“I WOULD HAVE DONE MORE FOR AN INJUN”
With the twitter of birds outside and glorious sunshine streaming
through the opened window, Bess awoke early, feeling that
the refreshing sleep had completely restored her energy and
light-heartedness. She breathed deeply of the fresh, cold air, feeling
as if she could fly with the birds.
The thought of helping with breakfast prompted her to hasten, and soon
she found the kitchen. An Indian woman was busily engaged getting the
meal, as Bess entered, and she inquired of the woman where Mrs. West
was. A slight motion of the hand upward was the only reply, and the
woman silently moved out of the room.
Bess did not understand, and left the house for out-of-doors. At a
little distance stood Henry West. Bess ran toward him with a cheerful
“Good morning! Are you quite rested, Mr. West?”
“Oh, yes, indeed! It takes more than a day like yesterday to tire me.
But may I ask how you are feeling this morning? You look well and
happy, surely.”
“I am, and completely rested, too; but my face still smarts,” she
replied, cautiously touching the pretty cheeks.
“You will suffer a good deal from the sun and wind for a while, then
they won’t have any ill effects at all.”
“Not after I get thoroughly toughened, you mean,” she said with a merry
twinkle in her eye. “Please, have we time to walk up there to the
spring, before breakfast, Mr. West?”
“Yes, I think so,” he replied, and led her to the willows bending
gently over, as if to hide their treasure. Here was an immense trough
hewn from a log, where the clear, cold water flowed through it, in a
great stream.
Bess stooped to drink; when she lifted her dripping face, Henry West
could not suppress a laugh at the picture she made. Even her stray
locks had had a bath, and her brown eyes were alight like a water
nymph’s. His heart swelled with increasing love for this beautiful
girl, and with the love grew a most bitter anguish as he realized more
and more how hopeless it all must be. He fought hard to stifle his
tender passion, and fully aware of the pain he must bear to be so near
her day after day, to see her so unconsciously happy, to hear her merry
laugh and soft, tender voice. He could at least seek solace away across
the hills, or comfort in the company of his faithful Eagle, whose
confiding ear had already heard many of his master’s heartaches.
His mother summoned them from the house, and Bess, with a girlish
challenge that she would reach there first, started to run swiftly down
the gentle slope towards the house. Mrs. West caught the rosy, merry
laughing girl in her arms as she said, “I am glad to see you feeling so
well and rested this morning, dear.”
“Oh, I feel fine,” Bess replied. “I want to cry out—to shout,” she
added, as she gave the older woman so vigorous a hug that it made her
gasp for breath.
“Great guns! Bess, you better vent some of that superfluous squeeze on
some of the rest of us. See! Mrs. West is still struggling to breathe,”
said James, as he placed Bess in her chair at the breakfast table.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, little Mother! Did I really hurt you? But I just had
to squeeze someone or something; so after this when any of you see me
coming with fire in my eye, I give you all fair warning.” They laughed
at her strenuosity and good spirits and the coffee was served.
“Bess, don’t impress those people that you came from the Bowery,” said
her brother, and all through breakfast she tried to recall what she had
said or done that should suggest such a thought to James.
Breakfast was nearly over when Mrs. West told Henry to go up to the
sick man’s room, as Mr. Davis had requested to see him. Henry shot a
troubled glance at his mother and said, “I would much rather not go,
mother.”
“I cannot understand, Henry, why you have taken such a dislike to Mr.
Davis; he has always treated us with courtesy and many times has shown
us marked consideration. Surely you cannot have forgotten how attentive
he always was to Helen—”
“Hush, Mother! I will go to him at once. No, I have not forgotten
anything,—and pray you may never understand,” he added in a whisper.
He arose abruptly from his chair and quitted the room before he had
finished speaking, so the last words reached the ears of Bess alone.
She watched the man, and thought of his words the day before when she
told him that she knew Mr. Davis. As he had not asked how nor where she
had known him, she thought perhaps James had explained.
Henry West knocked softly at the door of Mr. Davis’ room and entered
at a faint “come in.” He could not help feeling a twinge of pity as he
saw the pallid brow and hands of the helpless man, and yet his very
presence filled him with ever-increasing hatred and contempt. He put
his hand to his throat as if his collar were choking him, as he said in
a husky voice: “You sent for me, Mr. Davis. Of what service can I be to
you?”
He could scarcely catch the faint words that came from the injured
man’s lips, and going nearer, bent over that he might hear what Davis
was saying.
“Will you send one of my policemen here, West? There are several
important matters which I must see about today.” The Indian agent spoke
with effort.
“I fear you are not strong enough to see anyone yet,” Henry suggested
kindly.
The man glared at him and hotly said, “Oh, hell! Yes, I am! All that
hurts is my ankle, and I don’t have to talk with that.”
With an abrupt, “Very well, sir,” West moved towards the door.
“Say, West,” said Davis, raising his voice; “I know you didn’t give me
that help yesterday because you love me,” with a slight sneer,—“but I
thank you just the same.”
West suddenly wheeled and stood for a moment, rigid with clenched
hands, looking at the man. “No, Dave Davis,” he said in his low, firm
voice, “I did not save your neck because I even respect you. I would
have done as much, or even more, for any old Injun.”
Bess met him as he went through the living-room, but he did not look at
her as he passed outdoors. She wondered what could be the reason for
his looking so sullen as he passed, and knew that it must be the man
upstairs.
“Come here a moment, dear,” called Mrs. West to her; “I want you to
take some breakfast up to Mr. Davis. One of my women is sitting there.”
Bess dreaded meeting him, yet she could not refuse to go. She carried
the dainty and appetizing food into his room, and entered so softly
that the man did not move. She thought he had fallen asleep, when a
slight groan told her she was mistaken.
“Here is your breakfast, Mr. Davis,” she said cheerily.
“Oh, it is you, Miss Fletcher! I had begun to wonder why you did not
come to see your patient.”
“I do hope you are better this morning, and that you may soon be strong
again,” she said, beginning to help him with his meal.
“I am afraid this confounded ankle won’t be in any hurry getting well,”
he replied bitterly, “and I shall be obliged to force my unwelcome
presence here for too long.”
“Please don’t say that, Mr. Davis; I am sure you are perfectly welcome
here. Mrs. West is only too glad to do all she can to alleviate your
pain,” reassured Bess hastily.
“Yes, I understand,” he replied, as he sipped his coffee, “but Henry
West has some sort of a grudge against me. Guess he thinks that at one
time I cared for his sister.” Bess noticed a swift, sneering smile flit
across his lips. He continued: “One never knows what to expect from
these Indians.”
“S—sh,” warned Bess, glancing at the servant. She did not like what he
was saying nor the tone of his voice, and as soon as he had finished
his breakfast she hurriedly left him. Could the cause of all of Henry’s
hatred be the sister whom he had loved so tenderly, she wondered.