MISTAKES
Certainly, in the days that followed, Bettina kept her word.
Watching her, as she felt it her duty to do, her Camp Fire guardian
could not see the slightest swerving from her promise.
Yet Se-kyal-ets-tewa continued to come now and then to camp, and Mrs.
Burton continued to like him, as she had from their first meeting on the
train.
After all, she was not so conventional a woman that she should have
objected to a friendship between Bettina and the young man, simply
because he was an Indian. He was well educated; even more than that, he
was a student and would one day be a leader among his own people. And
never, except for a single moment the night of the storm, had he
apparently failed in entire respect to each member of the Camp Fire
club. He was far more courteous, more dignified and more helpful than an
American fellow would have been under similar circumstances.
But it was true that Mrs. Burton considered Bettina more anxiously than
she did the other girls, for several reasons. In the first place, there
was always Betty—Bettina’s mother—to be thought of, who was a far more
conventional woman than her celebrated friend Polly Burton would ever
learn to be. This had been true in their girlhood, and the different
circumstances of their lives had emphasized it. For Betty Graham, as
Senator Graham’s wife, living in Washington, was compelled by the
conditions of political life, as well as by her own nature and point of
view, to conform to the conventions that every capital city requires.
And Polly Burton and her husband, although famous members of their
profession, naturally passed a wholly different existence. They knew all
the actor people with whom they worked—rich and poor, successful and
unsuccessful. It was impossible to Polly Burton, as it had been to Polly
O’Neill, to like people for their possessions—or even for their
attainments—but only for some characteristic which appealed to her vivid
and emotional temperament. So she was always making odd and not always
desirable friendships and generously doing for people, some of whom were
worth while and some who were not.
So, personally, she would like to have befriended Se-kyal-ets-tewa far
more than she was at present doing. But the idea of Bettina’s
befriending him was not the same thing. For Mrs. Burton considered that
Bettina’s mother would have objected to any possibility of an intimacy
between her daughter and any young man not in her own social position.
Betty herself had been in love with Anthony Graham before he was a
person of the least importance; but grown people have a way of
forgetting the facts in their own lives. However, Polly may have been
mistaken in her theory of Bettina’s mother’s point of view. In writing,
she had never mentioned the young Indian, except in a casual fashion,
and never that Bettina appeared more interested in him than any one of
the other girls. Indeed, she had not thought this herself until Gerry’s
suggestion to her.
After all, was Gerry behind the present situation? Would Mrs. Burton
have paid any attention to Tewa’s simple speech or to his frank show of
concern, except for Gerry’s past innuendos? So slight a thing can arouse
human suspicion in this unstable, all too human, world.
However, as a matter of justice, Mrs. Burton was not aware that Gerry’s
speech had any influence upon her.
And, unfortunately, Bettina’s present coldness was not only bestowed
upon Tewa but upon the Camp Fire guardian as well. She was angry and
hurt over what appeared to her a nonsensical and arbitrary attitude.
But she said nothing to any one of what had taken place—not even to
Peggy—and Mrs. Burton said nothing either.
If Bettina had known, however, there was some one else watching her—the
last person whom she would ever have dreamed of. This was the Indian
girl, Dawapa.
Dawapa was staying with the Camp Fire girls at their Arizona camp.
Occasionally she went home to old Nampu’s house, but only to return
within a few hours. She was an odd creature—a skilful artist—knowing how
to make beautiful pottery; a weaver of wonderful baskets—a clever worker
in brass and silver, but with little other sense. The new Sunrise Camp
Fire girls had learned a great deal of hand craft from their Indian
guest. However, she was unlike the ordinary Indian girl. Indeed, she had
never had many companions among the members of her own race. They were
gay and energetic, laughing and chattering among themselves, with jokes
and quarrels and interests much like any other race of girls.
But something about Dawapa had kept her apart from them. She was
morbidly shy and timid, and yet in a way she had a curious pride about
herself, feeling that her fair skin and hair set her above other Indian
maidens. Besides, her mother, Nampu, was rich, her pottery having gone
all over the world to be placed in museums in far countries, revealing
the possibilities in art of the American Indian.
So in her way Dawapa was vain, as many shy people are vain without being
suspected of it by other people. And she had decided that she wished to
be betrothed to the young Indian chieftain, Se-kyal-ets-tewa. For it was
thus Dawapa thought of him. His American ideas, his college education,
did not interest her. She believed that, like all good Indians, he would
return to his own people and take up the work of his father—a kiva
chief, when his college days were past.
To an American girl this attitude of Dawapa’s may seem a strange one, as
she was only between sixteen and seventeen years old. But there was
nothing extraordinary in it; the Indian girl marries young, and in the
Hopi country it is the girl who proposes marriage. Also the children
belong to their mother’s clan.
Before the coming of the corn time Dawapa had begged old Nampu to make
her wishes known to Se-kyal-ets-tewa’s people. But Nampu, for all her
stupid and squaw-like appearance, was wiser and more acquainted with the
ways of the white world than one would have given her credit for.
She had known the Indian boy since his childhood and many an hour he had
talked to her of his ambitions, his dreams, while she worked swiftly and
silently at her pottery. She knew that he had taken all the prizes at
the government schools; that his teachers at the schools had insisted he
be sent East to college. Old Nampu also knew that Se-kyal-ets-tewa’s
desires had become like those of the white youth. He would wish to have
at least some part in choosing his own life companion.
Therefore the old Indian woman had put Dawapa off, telling her that she
was too young; that the Indian youth must be allowed to finish his
education. She had not told her that marriage between them was
impossible, because Nampu herself wished that it might take place. The
Indian gods would see to it, perhaps, by the mysterious methods which
they alone understood. Besides, old Nampu, as we know, was also a
medicine woman, and there are love potions which may be made from herbs
as well as healing ones.
Then Dawapa came to visit the Sunrise Camp Fire girls and believed she
saw that Tewa fancied the white girl, Bettina.
Dawapa did not have the average intelligence of the girls of her own
race. Certainly she had no appreciation of simple friendliness.
But there was so little upon which to hang her suspicions that Dawapa
would probably have let the idea slip from her mind, except that Gerry
Williams, who guessed the situation, occasionally teased her concerning
it.
It may be that Gerry simply was teasing, since there are persons who
have a mischievous spirit without having a malicious one.
But, then, behind everything else that had happened, or was to come, was
the fact that Gerry disliked Bettina.
Since their first meeting she had not liked what she called her coldness
and pride. Then there was the more recent sting of their open quarrel.
Moreover, to Gerry’s nature it was tantalizing to know that Bettina had
the very things she most desired, without appreciating them; even though
with her prettiness and wit she expected some day to acquire all she
wished.
As a matter-of-fact, however, Bettina was not conscious that Gerry
actually disliked her; only that they were antagonistic. For her share
of their quarrel she had apologized on the following day, being too well
bred and really too sweet-tempered not to feel remorse.
July’s golden sun had faded and the blistering dog-days’ sun of August
arrived, and with it the time for the Sunrise Camp Fire girls and their
guardian to make their pilgrimage to the nearby Indian villages to
witness their August ceremonial dances. For then the Indian priests
performed great magic that the gods might send down much rain on the
corn crops.
Therefore, under the direction of Mr. Jefferson Simpson, the Camp Fire
tents were transferred from the neighborhood of Cottonwood Creek to the
valley near the base of the three mesas, where the five Hopi villages
stand.
The Camp Fire party went a few days in advance of any of the important
ceremonies, knowing a great number of tourists would come crowding in as
the time of the flute and snake dances drew near.
It was the evening of the second day after their arrival at the new
tenting place, and Mrs. Burton and her niece were taking a walk a little
after their camp fire supper. The other girls were busy with the work,
but Polly had asked that Peggy be spared to her.
They were strolling along hand in hand, like two girls, looking up
toward the summit of a mesa several hundred feet in height. To the north
and left was the largest of the Hopi villages—the town of Oraibi. Below
in the valley were the cornfields of the Indians, now tall and green,
although with only small ears of corn showing on the waving stalks.
Here, also, were their peach orchards and gardens.
But the woman and girl had come away from these and were walking along a
road almost at the bottom of the mesa. It was difficult to see the
village in detail from below, as the houses seemed to be colored like
the living rock.
“Tewa says his town of Oraibi was on this very spot, in 1540, when
Coronado discovered the province of Tusayan,” Peggy remarked. She was in
a reflective mood, since neither she nor her aunt had been talking for
the past five minutes, so intent were they both on the strangeness of
their surroundings. “Odd, isn’t it, Tante, that the civilization out
here is really older than one finds in many places in Europe, only we
know so little of it. You’ll take me to Europe some day, won’t you?”
Polly nodded. “Take you any place in the world you wish to go, Peggy
mine, if I am free and you think you love me enough to endure my
society. Sometimes I am afraid, however, I am not a very successful Camp
Fire guardian. What do you girls honestly think of me?”
Polly looked directly at her niece and her lips twitched, a little with
amusement and a little with concern.
One knew that, to a straightforward question, Peggy Webster was unable
to return anything but a truthful answer. She flushed slightly.
“They think you are awfully charming, dearest.”
Polly laughed. “To be charming, Peggy, is hardly a valuable
characteristic of a Camp Fire guardian, or even of a Camp Fire girl,
since there are a number of things I can think of as more important. Go
ahead; be honest, dear. I have been thinking if our Camp Fire club is to
go on for a time longer, as I wish it to do, I ought to know what we are
accomplishing together.”
“Oh, well, Tante, you are terribly inspiring; the girls all think that
and say they never felt so happy or so alive as they have since they
came out here with you, and they never have learned so many things.
But——”
“But what, Peggy, please?” Polly asked more seriously than she had yet
spoken.
“But,” continued Peggy a little desperately, as if she felt herself
pushed to the wall, “some of us don’t—at least, I don’t think you
understand all of the girls equally well. Sometimes you seem to have
favorites. Oh, I don’t mean that you are not extremely kind to us all
alike, and I don’t want you to feel that any one is ungrateful.”
“Has some one complained of me to you, Peggy?” Mrs. Burton asked
quickly.
Peggy shook her head. “Goodness no, dear, and it isn’t fair for you to
be asking me questions if you are going to get wrong impressions from
me. Mother always told me that you did not like being criticised.”
“Ridiculous! Think of Mollie Webster daring to tell her daughter a thing
like that when she has been criticising me all her life and I have never
dared resent anything she has ever said. I suppose because the things
were mostly true,” Mrs. Burton ended, with her cheeks as crimson as a
girl’s. “But you are right, Peggy; perhaps we had best not talk
personalities. I am sorry I am not ‘understandy.’ It is perhaps the most
valuable trait a Camp Fire guardian can have. Anyhow, I’ll be glad when
the next few days are over. I confess I feel nervous over looking after
all of you girls through these strange Indian ceremonies. They sound
terrifying to me—the weird costumes and noises—and I’ve positive
nightmares over the snake dance.”
“Oh, you have too much imagination, Tante, and you take us too
seriously. After all, we are not babies and you are not responsible if
things do go a little wrong with us. I sometimes think I ought to look
after you more,” Peggy answered seriously. “But you know we have a
friend at court. Tewa’s father is a kiva chief in Oraibi and Tewa will
be sure to try to take care of us. He promised Bettina and me to show us
over his father’s house one day. May we go? I’d like to see a real
Indian house.”
Mrs. Burton shook her head. “We will be tired out with things Indian in
the next week,” she answered, evading the question. “But I am glad that
Terry Benton and Ralph Marshall and perhaps some of their friends are to
watch the ceremonies with us. I feel a good deal more comfortable, being
in their society than in an Indian’s on their festival days. I have no
doubt Tewa’s veneering of civilization will pass from him completely.”
Peggy laughed and threw back her head so that her dark eyes, clear and
frank as a sweet boy’s, rested on the summit of the old cliffs above
them.
“Oh, I don’t believe the Indian is as bad as he is painted,” she said
jokingly. “Really, there are ideas and symbols in their religion which
seem to me very beautiful when one understands them. And Tewa is a very
fine fellow, I think, regardless of his nationality. But come on, let’s
go back, dear. How cool the nights do grow out here, even after the hot
August days. Don’t those gray Indian houses, with the ladders leading to
their second floors, look like ruins of romantic old stone battlements?”