IN WHICH THE UNDERCURRENT BELIES THE SUPERFICIAL CALM
THE snow is gone, and the earth is passing through a process of airing.
The sun licks up the moisture like some creature possessed of an
unquenchable thirst. Wherever it is sufficiently dry the settlers are
already at work seeding. Some are even breaking virgin soil, or turning
over old ploughing. There is an atmosphere of leisurely industry about the
plains. Even in these unsettled regions work goes forward with precision.
The farmer's life is one of routine with which he permits nothing to
interfere. He lives by the fruits of the earth which ripen in due season.
If fortune favors him he reaps the harvest. Whatever his lot he must
accept it. The elements rule his life. The Indians may or may not
disorganize the process.
The folk on White River Farm are in no way behind their neighbors. Seth's
returning strength permits him to take his share in the work, and thus
Rube finds his burden lightened. But only partially, for Seth has much
else to do, or seems to have, for he has many comings and goings which
take up time.
Mrs. Rickards is still staying on at the farm. She thoroughly enjoys this
new, simple life. Besides, in the brief fortnight which has elapsed since
her coming, she has learnt something of the true worth, the wonderful
kindliness and honesty of these frontier-folk.
Even Seth, whom at first she was less certain about, she has learned to
look upon with favor. His silent, direct fashion of going through his
daily life has given her an inkling of qualities, which, if not altogether
companionable, show a manliness she has not always been accustomed to.
Her change of opinion found vent one night at bedtime. Rosebud listened to
the worldly-wise woman's remarks with a glow of pleasure and pride.
"Seth is a queer fellow, Rosie, so darkly reticent and all that," she
said, with a thoughtful smile. "Do you know I sometimes think if I were in
great danger--personal danger, you know--he's the sort of man I'd like to
have about. He gives me the impression of a great reserve of strength. He
is what one might--well, what you would call a 'man.'"
Rosebud added her word without the least hesitation.
"He's more than that, auntie; he's the bravest and best man in the
world."
"Just so, my dear; and in consequence you don't want to return to
England," Mrs. Rickards said slyly.
Rosebud encountered the glance which accompanied the words. She shook her
head with a little despairing gesture.
"But he loves me only as a sort of daughter."
"Does he, my dear?"
Mrs. Rickards' tone was quite incredulous; she was at home in matters of
love and marriage.
The object of all this thought went about blissfully unconscious of the
heart stirrings he was causing. Every moment of his life was full--full to
the brim and even overflowing. There was not a settler in the district
whom he had not visited during the fortnight. And his business was with
the men alone.
The result of his visits would have been visible to the eye of only the
most experienced. Work went on the same as before, but there were many
half hours which might have been spent in well-earned idleness now devoted
by the men to a quiet, undemonstrative overhauling of their armory.
As it was at these outlying farms so it was at White River. In the short
twilight of evening Rube and Seth would wander round their buildings and
the stockade, noting this defect, suggesting this alteration, or that
repair. All their ideas were based on the single thought of emergency.
Large supplies of cord-wood were brought in and stacked on the inner side
of the stockade, thus adding to its powers of resistance. Every now and
then Ma would receive casually dropped hints on the subject of her
storeroom. A large supply of ammunition arrived from Beacon Crossing. Many
cases of tinned provisions came along, and Ma, wondering, took them in
without question or comment at the time. Later in the day when she
happened to find Seth alone she told him of them, adopting a casual tone,
the tone which these people invariably assumed when the signs of the times
wore their most significant aspect.
"There was a heap of canned truck come from the Crossing, Seth," she said.
"I laid it down in the cellars. Maybe you sent it along?"
And Seth replied--
"Why, yes, Ma. I figgered we'd like a change from fresh meat. You see I
happened along to Beacon Crossing, an' I guessed I'd save a journey
later."
"I see."
Ma's bright old eyes read all there was underlying her boy's words, and
she, like the rest, continued steadily on with her work.
So the days crept slowly by. Now the snow and ice were gone, and the tawny
hue of the prairie was tinged with that perfect emerald of budding spring.
The woodlands of the river and the Reservation had lost their barren
blackness. The earth was opening its eyes and stretching itself after its
months of heavy slumber. Life was in the very air of the plains. The whole
world seemed to be bursting with renewed life.
Seth was now restored to something like his old self. His vigor was a
thing to marvel at. His regular day's work was only a tithe of what he
did. That which went on after the rest of the household had retired to
rest was known to only two others. Rube possessed the younger man's
confidence, and Jimmy Parker was in constant communication with him. Seth
and the latter worked hand in hand for the common welfare, but they were
silent. Each knew the character of the dangers which ever surrounded them.
Each knew that an absolute silence and apparent indifference were the only
means of learning the plans, the meaning of the furtive unrest of the
warlike Sioux. All that they learned was carefully stored and docketed for
future reference.
Parker's responsibility was official. Seth's was voluntary and
humanitarian. Now he had a double incentive. Rosebud was in danger. He
knew that he alone stood between her and the treacherous machinations of
Nevil Steyne, and the lawless passion of an unscrupulous savage. He dared
not spare himself. He must know of every movement on the Reservation. He
quite understood the men he was dealing with. He knew the motive of each.
All he hoped was that he might prove himself just a shade cleverer, a
shade quicker in emergency when the time came for him to act.
It was impossible, however, that Seth should leave the house night after
night and no member of the household be the wiser. Oddly enough it was
Mrs. Rickards' maid who discovered his movements. She, with a discretion
which a confidential servant may always be expected to possess, whispered
her discovery to her mistress, and her mistress was not slow in drawing
Rosebud's attention. As they were retiring one night she told the girl of
her maid's discovery.
"Janet tells me that Mr. Seth goes out every night and doesn't return till
two or three in the morning, Rosie," she said abruptly, as she was
preparing for bed. "You know the girl sleeps over the kitchen, and some
nights ago she saw him ride off from the barn in the moonlight. Last night
she was awake when he got back. It was daylight. I wonder where he goes?"
Rosebud responded in a matter-of-fact tone, but with a quick look at her
friend.
"I wonder."
Mrs. Rickards wondered and speculated on, but Rosebud's manner gave her no
encouragement, and she was fain to let the matter drop. There was no
malice in her remarks, but a very profound curiosity.
Her announcement had its effect.
The next night Rosebud did not go to bed after retiring to their room. She
made no explanation, merely telling her aunt that she was not going to bed
yet. And Mrs. Rickards nodded a comprehensive smile at her.
The girl waited a reasonable time till she thought the others were asleep,
then she crept softly down-stairs. She went into the kitchen, but it was
dark and empty. The parlor was also in darkness, except for the moonlight
pouring in through the window. But as she stood in the doorway, peering
closely into the remoter corners, she felt a cool draught playing upon her
face. Then she saw that the door opening on the verandah was open.
She walked across the room, and, looking out on the moonlit scene, was
promptly greeted by a low growl from General. The next moment she stepped
out, and beheld Seth's tall figure leaning against one of the great
gate-posts of the stockade, while General came over to her and rubbed his
keen nose against her skirts.
Just for a moment she hesitated. It suddenly occurred to her that her
action might be construed into spying, and she was possessed by a sense of
shame at the bare thought. She knew that she was not spying in the baser
sense of the word. She had no doubts of Seth. Instinct told her why he was
out. She had come to find out the facts, but not by spying. She meant to
question him.
She felt her heart thumping in her chest as she stepped quickly across the
verandah. She was nervous, and a strange feeling of shyness made her long
to turn back before the man became aware of her presence. But she
controlled the impulse, and, though feeling herself flush in the cool air
of the night, walked bravely on.
She believed she was unobserved. Her slippers gave out no sound, but as
she came within a few yards of the still figure, the man's voice greeted
her.
"Thought you was abed, Rosie."
The girl started at the sound. Seth had not moved, had not even turned his
head. Then she answered.
"How did you know I was here?" she said quickly.
"Guess I heard General talkin' to you."
She was at his side now.
"But you never looked round?"
"Ef it was Rube, I'd have heard his feet. Ma ain't wanderin' around o'
nights. An' I guess your auntie ain't bustin' fer a moonlight ramble. It
didn't need a heap o' figgerin'."
Rosebud had no answer ready. The argument was so simple.
A brief silence fell, while both looked out across the moonlit plains at
the dark line of distant woods. There was a slight glow in the sky in two
different directions. One was away over the Pine Ridge Reservation, the
other was nearer at hand, but on the far side of the Rosebud Reservation.
The girl saw these things and they held her silent. Her breathing came
quickly. There was a sensation of excitement running through her body. She
knew these lights were what Seth was staring at.
The man stirred at last.
"Guess you'd best git back to bed, Rosie," he said. "I'm goin' to saddle
up my plug. I'm goin' to ride some."
"Where are you going?" The girl's question came with a little nervous
energy.
The man turned upon her gravely.
"I'm meetin' Parker to-night," he said briefly.
"What for?" The violet eyes held the other's with their steady gaze. The
pretty, irregular face was set and determined.
Seth moved. Then he turned away to glance at the lurid reflection in the
sky. Presently his eyes came back to her face.
"It's them," he said, indicating the reflected fires.
"And what are they?" Rosebud's voice was quietly commanding. The
irresponsible girl had gone from the woman talking now.
"Sun-dances. They're doin' it at night to cover their tracks. The Injuns
are gettin' wise."
"You mean?"
There was no avoiding the sharp, direct questioning.
"We're goin' to git it, and when it comes it'll be--sudden. Sudden an'
bad. It's both Reservations. All of 'em."
Rosebud was silent. Her wide open eyes were on the lights, but her
thoughts were on other things,--so many other things, that her head
whirled. At last she spoke again, in a tense, nervous manner.
"Tell me about it. Tell me all."
Seth shook his head.
"Ther' ain't a deal."
"Tell me."
"See you, Rosie, ef I go out o' here presently, will you jest close these
gates an' fix 'em? An' will you be up to open 'em for me?"
"Yes. But tell me."
Seth gazed at the horizon again.
"As I said, ther' ain't much," he began presently. "This has been goin' on
fer days. Ther's Injuns out most every night, an' they are lyin' this side
o' the fort. They're all about it, an' them soldier-fellers ain't wise to
it. What's more we darsen't to put 'em wise. They're li'ble to butt right
in, an' then ther' won't be any stoppin' them pesky redskins. Y' see
ther's only a handful at the fort, an' the Injuns could eat 'em."
"Yes, you always said it was a mistake to bluff with soldiers so near the
Reservation. I suppose the Indians resent their presence. Is that it?"
"Mebbe."
"There's another reason?"
"Can't rightly say."
Rosebud knew that the man was prevaricating.
She stood lost in thought for some moments. And as she thought a sudden
light came to her. She drew closer to her companion and laid one hand on
his arm.
"I think I see, Seth," she said, and then became silent.
The man moved, and his action was almost a rebuff. That touch had stirred
him. The gentle pressure of her hand sent the blood coursing through his
veins, and he restrained the hot, passionate words that sprang to his
lips only with a great effort. The girl accepted his movement as a rebuff
and shrank away. But she spoke vehemently.
"If I'd only thought--oh, if I'd only thought! I should have known. All
that has gone before should have told me. It is my coming back that has
precipitated matters." Her voice had sunk to a low tone of humility and
self-accusation. "And, Seth, now I understand why you were shot. It was
Little Black Fox. And I, fool that I was, dared to show myself on the
Reservation. And he saw me. I might have known, I might have known."
There was a piteous ring in her low tones. Seth stirred again, but she
went on desperately.
"Yes, I see it all. A descent will be made upon us, upon this farm. You
will be done to death for me. Ma and Pa, and auntie and--and you."
She paused, but went on again at once.
"Yes, and I see further now. I see what you have already grasped. They
have these scouts out around the fort to watch. When it comes they mean to
cut the soldiers off. There will be no help for us. Only--only this
stockade. Oh, Seth, how can you forgive me! You and Pa have foreseen all
this trouble. And you have prepared for it all you can. Is there no help?
Can I do nothing to atone for what I have done? You stand there without a
word of blame for me. You never blame me--any of you. I wish I were dead!
Seth, why don't you kill me?"
But as the girl's hysterical outburst reached its culminating point, Seth
regained perfect mastery of himself. He noted the rush of tears which
followed her words with a pang of infinite pity, but he told himself that
he dare not attempt to comfort her. Instead, his calm voice, with its
wonderful power of reassurance, fell upon the stillness of the night.
"Little gal, things are jest as they must be. The blame is on me fer not
bein' quicker an' handier wi' my gun when I had the chance. But, howsum,
Parker's a hefty man. He ken think an' act quick. We're ready, far as we
ken be."
Rosebud dried her tears. Never in her life had Seth appeared to her as he
appeared now. The steady, unruffled purpose of the man exalted him in her
eyes to an impossible position. Somehow the feelings he roused in her
lifted her out of her womanly weakness. She, too, was capable of great,
unswerving devotion, but she did not realize it. She only felt that she,
too, must bear her part in whatever fortune had in store for them. She
would range herself beside this man and share in his success or failure.
If it were to be failure she was ready to die at his side. If it were
success--a great exultation swept over her at the thought. She went no
further. Success at his side would be worth--everything.
"Tell me what I can do--anything!" she cried. Her tone was low, but it
rang with a note the man had never heard in it before. There was a joy in
it that startled him. "Seth, I believe--I know--I want to--to fight. My
blood is running like fire. Tell me what I am to do."
It was a few moments before Seth answered her. He was thinking hard. He
knew she could do much. But he was debating with himself. A great pride
was his as he contemplated the small face with its wonderful eyes out of
which looked such steadfast courage. He, too, thrilled at the thought of
fighting at her side, but he tried to tell himself that he had no right to
ask anything of her. Perhaps Rosebud saw the drift of his thoughts in his
face, for she gave him no chance of denial.
"Yes, the gates. That's all right. I understand. Now, what else? Can't I
reconnoitre, or--or something in the meantime?"
Her enthusiasm carried the day.
"No, I guess not. But----"
"Yes, yes----"
"See, Rosie, we want time. I kind o' think it's to-morrow. Parker thinks
so too. So does Hargreaves. We may be wrong. But--see right here, I'm due
back here by two o'clock sure. If I'm not here by ten minutes after ther's
this you ken do. Go straight back o' the barn 'bout a hundred paces; on
the hill are two bunches of stuff piled up, one's wood, t'other's dried
grass an' stuff. You go right out an' kindle 'em both. They're signals to
the settlers around. Guess ther's eyes watchin' for 'em at every farm.
When you see 'em burnin' steady, git right back and rouse Rube an' Ma.
I'll git back later--sure. An' ther'll be others with me."
"Yes. Anything more?"
"Nope. I 'lows I'll saddle up."
They walked back to the barn in silence. Seth saddled his horse and
brought him out. Together they walked to the gate of the stockade. They
still remained silent. At the gate the man mounted. Rosebud, very frail
looking in the moonlight, stood beside him smoothing the horse's silky
neck. Her face was anxious but determined. Suddenly she looked up. Her
great eyes were full of appeal. There was no wavering in her gaze, nothing
but sincerity and appeal.
"Seth, dear," she said in a steady voice, "be careful of yourself--for my
sake." Then, lowering her gaze, and turning to the distant reflection of
the fires, "Remember, we all depend on you."
"I'll remember, Rosie, gal," the man replied, with a tender inflection he
could not altogether repress. "So long."
The horse moved away with General at its heels.
For a long time Rosebud stood where the parting had left her. Now that
Seth had gone she was a prey to every womanly anxiety. And her anxiety was
solely for him. None of those peacefully slumbering in the house entered
into her thoughts. Her care was for this one man; his image filled her
heart. At that moment hers was the selfishness of a maiden's first great
love. Even in her anxiety her thoughts were not unhappy ones.
At last she moved away, and with the action came a desire to do. Unknown
to her the spirit of her dead father and mother roused within her. She was
a woman, gentle, loving, but strong with an invincible courage which had
been handed down to her from those two brave souls of whom she had no
recollection. Time would prove if the tragedy of the parents should fall
upon the child.
Quietly she stole up-stairs to her bedroom. Her cousin was still sleeping.
She opened a chest of drawers and drew out an old leather belt filled with
ammunition, and bearing two holsters containing a pair of revolvers. These
had been a present from Seth in the old days. She loaded both weapons, and
then secured them about her waist. Then she closed the drawer, and crept
noiselessly down-stairs again.
She made her way out into the moonlight. Passing out of the stockade she
located the exact position of the beacon-fires. The forethought in their
arrangement pleased her. She understood that the wood-fire was for night,
and the grass and dung for day. The smoke of the latter would be easily
detected in the brightest sunlight. She came back and barred the gates,
and sat out on the verandah with a small metal clock beside her. Thus her
vigil began.
The time crept by. Twelve, one, two o'clock. Seth had not returned. She
gave him the exact ten minutes' grace. Then, her face pale and a little
drawn by the unaccustomed strain, she went out and lit the beacons. She
obeyed implicitly. There was no haste, no fear. Her heart was thumping
hard in her bosom as she came and went, but it was not with fear.
Finally she roused Rube and Ma. Returning to the verandah she was in time
to answer a sharp summons at the gates. To her dismay she discovered that
Seth had not returned. The Agent and Mr. Hargreaves had brought their
womenfolk. The minister greeted the girl with a quiet announcement which
lost nothing of its significance by the easy manner in which it was made.
"They're out, Rosie," he said. And a moment later the gates were closed
behind the party.