THE MOTLEY SPECTATORS AT POLSON
It was nearly one o’clock when the stage reached Polson, at the foot
of the Lake. As it drove up in front of the hotel Bess saw that James
and Henry West had already arrived. A curious and anxious crowd were
gathered in the road and on the porch, each one striving to get a look
at the Indian Agent, of whose accident they had already heard. It
was a motley crowd; here and there were blanketed Indians with their
squaws and papooses and numerous mangy curs; in groups were standing
the lighter colored half-breeds, some in white men’s clothing, others
with blankets carelessly folded about them. Some were fastidious
in their beaded leggings and wide-brimmed hats, their gay-colored
’kerchiefs and shirts, while others were scarcely able to hide their
copper-colored bodies with their scanty possessions, so unfortunate
had they been in their last gambling game. Several white men and women
could also be seen intermingling with the Indians or standing aloof
beside the buildings. They were evidently passengers en route across
the reservation, or waiting to go up the Flathead Lake and river to
Kalispell.
The _Klondyke_ had been steamed up and ready to leave for more than an
hour. The passengers hurried to get aboard, the whistle blew and the
boat started slowly to steam out into the Lake.
The while, Henry West, assisted by a number of the spectators, was
making Mr. Davis as comfortable as he could with numerous blankets on
a buckboard. The men watched him with incredulity, for they all knew
the animosity which existed between these two men. How any man could
show such consideration and feeling for another who was his mortal
enemy they could not understand! Neither did they know the cause of the
hatred. Some said that Henry West knew of some ‘crooked work’ Davis had
been carrying on, yet he could not say a word while he lived on the
reserve and was under the authority of the Indian Agent. But this was
conjecture. No one but Henry West and his God knew the circumstances
which made him hate the man with all the powers of his soul.
West had asked Mrs. White, the post trader’s wife, if she would kindly
take care of Miss Fletcher until he should be able to return for her.
Bess, utterly exhausted, permitted herself to be led into the dark,
cool sitting-room of the hotel. Tenderly Mrs. White unfastened her
jacket, removed her fluffy tam and brushed back the soft brown hair.
“You poor dear,” said Mrs. White sympathetically.
Bess threw her aching arms about the little woman’s neck and wept her
tired heart out. Now that it was all over and she could relax, nature
opened the floodgates of pent-up feeling and healing tears flowed.
Mrs. White, seeing that the girl was physically exhausted, as well as
under a great mental strain, led her over to the couch. She knew better
than to speak to her now, and held her tenderly in her arms till at
last only little sobs escaped the girl, and soon her head sank low upon
the broad shoulders in sleep. Quietly Mrs. White laid her upon the
couch, placed a cover over her, and left her to sleep. The woman came
into the room every few minutes to see if she were still asleep, and
when at sundown Henry West returned with the buckboard for her, Bess
was still sleeping.
“Do not waken her, Mrs. White,” he said, gently. “I will wait until she
has had her sleep out.”
Then he went into another room, where he gave the little woman all the
details of the Davis accident. His praise of Bess and the assistance
which she gave was great indeed, and the heart of Mrs. White went out
to the sleeping stranger, whose first experience of the Western life
had been such a trying one. They were to become the closest of friends,
and Mrs. White already felt an indescribable affinity for the girl.