HENRY WEST’S IDEAL
The aromatic smell of coffee and bacon filled Bess’ nostrils as she
awoke to a glorious morning. At first she looked about in wonderment,
trying to think where she was. With the sudden realization she sprang
out of the snug bed, and going to the open window, filled her lungs
with deep draughts of pure, mountain air. It did not take her many
minutes to dress and place her belongings in the trunk, which she
fastened so it would be all ready and cause no delay. One of her habits
was punctuality, and she never felt that she had a right to infringe
upon the time of others by keeping them waiting. She came downstairs,
and going into the sitting-room to see if her brother was there, was
greeted by a cheery “good-morning” from Mrs. Strong.
“Breakfast is nearly ready, Miss Fletcher. The boys are out getting the
horses ready and putting the trunks on the stage.”
Just then they came upon the porch, and Bess hastened forward with
pleasant greetings. “James, your cheeks are getting tanned already.”
Turning to Henry West, she continued, “You are certainly good medicine
to have such a marked effect upon my brother so soon.”
“I have never aspired to the dignity of the Medicine-man, Miss
Fletcher, but with your permission I shall certainly consider the
matter,” he replied facetiously.
The flush of shyness mounted to her cheeks. “Really, Mr. West, you—I—I
did not mean it in that way,” she said, trying to cover her confusion.
He felt sorry for her and assured her that she might say anything she
wished concerning the Indians, as neither his mother nor himself were
at all sensitive on the subject.
However, Bess was greatly relieved when just then Mabel Strong came
to announce breakfast. Again their appetites seemed abnormal, and the
rainbow trout, caught not an hour before in the stream which skirted
the mountains, together with the delicious muffins, bacon and eggs,
golden-browned potatoes and coffee, disappeared as if by magic.
Henry West ate sparingly, and watched James with gratification as he
enjoyed his meal. “Jim, old boy,” he said, in his low, softly modulated
voice, “you’ll be ready for the June round-up if you keep up that clip
at grub.”
“How about me, Mr. West?” asked Bess, as she helped herself to the
third muffin and the second egg.
James threw up his head with a hearty laugh. “If you keep up your
‘clip’ there won’t be a cayuse on _HW_ ranch that could carry you a
mile.”
They all joined in the laugh, and then Henry West asked if he might be
excused and go fetch the horses.
“Mr. West, why did you bring two horses?” asked Bess, later, as she
watched the animals brought up to the porch.
“Why, I thought perhaps that James would like to ride, but I am afraid
he better not attempt it just yet.”
“Oh, let me! Now James,” as he raised his hand in remonstrance, “you
know it doesn’t tire me in the least.”
“Yes, dearie, but riding a few hours on the smooth pavements of New
York is entirely different from a thirty-five mile trip across an
Indian reservation.”
A look of disappointment clouded her face, and Henry West hastened to
speak: “Mauchacho is perfectly safe, and when she gets tired we can
stop and wait for the stage.”
Bess looked at him with grateful eyes and cried impulsively: “You de—
oh, thank you, Mr. West,” correcting herself hastily.
Henry West looked at her with a sympathetic glance, and had she looked
she might have read with what eloquence his eyes asked her to speak
that word—dear.
James saw that any further expostulation would be useless, so he helped
West adjust the stirrups.
Suddenly the ’breed looked at Bess. “But perhaps you use a side-saddle,
Miss Fletcher? In that case I fear you’ll have to be disappointed, and
go in the stage after all.”
“Oh, my, no!” she cried before the words were out of his mouth. “James
taught me to ride like a boy, and besides I know how a horse should
be guided across the neck.” Her chin went up with a saucy tilt at her
superior knowledge as she went around in front of the horse to “get
acquainted,” as she called it. West watched her as she rubbed her nose
against the dainty animal’s, unconscious of his interest.
“So your name is Mauchacho? I wonder what that means? And you have a
forelock which bothers your eyes, the same as mine does. I wonder if
you are used to skirts?”
West came around where she was standing, and as if in reply to the
questions which she had been asking the horse, he said, “Mauchacho was
my sister’s horse. He has never been used at any of the round-ups. No
one has been on his back, excepting myself, since—since Helen—” After
a moment he went on: “I named him Mauchacho because it is the Indian
word for bird. He is very swift, and in a race always takes the lead.”
He snapped his fingers, and the horse lifted up his front foot and
daintily placed it in his master’s hand.
“Shake hands with your new mistress now.” Then he added: “Take him.
He is yours to keep, Miss Fletcher.” Before Bess could recover from
her astonishment and embarrassment he added: “I notice that you have
the same idiosyncrasy that Mauchacho has.” Bess tried to think if his
remark was a reflection on her unruly foretop, and was about to ask
him, when he left her and walked to James, already seated in the stage.
Presently, when he turned, he saw Bess already in the saddle and
adjusting her skirts. With a smile at her independence, he swung into
his own saddle and started up the road, saying: “We’ll lead, as the
stage may be a little slow and the dust is annoying.”
Bess turned to wave her hand and throw a kiss in farewell to Mrs.
Strong and Mabel, who had come out on the porch to witness the
departure. With a parting “Don’t get lonely nor tired, brother,” and a
wave of her handkerchief toward the stage, she urged Mauchacho forward
to join Eagle and his rider.
The horses started steadily up the road which wound around the
hillside. West had not spoken since she joined him, but silently made
notes of her graceful seat in the saddle; how she held the reins
firmly, yet lightly, in her left hand; how her shoulders were flung
back; how her nostrils were dilating and her chest was moving in
rhythmic, full breathing. Once, as she breathed long and deep, she
cried out, “Oh, it seems as if I never shall get all this delicious air
I want! What a glorious morning! See, the sun is only just peeping over
the hills! Oh, the lazy old fellow! What time is it, I wonder?”
Henry West replied without first glancing at his watch, “It is about
half after seven,” but to assure her he opened his watch and simply
added, “Yes.”
“You stood there last evening,” he said, pointing to the flat boulder
upon which Bess had stood so tremblingly in the twilight. “I felt that
it was you.”
The horses were breathing hard when they reached the summit, and West
drew rein that they might recover from the exertion.
“Why don’t you wear spurs?” inquired Bess. “I supposed no cowboy’s
costume was ever complete without them.”
“I do wear them when I am riding a cayuse and after cattle or on
the round-up,” he explained, “but Eagle nor Mauchacho nor my other
thoroughbred doesn’t need them. Do you, old boy?” he interrogated,
bending over and giving the beautiful horse a sound “love-pat” on the
neck.
Again Bess had become entranced at the wondrous scene which lay before
her, even more glorious than the one of the night before. A song arose
to her lips. As the first few notes unconsciously escaped her, and
the rich, full melody floated out upon the morning air, she suddenly
collected herself. “Oh, I could not help it,” she apologized.
Henry West looked at her with pleading eyes as he begged her to go
on. “Please don’t mind me. Sing out the joy in your heart,” he said,
gently.
As side by side the horses began the stony ascent of the opposite side
of the hill, she sang, at first softly, then forgetting all else in the
world except that she was young and happy and glad to be alive, the
music became full, sweet and strong, and in her rich, sympathetic voice
she poured forth her heart.
“The sun is rising o’er the ocean,
The smiling waters greet the day;
The joyous winds to dancing motion
Wake the billows and the spray.
See where the clouds roll up the mountains!
Night has her misty banner furled,
And springing from a thousand fountains
Light and joy o’erflow the world!”
Here she paused, her heart too full to go on. Neither spoke, and when
they had reached the foot of the hill and the long, level stretch of
road lay before them, the horses started into a swift pace across the
plain. On, on they went, gradually slowing into a steady, swinging
gait. Both horses were single-footers, and they moved along without any
apparent effort. How delightful it was! How Bess enjoyed every moment!
The brisk morning air painted her cheeks rosily and filled her large,
brown eyes with sparkling excitement. Occasionally a little cry of
keenest pleasure escaped Bess’ lips.
Henry West was apparently oblivious to all about him; his eyes were
looking straight ahead and his lips were closed firmly, as if with an
effort to restrain his thoughts. All his life he had thought of the
day and dreamed of the time when his ideal might be by his side. On his
lonely rides across the plains or hills in quest of cattle or looking
after his horses, his heart and soul had been filled with thoughts of
Her. Never had he found her among the girls of his own people. Never
had he seen her in all his years at school and college, although many
who were fair and sweet would gladly have accepted his attentions.
Always a welcome guest at the homes of his acquaintances, entertained
and feted until he had become surfeited with it all, his heart was
still an empty void, and his soul still longed for her of whom he
dreamed.
Last night she came! The moment he heard her voice he knew it! The
instant he saw her eyes, her face, her hair, her form, he felt like
crying out in his exquisite pain of unbearable joy, “At last you have
come; you for whom I have hoped, longed, sought, waited through all the
ages of time! Oh, my love, my life! And yet I can not, dare not even
presume to touch your hand! Oh, the irony of fate! You are so fair, so
white—I, O God! I am but an Indian! They say we know how to hate! We
know, too, how to love; but how much, how hopelessly, I never knew till
now! And yet”—a swift thought came—“and yet—my mother! How I love her!
What an honor to be my mother’s son!”
Bess stole a shy glance at the set face of her companion and wondered
what he could be pondering so deeply. He had not spoken for a long
time, and she half feared to break the silence. Miles passed under the
horses’ hoofs, and yet he was silent.
Suddenly he looked at her with self-reproach. “Pardon me, Miss
Fletcher, but you certainly must be getting tired.” He hastily leaped
from his horse, throwing the reins over the beautiful creature’s head.
Eagle shook himself as if glad to be relieved of his burden. West came
to Bess’ side and assisted her to dismount. He had anticipated that her
knees would not sustain her weight, and clasped her in his arms to keep
her from falling. Immediately the horses, with reins trailing on the
ground, began munching the soft green grass, slowly picking here and
there.
“Ouch!” said Bess, as her feet touched the earth. “How funny one’s
knees feel after riding so far,” and she awkwardly began to move
forward.
As her soft hair brushed his face when she dismounted West could
scarcely refrain from placing his hand upon the fluffy and wind-tossed
tresses. Taking off his mackinaw, he spread it on the ground, telling
her to be seated for a moment, and strode to the feeding horses.
Presently he returned, and Bess, having risen, looked up at him with a
bright smile.
“Mr. West, why do the horses walk like crawfish?”
He smiled at her comparison, and told her, to avoid stepping on the
reins and the attendant jerk to their mouths.
“Do you think I will soon be toughened like you?” she asked.
“Oh, yes,” West replied. “You soon will be able to ride half a day, or
even more, without becoming much fatigued. At first you must go easy
and not ride too long at a stretch.”
She stood gazing about her at the vast herds of cattle and horses
grazing all about the valley and the gentle slopes. In front she could
see the heavily willowed banks of a stream, and secretly rejoiced, for
she was longing for a drink.
West was looking behind him over the road they had just come. “Well,
the stage is not so slow today. Old Charley must be pounding them on
the back.”