A JOURNEY UP FLATHEAD LAKE
The round-up took longer this spring than usual. There were more calves
to be branded, and several days of unpropitious weather delayed the
men. It was nearly three weeks since Henry West and his cowboys and the
foreman had started to join the others on the range. Eagerly had Bess
and Mrs. West watched for their return. News came, when the boys were
over on Sullivan Creek, that everything was progressing nicely and that
they would soon be through, unless had weather prevented.
For the first time since Bess came to the ranch she felt lonely. She
did not care to read, and her music seemed tame and uninteresting. She
sewed until Mrs. West compelled her to stop, for she could see that the
girl was growing nervous over it. A dozen times a day she would walk to
the gate and scan the road toward Polson, hoping that James might be
coming. One day, noticing that Bess seemed to be unusually quiet, Mrs.
West suggested that they go to Kalispell to visit some friends and do
some shopping.
“It is a beautiful trip up the lake and Flathead River, and I am sure,
dear, that you would enjoy it. We can go better while the men are away
than later, and besides, I want to ask some friends here for the July
celebration, which the Indians will have next month.”
“Oh, that would be fine!” said Bess, as she brightened up. “I am so
anxious to see what kind of a Montana city Kalispell is. Could we go on
the boat this noon, do you think?”
“We will hurry and try. It will not take me long to arrange matters.
You put a few things into a suit case, while I give the Indian woman
some instructions.”
Shortly Bess was ready and hurried into the library to leave a note for
James and Henry, should they return while she and Mrs. West were away.
They reached the boat in ample time, and were pleasantly engaged in
conversation with several other passengers who were also going to
Kalispell when Bess heard her name spoken. She did not turn her head
and gave no outward sign, save a vivid wave of color. Again she heard
the word “Bess,” as if it came to her from a breeze off the lake, and
she unconsciously summoned all her strength to resist turning about.
“Why, Bess!” said Mrs. White, who had walked down to the pier and onto
the boat with them, “some one must be speaking of you, for see how your
ears are burning,” and she jokingly gave one of them a tiny pull. Just
then Mrs. West caught sight of a tall, handsome man who still had a
slight limp in his walk, as he stepped upon the gang plank.
“Good morning, ladies! It looks as if wishing you ‘bon voyage’ were
opportune.” Bess turned and acknowledged the greeting of Mr. Davis. His
eyes sought hers with that strange fascination which possessed them the
last time she had seen him, and held her gaze. She suddenly grew dumb
and cold, and with a visible effort controlled herself. “Are you not
well this morning, Miss Fletcher?” he asked, in a solicitous voice, as
he stepped directly before her, holding out his hand.
The breeze had blown his soft, brown hair about his face as he stood
with his hat in his hand, and Bess, at last finding her tongue,
answered: “I may not look well, Mr. Davis, but I certainly combed my
hair, which is more than you have done.”
“If mine is as becoming, blown into my eyes, as yours is this very
moment, then I shall never comb it again.”
He knew the girl was trying to cover her embarrassment, and he greatly
relieved her when he turned to address his remarks to Mrs. West, from
whom he learned that they were going to Kalispell for a few days.
“Yes, I also am going. I’m certainly most fortunate to have such
pleasant company,” Davis said.
When Bess heard this she longed to go back to the ranch, or go with
Mrs. White. She could not analyze the strange feeling which came over
her when near this man. While he fascinated her, still he repulsed
her; while she did not fear him, still she felt ill at ease; while he
interested her, still she fought against it.
Everyone was aboard; the whistle shrieked its departing signal,
and the plank was being pulled onto the boat when Bess hurriedly
whispered to Mrs. West, who was alarmed and astonished at her really
pale countenance, “Please—dearie—is it too late? May I go home to the
ranch? I—really feel that I do not care to go—now—” Suspicious moisture
gathered under the half-closed lids.
“If you are ill, dear, certainly we shall go home. Mr. Davis, I fear
Bess is not well. Will you ask them to hold the boat while we go
ashore?”
He sought the girl’s pale face anxiously, and said: “Certainly, Mrs.
West, and if I may I will assist you in taking her to the ranch.”
“No—no,” cried the girl hurriedly. “You—I am quite well and will go
on,” and she ran quickly up the stairway into the tiny cabin and flung
herself upon a couch.
Mrs. West and Mr. Davis looked at each other for a moment, and then he
said to her very seriously, “Mrs. West, you understand as well as I do,
that the little girl is fighting—fighting against the dictates of her
own heart. She will reciprocate sooner or later and love me as I do
her. May I go to her and speak to her now?”
“Do not be so impatient, Mr. Davis. Remember she is still an unknowing
child, one who is afraid of strangers. One may cherish a rose-bud, but
let him attempt to open the petals before they are formed and grown
into rose-leaves, he will discover only bruised and broken fragrance in
his hand.”
“Your philosophy is true; but it is hard to curb one’s impatience. I
need her, Mrs. West, and since these days of pain which I spent in your
home, the torture of being away from her is hard to bear.”
She could not doubt the sincerity of his confession, as she listened to
his low, impassioned words.
“Will you help me, Mrs. West? Tell me you will help me in teaching her
to care for me!”
“All I can reply, Mr. Davis, is that my first concern is and shall
be the happiness of Bess,” and Mrs. West left him with this rather
unsatisfactory reply.
The boat was now quite a distance out into the blue waters of the lake,
and already Wild Horse Island was in sight. The day was beautifully
clear and warm, and only a slight breeze stirred the tiny waves. The
boat swung to the left and began to go up the big arm of the Lake,
which in itself is a large-sized body of water. At Dayton Creek they
waited a few moments while more passengers were taken aboard, and Bess
was drawn from her couch to watch some fine horses being taken on the
boat.
“There is one that looks like Mauchacho,” she said to Mrs. West, whom
she thought was standing beside her.
“Please, may I talk to you now? There are a number of interesting
things which I would like to point out to you, if I may,” said a low
voice quite near her.
Bess could not resist the little appeal which the tone gave without
being rude, and with rather a forced smile she permitted Mr. Davis to
stand beside her.
“Those horses are being taken to Kalispell for the Fourth of July
celebration. They have some good races. Will you be there to see them,
Miss—Bess?”
“Oh, no! We are only to be there for a day or two. Some of Mrs. West’s
friends are coming to the _HW_ Ranch during the July celebration which
the Indians are to have. I shall save all my shouts for the races then,
you know.”
“Presently we shall come to the famous ‘Picture Rocks,’” said Davis,
during their conversation. Not a word had he said save some remark
about the horses or the scenery, as they passed an interesting place.
As the boat neared the rocks it slowed so that the passengers might get
a better view of the pictures. Here, on the flat surface of a cliff,
which rises abruptly out of the water for a hundred feet, are quaint
tracings made by the Indians, many, many, years ago. Horses, deer,
moose and other animals are clearly drawn. Numerous lines near a deer
record the successful hunt. Several buffalos were clearly outlined and
other drawings which could not be defined. How it was possible that
these records have stood the ravages of time is not known.
Bess was so interested that as the boat resumed its journey she asked
Mr. Davis for more information concerning the strange and wonderful
pictures. He led her to some comfortable chairs, and so interested did
she become in the stories which he told that she almost forgot her
chaperon.
“Really, I must go and find Mrs. West,” said Bess, as she arose from
her seat.
“Wait a moment,” ventured Mr. Davis, as he touched her hand
restrainingly. “First, I want to ask you, why did you resist me as I
came onto the boat? You knew I was near; why did you not turn?”
Bess drew her hand from his tightening clasp, and pushing back the hair
from her eyes, said: “Because, Mr. Davis, you thought you could make
me turn and answer your call, and I wanted you to know that I could
control my own will.”
“My dear—did you say you heard me call? Indeed, I had not uttered a
sound! Some day—you will not try so hard to resist me, nor to make
yourself believe that which you know is not true. May I see you, if
only for a moment, while you are in Kalispell?” he continued, but
before he could catch the reply the girl had run out to where she saw
Mrs. West with some other ladies.