SETH PAYS
As the weeks crept by and the torrid heat toned down to the delightful
temperature of the Indian summer, news began to reach White River Farm
from England. After the first excitement of her arrival had worn off,
Rosebud settled down to a regular correspondence.
Even her return to the scenes of her childhood in no way aided her memory.
It was all new to her. As her letters often said, though she knew she was
grown up, yet, as far as memory served her, she was still only six years
old. Servants who had nursed her as a baby, who had cared for her as a
child of ten, aunts who had lavished childish presents upon her, cousins
who had played with her, they were all strangers, every one.
So she turned with her confidences to those she knew;--those old people on
the prairie of Dakota, and that man who had been everything to her. To
these she wrote by every mail, giving details of the progress of affairs,
telling them of her new life, of her pleasures, her little worries, never
forgetting that Ma and Pa were still her mother and father.
Thus they learned that the lawyer's prophecies had been fulfilled.
Rosebud was in truth her father's heiress. The courts were satisfied, and
she was burdened with heritage under certain conditions of the will. These
conditions she did not state, probably a girlish oversight in the rush of
events so swiftly passing round her.
The winter stole upon the plains; that hard, relentless winter which knows
no yielding till spring drives it forth. First the fierce black frosts,
then the snow, and later the shrieking blizzard, battling, tearing for
possession of the field, carrying death in its breath for belated man and
beast, and sweeping the snow into small mountains about the lonely prairie
dwellings as though, in its bitter fury at the presence of man, it would
bury them out of sight where its blast proved powerless to destroy them.
Christmas and New Year were past, that time of peace and festivity which
is kept up wherever man sojourns, be it in city or on the plains.
Through these dark months Seth and Rube worked steadily on building their
stockade, hauling the logs, cutting, splitting, joining. The weather made
no difference to them. The fiercest storm disturbed them no further than
to cause them to set a life-line from house to barn, or to their work,
wherever that might be. No blizzard could drive them within doors when
work was to be done. This was the life they knew, they had always lived,
and they accepted it uncomplainingly, just as they accepted the fruits of
the earth in their season.
No warning sound came from the Indians. The settlers forgot the recent
episode, forgot the past, which is the way of human nature, and lived in
the present only, and looked forward happily to the future.
Seth and Rube minded their own affairs. They were never the ones to croak.
But their vigilance never relaxed. Seth resumed his visits to the
Reservation as unconcernedly as though no trouble had ever occurred. He
went on with his Sunday work at the Mission, never altering his tactics by
one iota. And in his silent way he learned all that interested him.
He learned of Little Black Fox's protracted recovery, his lately developed
moroseness. He knew whenever a council of chiefs took place, and much of
what passed on these occasions. The presence of Nevil Steyne at such
meetings was a matter which never failed to interest him. He was rarely
seen in the company of the Agent, yet a quiet understanding existed
between them, and he frequently possessed news which only Parker could
have imparted.
So it was clearly shown that whatever the general opinion of the settlers,
Seth, and doubtless Rube also, had their own ideas on the calm of those
winter months, and lost no opportunity of verifying them.
New Year found the ponderous stockade round the farm only a little more
than half finished in spite of the greatest efforts. Rube had hoped for
better results, but the logs had been slow in forthcoming. The few
Indians who would work in the winter had been scarcer this year, and, in
spite of the Agent, whose duty it was to encourage his charges in
accepting and carrying out remunerative labor, the work had been very
slow.
At Rube's suggestion it was finally decided to seek white labor in Beacon
Crossing. It was more expensive, but it was more reliable. When once the
new project had been put into full working order it was decided to abandon
the Indian labor altogether.
With this object in view Seth went across to the Reservation to consult
Parker. He was met by the Agent's sister. Her brother was out, but she
expected him home to dinner, which would be in the course of half an
hour.
"He went off with Jim Crow," the amiable spinster told her visitor. "Went
off this morning early. He said he was going over to the Pine Ridge
Agency. But he took Jim Crow with him, and hadn't any idea of going until
the scout came."
Seth ensconsed himself in an armchair and propped his feet up on the steel
bars of a huge wood stove.
"Ah," he said easily. "Guess there's a deal for him to do, come winter.
With your permission I'll wait."
Miss Parker was all cordiality. No man, in her somewhat elderly eyes, was
more welcome than Seth. The Agent's sister had once been heard to say, if
there was a man to be compared with her brother in the whole country it
was Seth. She only wondered he'd escaped being married out of hand by one
of the town girls, as she characterized the women of Beacon Crossing. But
then she was far more prejudiced in favor of Seth than her own sex.
"He'll be glad, Seth," she said at once; "James is always partial to a
chat with you. You just make yourself comfortable right there. I've got a
boil of beef and dumplings on, which I know you like. You'll stay and have
food?"
"I take that real friendly," said Seth, smiling up into the plain, honest
face before him. "Guess I'll have a pipe and a warm while you're fixin'
things."
Somehow Miss Parker found herself retiring to her kitchen again before she
had intended it.
During the next half hour the hostess found various excuses for invading
the parlor where Seth was engaged in his promised occupation. She
generally had some cheery, inconsequent remark to pass. Seth gave her
little encouragement, but he was always polite. At last the dinner was
served, and, sharp to time, Jimmy Parker returned. He came by himself, and
blustered into the warm room bringing with him that brisk atmosphere of
the outside cold which, in winter, always makes the inside of a house on
the prairie strike one as a perfect haven of comfort. He greeted Seth
cordially as he shook the frost from his fur-coat collar, and gently
released his moustache from its coating of ice.
Seth deferred his business until after dinner. He never liked talking
business before womenfolk. And Miss Parker, like most of her sex in the
district, was likely to exaggerate the importance of any chance hint about
the Indians dropped in her presence. So the boil of silverside and
dumplings was discussed to the accompaniment of a casual conversation
which was chiefly carried on by the Agent's sister. At length the two men
found themselves alone, and their understanding of each other was exampled
by the prompt inquiry of Parker.
"Well?" he questioned. Seth settled himself in his chair and, from force
of habit, spread his hands out to the fire.
"We're finishing our job with white labor," he said. Then as an
afterthought, "Y' see we want to git things fixed 'fore spring opens."
The Agent nodded.
"Just so," he said.
The beads on his moccasins had much interest for Seth at the moment.
"I'd never gamble a pile on Injuns' labor," he remarked indifferently.
Parker laughed.
"No. It would be a dead loss--just now."
Seth looked round inquiringly.
"I was wondering when you would give them up," the Agent went on. "I've
had a great deal of difficulty keeping them at it. And we're liable, I
think, to have more."
The last was said very gravely.
"Kind o' how we've figgered right along?" Seth asked.
"Yes."
The two men relapsed into silence for a while, and smoked on. At last Seth
spoke with the air of a man who has just finished reviewing matters of
importance in his mind.
"We've taken in the well in fixin' that corral."
"Good. We've got no well here."
"No."
"I was over at Pine Ridge to-day."
"That's what your sister said."
"I went for two reasons. Jim Crow has smelt out preparations for
Sun-dances. We can't locate where they are going to be held, or when. I
went over to consult Jackson, and also to see how he's getting on over
there. He's having the same trouble getting the Indians to look at any
work. Little Black Fox is about again. Also he sees a heap too much of
that white familiar of his, Nevil Steyne. By Jove, I wish we could fix
something on that man and get the government to deport him. He's got a
great sway over the chief. What the devil is his object?" Jimmy Parker's
face flushed under his exasperation.
"I'd give a heap to git a cinch on him," Seth replied thoughtfully. "He's
smart. His tracks are covered every time. Howsum, if things git doin' this
spring, I've a notion we'll run him down mebbe--later."
The Agent was all interest.
"Have you discovered anything?"
"Wal--nothin' that counts your way. It's jest personal, 'tween him an'
me."
The other laughed cheerfully.
"Couldn't be better," he exclaimed. "I'd sooner it depended on you than on
the government."
Seth let the tribute pass.
"We must locate them Sun-dances," he said.
"Yes. We've got troops enough to stop them."
"Troops?--pshaw!"
Seth rose. Parker understood his last remark. The presence of troops had
long since been discussed between them. The visitor moved toward the door,
and the Agent went to his desk. At the door Seth turned as some thought
occurred to him.
"Guess I'd not report anything yet. Not till the Sun-dances are located.
I'll git around some." He slipped into his fur coat and turned up the
storm collar.
Parker nodded.
"Keep a smart eye for yourself, Seth," he said. "Little Black Fox isn't
likely to forget. Especially with Steyne around."
Seth smiled faintly.
"And Steyne 'll kind o' remember, sure." He passed out and left his sturdy
friend wondering.
"I'd give something to know," that individual said to himself, when the
sound of horse's hoofs had died out. "Seth's dead against Steyne, and I'd
like to bet it's over Rosebud."
The object of the Agent's thoughts passed unconcernedly on his way. He
branched off the ford trail intending to make for the bridge, below which
his men were cutting the timbers for the corral. His way was remote from
the chief encampment, and not a single Indian showed himself.
The skeleton woods that lined the trail gave a desolate air to the bleak,
white prospect. The whole of that northern world offered little promise to
the traveler, little inducement to leave the warmth of house or tepee.
As the horseman neared the bridge he paused to listen. Something of his
attitude communicated itself to his horse. The animal's ears were laid
back, and it seemed to be listening to some sound behind it. Whatever had
attracted master and horse must have been very faint.
A moment later Seth let the horse walk on and the animal appeared content.
But if the animal were so, its master was not. He turned several times as
he approached the bridge, and scanned the crowding branches on each side
of the snow-covered trail behind him.
Seth knew that he was followed. More, he knew that the watcher was clumsy,
and had not the stealth of the Indian. At the bridge he faced about and
sat waiting. The gravity of his face was relieved by a slight smile.
Suddenly the crack of a rifle rang out. The horseman's smile died
abruptly. His horse reared, pawing the air, and he saw blood on the
beast's shoulder. He saw that the flesh had been ripped by a glancing
bullet, and the course of the wound showed him whence the shot had come.
He looked for the man who had fired, and, as he did so, another shot rang
out. He reeled forward in his saddle, but straightened up almost at once,
and his right hand flew to his revolver, while he tried to swing his horse
about. But somehow he had lost power, and the horse was in a frenzy of
terror. The next moment the beast was racing across the bridge in the
direction of home.
The journey was made at a great pace. Seth was sitting bolt upright. His
face was ashen, and his eyelids drooped in spite of his best efforts.
Rube was in the region of the kitchen door as he galloped up, and he
called out a greeting.
The rider began to reply. But, at that moment, the horse propped and
halted, and the reply was never finished. Seth rolled out of the saddle
and fell to the ground like a log.