True to Vipan's prediction, the first person they met on their return to
camp was Smokestack Bill.
Leaning against a waggon-wheel, lazily puffing at his pipe, his faithful
Winchester ever ready to hand, the scout watched their approach as
imperturbably as though he had parted with his friend but half-an-hour
back, instead of nearly a month ago, when he had watched the latter ride
off with Mahto-sapa's band into what looked perilously like the very
jaws of death. But he could not restrain a covert guffaw as he marked
in what company he now met his friend again.
"Hello, Bill! Any news?" cried the latter, as they rode up to the
waggon corral. "By the way, I must call round and collect that twenty
dollars from Seth Davis."
"Guess you'll have to trade his scalp to raise it," was the grim reply.
"And you'll find it drying in the smoke of an Ogallalla _teepe_."
"That so?"
"It is. Couple o' nights after War Wolf was run off, a crowd of 'em
came along and shot Seth in the doorway of his store. Then they cleared
out all the goods and burnt down the whole shebang. They couldn't nohow
get rid of the idea that he'd had a hand in giving War Wolf away."
"Well, we've just stood off a handful of reds."
"Sho! With the young lady too! Say, stranger"--he broke off, turning
to Geoffry--"are you the `tenderfoot' them reds was after?"
"Er--yes. But--how did you know?" answered Geoffry, staring with
astonishment.
"Struck your trail. But jest before, I'd struck the trail o' them
painted varmints. Knew they'd jump you, but reckoned you'd make camp
'fore they got within shootin' distance."
"You're out of it this time, Bill," said Vipan. "He'd have been roast
beef by now if we hadn't happened along. It was a very pretty chase,
though," he added, with a laugh. "Our friend here covered the ground in
fine style."
"Bless your heart, stranger, that's just nothing," laughed the scout,
noting the offended look which came into the young man's face at this
apparently unfeeling comment on the frightful peril from which he had
barely escaped. "Why, me and Vipan there have had many and many such a
narrow squeak when we've been out scoutin' alone--ay, and narrower.
Haven't we scooted for a whole day with a yellin' war-party close on our
heels, and no snug corral like this handy to stand 'em off in!"
"Really!" exclaimed Geoffry, open-mouthed. "You bet. Them devils were
just a lot of young Cheyenne bucks out in search of any devilment that
might come handy. But you were in luck's way, stranger, this time."
Smokestack Bill was the bearer of news which tended not a little to
relieve the travellers' minds. He had thoroughly scouted the country
ahead and pronounced it free from Indians. He was of opinion that no
further trouble need be feared. The Sioux, he declared, had quite
enough to occupy their attention at home, for they were mustering every
available warrior to resist an expected invasion of the troops, and to
this end all raiding parties then abroad on the Plains had been called
in. A council of war on a large scale, together with a grand medicine
dance, was to be held at the villages of Sitting Bull, Mad Horse, and
other chiefs of the hostiles, and it was expected that from twelve to
fifteen thousand warriors would assemble. Red Cloud, Spotted Tail, and
some few other chiefs still remained on their reservations, but the bulk
of their followers had deserted and joined the hostiles. The scout was
of opinion that they would encounter no considerable body of Indians,
though their stock might be exposed to the risk of stampede at the hands
of a few adventurous young bucks, such as those who had so nearly
captured Geoffry Vallance.
The latter's arrival in the camp, or rather the manner of it, was
productive of no slight sensation among the more inexperienced of the
emigrants. The seasoned Western men, however, characteristically viewed
the incident as of no great importance, and after one glance at the new
comer, tacitly agreed that the advent of a "tenderfoot" more or less
constituted but a sorry addition to their fighting force. However, with
the consideration and tact so frequently to be found among even the
roughest of the pioneers of civilisation, no sign of this was suffered
to escape them, and beyond a little good-humoured chaff, and an
occasional endeavour--generally successful--to "cram" the "Britisher,"
Geoffry had no reason to complain of lack of kindliness or hospitable
feeling on the part of the travellers, who, while amusing themselves at
the expense of his "greenness," were ever ready and willing to give him
the benefit of their experience or lend him a helping hand.
By the Winthrops the young man was made warmly welcome. The Major, glad
of such an acquisition as an educated fellow-countryman, pressed him to
remain with them until they arrived at their destination, and see
something of the West under his own auspices, and his kind-hearted
little wife, very much impressed by his tragic escape from such a
terrible fate, took the young stranger completely under her wing, and
was disposed to make a hero of him.
Thus the days went by, and the waggon train pursued its slow course over
the Western plains; now winding around the spur of some high foot-hill
of a loftier range; now emerging from the timber belt fringing some
swiftly-flowing river, upon a level tableland carpeted with the greenest
of prairie-grass, bespangled with many a strange and delicate-hued
flower. The exhilarating air, the unclouded blue of the heavens, the
danger lately threatening them removed--removed, too, by the sturdy
might of their own right hands--infused a cheerfulness into the
wanderers. And when the camp was pitched and the waggons securely
corralled for the night, many a song and jest and stirring anecdote
enlivened the gathering round the red watch-fires. By day the more
enterprising spirits would diverge from the route to track the red deer
or the scarcer blacktail in the wooded fastnesses of some neighbouring
ravine, while the waggons creaked on their slow and ponderous course.
To this strange new life Geoffry Vallance took with a readiness which
was surprising to himself. Indeed, he would have been thoroughly happy
but for one thing. From the moment they had recognised each other, when
he reeled panting and exhausted to the ground at her feet, Yseulte's
demeanour towards him had been one of studied coldness and reserve. She
would never address him of her own initiative, and deftly defeated any
attempt on his part to be with her alone. The poor fellow was beside
himself with mortification; and when he recalled the circumstances of
that first recognition, how he had found her alone with the splendidly
handsome scout, to his mortification was added a perfect paroxysm of
jealous rage.
Mrs Winthrop took in the situation at a glance--indeed, it would have
been manifest to a far less clearsighted observer, so transparent were
the symptoms in so simple a subject as poor Geoffry--and it annoyed her.
"I can't think why," she began one day, when the latter was away on some
hunting expedition with most of the men, and the two ladies were alone
together, "I can't think why you treat the poor fellow so standoffishly,
Yseulte. I'm sure he worships the very ground you walk on, and you
might be a little kinder to him."
"Really, I don't see that the fact entails upon me a corresponding
reciprocity," was the reply, given a little coldly.
"There you go with your long words, Yseulte. And now you turn the
stand-offishness upon me. I only mean, dear, that I want everyone to be
friendly and on good terms around. Let him say what he wants to say.
Then give him an answer. That'll fix him one way or another right
along, and put everything on a friendly footing again."
"Would it? Supposing I were to tell you, Hettie, that Geoffry Vallance
can't take No for an answer, you would retort that you thought the more
of him for it. But there is more than that. He should not have
followed me out here. It was not right--it was even ungentlemanly. He
has taken an unfair advantage in besieging me like this. In fact, he
has placed me in a thoroughly false position."
"But, dear," mischievously, "so far from following you, it was you who
brought him here."
"Say Mr Vipan, rather. _I_ am not an Indian fighter."
Then spake Hettie Winthrop unadvisedly.
"Well, Mr Vipan, then. But, Yseulte dear, you are always pleasant and
cordial enough with Mr Vipan. Naturally the other poor fellow notices
it."
Yseulte turned her grand eyes full upon the speaker, and there was an
angry flash in them. These two friends were as near a quarrel as they
would ever be likely to arrive.
"I don't know what you mean, Hettie. Mr Vipan saved me from the most
horrible of fates. Am I to show my appreciation by keeping him at arm's
length to please Geoffry Vallance?"
"Tut-tut! You needn't be so fiery about it," said the other, laughing
mischievously. "I didn't mean anything in particular that I know of,
and I guess I don't hold a brief for any Geoffry Vallance."
That evening, for the first time since her rescue just alluded to,
Yseulte was strolling by herself. She had been strangely reserved and
silent all day, and now had stolen quietly away to be alone and think.
A stream flowed between its fringe of fig and wild plum trees, about two
hundred yards off the camp, and now she stood meditatively gazing into
the current and thinking with a pang over the loss of her trout-rod.
The evening air was lively with many a sound, the screech of myriad
crickets, the shout of the teamsters driving in the animals for the
night, the occasional cry of a fretful infant, and the wash and bubble
of the water flowing at her feet. Suddenly the utterance of her own
name broke in upon her meditations. There stood Geoffry Vallance, the
expression of his face that of eagerness to make the most of his
opportunity.
"Why do you always avoid me now?" he began, with a quick glance around,
as if fearful of interruption, "What have I done that you will hardly
speak to me now?"
A flush of anger mounted to her face.
"Have they come back from hunting?" she said, ignoring the question.
"No, I came back by myself. I couldn't go on any longer till I knew
what I had done to offend you. Have I not followed you to the end of
another world? And this is how you treat me."
She could have struck him. "What an idiot the boy is!" she thought.
"Father was right. A witless idiot!"
"That is just what you have done," she flashed forth. "Who gave you any
sort of encouragement to follow me to what you are pleased to call `the
end of another world'? Why did you come here to render me thoroughly
ridiculous, to place me in a false position? By what right do you
presume to call me to account? Answer me that, and then kindly leave me
at once."
For a moment he seemed thunderstruck, and stood staring at her in blank
dismay. Then a light seemed to dawn upon him.
"I thought, at any rate, that one more to protect you--to stand between
you and harm--in this wild country, counted for something. But it seems
to constitute an offence. Well, I will leave, this very night if you
wish it."
"Nonsense!" was the angry retort. "Have you so soon forgotten the
result of trying to cross the plains alone? You know perfectly well I
don't want you to run any such foolish risk. But you should not have
followed me here at all. I thought I had given you a final answer once
and for all at Lant--"
"Good evening, Miss Santorex!" struck in a voice behind them. And Vipan
raised his hat as he rode by at a foot's pace within a dozen yards of
them. So engrossed had they been that they had not heard the
hoof-strokes of his horse. A flush came over Yseulte's face. Could he
have heard? she thought. Surely he must have. The evening air was so
still, and Geoffry's voice was of the high "carrying" order. Oh, that
unlucky Geoffry! And for the moment she found it in her heart to wish
that he had been left to the tender mercies of the red men.
"I can't think how it is," said Geoffry, moodily, bringing his glance
back from Vipan's retreating form to the flushed face of his companion.
"I've a dim recollection of having seen that fellow before--how, when,
and where is just what puzzles me."
Yseulte started. If she was thinking the same thing she was not going
to say so. She suggested a return to the camp.
"And it's my belief," pursued Geoffry, with a dash of venom--"my firm
belief, that he's a bad hat."
"Is it?"
"Yes. I've heard one or two queer whispers about him in the camp. It's
said that he's too friendly with the Indians."
"Especially the other day when you and I had the pleasure of meeting.
Where would you be now but for him, or where should I? I don't think we
ought to go out of our way to cultivate a bad opinion of a man who has
saved both our lives, do you?"
She left him, for they had now reached the camp--left him standing there
feeling very sore, very resentful, and thoroughly foolish. Yseulte
Santorex could be very scornful, very cutting, when she chose.