THE GOLDEN GLIMPSE
Bess had donned her fluffy brown tam-o-shanter and stood on the
veranda. Shadows of evening were silently gathering in the valley, and
yet she could see that beyond the hill the sun still shone. “That hill
looks rather high,” she said briskly, “but I do so long to see what
lies beyond it. I think I’ll go up the road and take a glimpse before
the sun sets. Brother won’t miss me and I’ll only be gone a minute.”
As she walked she stooped to pick some shining butter-cups, and to
thrust in her hair waxen leaves of the Oregon grape, with its bright
yellow clusters of blossoms. So interested was she in each new leaf
and stone that the crest of the long, winding road had been reached
before she was aware. Lifting her eyes she caught her breath, and
unconsciously lifted her hands in silent adoration of the glorious
panorama spread out before her, her first real look at the “golden
West.”
It was golden indeed, for the sun had just dipped beyond the purple
mountains and the scene was flooded with golden light. Away, away to
the North and East and West stretched the vast rolling valley of the
Indian Reservation, the Little Bitter Root mountains guarding it on
the left and the Mission Range rising modestly on the East. She could
see but the faint purple outline of the low hills to the northward.
Dotted here and there were soft greens, of irrigated reaches, and
trees, showing where the waters flowed and at which the grazing herds
quenched their thirst. Bess was filled with awe at the magnificent
scene, and reverently clasped her hands and lifted her eyes as she
realized the immensity of it. When the Lord of Hosts should upon the
last day assemble all the people of the earth together in judgment,
what more fitting place could he choose! There he might sit on the
crest of yonder mountain, with his host of angels about him, and below
in the expanse of sweeping prairie, unmarred by the hand of man,
adorned only by the divine touch of bountiful Providence, might convene
all,—the good might here find a foretaste of heaven, and the less
fortunate could hope for mercy of which they had not dreamed nor even
dared to hope. Surely the Creator of all this beauty would condone the
faults of poor, frail humanity who had fallen from grace in the hard
and bitter struggle of life.
So she stood, entranced, in the fading light of day, unheeding the
last thrilling notes of meadow lark, or the balsam-laden air wafted to
her from the evergreen slopes of the mountains. Closing her eyes in a
softly murmured prayer, she stood silent and motionless, and when she
again looked upon the scene the grayness of early night had settled
over all, softening every outline with indistinctness.
Abruptly she turned to hurry back to the hotel, when, in the distance,
she heard the clatter of approaching hoofs. A little alarm of fear and
loneliness stirred in her breast and she hurried down the road. All the
bravado with which she had left her brother had suddenly deserted her,
and she could feel the heart-throbs in her throat nearly choking her.
She did not even glance up the road, although she heard the hoof-beats
ever coming nearer. “What if it should be Indians!” The thought filled
her with ever-increasing alarm. On she sped, as rapidly as the gradual
descent permitted, then she struck a rock, and ere she could regain
her footing she fell on her knees. Scarcely had the damp earth left an
imprint on her skirt when she regained her feet, and now glanced behind
her.
Silhouetted against the evening sky, on the very crest of the hill, she
saw, in her momentary glance, a lone horseman leading a second horse.
The next instant they had begun slowly to descend the hill.
Bess, seeing a huge, flat boulder to the right of the road, stepped
out upon it so that she could be distinctly seen, even tho it was now
rapidly growing dark. She looked up the road at the approaching trio,
her face raised fearlessly and confidently, although her knees were
still trembling.
As the man passed he courteously lifted his broad sombrero, speaking
at the same time in a low, commanding voice to the horse he was
leading. “Mauchacho, I am ashamed of you! Did you never see a lady
before? You certainly—”
But his voice grew indistinct in the distance and Bess did not hear the
end of the chiding the dainty animal had received for pricking up his
ears and pulling back on the hackamore.
“Thank goodness, it was not an Indian after all,” she said aloud, as
she hurried down to the hotel.
The lone rider had already reached the steps, and she saw James
heartily shaking both his hands. She stopped a moment watching the
pair standing in the flood of light which poured out of the open
doorway. The stranger was tall and straight as an arrow, even though
his shoulders had a tired droop. Heavily fringed leather “chapps”
covered his trousers, a mackinaw coat, carelessly fastened and a white
silk handkerchief knotted loosely about his throat completed his
unpretentious costume. She could see that his face looked dark and
swarthy, but it was lighted by a smile of greeting, displaying a row of
firm, even teeth.
“Well, old boy, it seems mighty good to see you once more, and to
breathe this air again. I had just started to find my sister, who has
strayed off somewhere, when I heard you coming,” Bess heard her brother
saying, “and I hope I may find her before someone lariats her for a
maverick and sticks his brand on her.”
The stranger laughed. “You have not forgotten all your Western jingle,
even though you have been gone a year and a half. I saw a young woman
up the road a way. Perhaps she is the sister you are searching.”
Just then James caught sight of the girl, and hastily summoning her
to come forward, introduced her to his old friend and comrade, after
scolding her, half seriously, for staying away so long without telling
him where she was going.
Smiling at her brother, Bess Fletcher turned to look into one of the
strongest faces and the most unfathomable eyes she had ever seen. The
features were unmistakably Indian, and it was hard to believe that the
man was only a quarter-blood, as she knew. The square chin and wide,
sensitive mouth, the dilated nostrils and prominent cheek bones stamped
the face with character, strength and determination. One could see in
the gloomy depths of the eyes a strange intermingling of sympathy, with
the truculent gleam which had shone for centuries in the eyes of his
ancestors. They impressed one, that he would either be wholly white, or
entirely Indian, according to circumstances or environment.
As Bess turned to acknowledge the introduction, her hand, half raised,
paused as she measured this man.
“Mr. West. But—but,” she added hesitatingly, “you do not look one bit
as I—”
West’s lips parted in a smile as he replied, “Had you expected to
see me with a blanket on and a feather in my hair? I hope you are not
greatly disappointed.”
For a moment she was nonplussed. “Oh, no! But you are different
somehow, and if there is any disappointment it is a happy one.”
“Thank you, Miss Fletcher,” came in a low and almost inaudible voice.
James had been listening with interest. “I guess I had impressed her
that you looked more like—” he floundered and ended tactlessly, “well,
like me, than an Indian, Henry.”
The “breed’s” eyes closed spasmodically and his teeth shut hard before
he replied. “Jim, sometimes I feel that I could willingly be skinned
alive, if it would make me—like you.”
Never before in all their relationship had this outburst of confidence
escaped him; yet here in the presence of this beautiful, fair woman,
his usual reticence and reserve for the moment left him, and the secret
desire of his heart and soul escaped his lips. Angry at his loss of
control, he turned and said, “I had entirely forgotten the horses. We
came at a pretty swift pace from Polson. I would have reached here
before train-time, but Eagle got a stone in his shoe, and I had the
devil’s own time getting it out. I must go and attend to their beds and
supper.” With this he stepped out into the gloom.
Bess had gone into the house and was standing warming herself near the
stove before her brother also entered and with a shiver hastened to the
fire.
“Oh, Jim, isn’t he just splendid!” cried the girl. “I had no idea there
were such men as he away out here in the West! No wonder you rave over
him and always sing his praises.”
“Do you know, Bess, if he were my own brother I could not honor and
love him more. At college he was so superior in mind, ability, and
morals to the majority of his colleagues, that everyone looked up to
him. He was one of them and no gathering was quite complete without
Henry West. I never thought of him as an Indian, and anyway—that is his
greatest charm. Whatever else he may be, he certainly is a gentleman.”
Bess threw her arms impulsively about his neck. Then, “Good night,
dearie, I am half jealous of him already. Tell him good-night for me.
I want to retire so as to be up for our early start in the morning. I
am tired, more tired than I knew. Don’t stay up late. You must be worn
out. Brother, I believe I love this new, strange land!” With a kiss she
left him and went to her room.
Hastily undressing, she was soon ready for bed. Going to the window
she put up the shade, and placing her hands between her brow and the
window she peered into the night. Her bosom stirred with a tremor
of excitement as she whispered, “The West! The mysterious West! And
he—Henry West.” She flung the window wide open, and hastily getting
into bed was soon asleep.