rita, you are all
pale-face. All over. Head and heart both belong with white friends. Feel
happy. Ni-ha-be only little Indian girl here. Out there on plains, among
mountains, Ni-ha-be is the daughter of a great chief. She is an Apache."
No doubt she was right, but she and Rita had a good long cry over it
then, and probably more than one afterward.
As for Dolores, she came to the fort to say good-by, but neither Many
Bears nor Red Wolf came with her.
"The heart of the great chief is sore," she said, "and he mourns for his
pale-face daughter. Not want to speak."
Out from the gates of the fort that morning wheeled the cavalry escort
of the waiting "train" of supply wagons and traders' "outfits," and
behind the cavalry rode a little group of three.
The ladies of the garrison, with the Major and the rest, had said their
last farewells at the gates, and the homeward journey had begun.
"Steve," said Murray, "are you a Lipan or an Apache to-day?"
"Seems to me that is all ever so long ago. I am white again."
"So am I. At one time I had little hope that I ever should be. I never
would if I had not found Rita. Oh, my daughter!"
"Father! Father, see--there she is! Oh, Ni-ha-be!"
A swift and beautiful mustang was bounding toward them across the plain
from a sort of cloud of wild-looking figures at a little distance, and
on its back was a form they all knew well.
Nearer it came, and nearer.
"She wants to say good-by again."
Nearer still, so near that they could almost look into her dark
streaming eyes, and Rita held out her arms beseechingly; but at that
moment the mustang was suddenly reined in and wheeled to the right
about, while Ni-ha-be clasped both hands upon her face.
"Ni-ha-be! Oh, Ni-ha-be!"
But she was gone like the wind, and she did not come again.
"There, Rita," said her father. "It is all for the best. All your Indian
life is gone, like mine and Steve's. We have something better before us
now."