THE STRENGTH OF A BEADED BELT
It was a beautiful morning toward the end of August when Bess Fletcher
donned her new brown riding skirt, which her deft fingers had just
completed, and came out to her waiting horse. The weather during the
few previous weeks had been unusually hot and dry, so that riding had
been anything but pleasant. James and Henry had been busy with the hay
crop, and Mrs. West and Bess had spent the time with their sewing and
reading. During the night it rained, a gentle, copious rain—the first
in weeks. Everything was refreshed, and everyone’s spirits were aroused
from enervation and lethargy. The girl sniffed the fresh, scented air
as she drew on her riding gloves. How the perfume from the refreshed
pines and firs came floating across from the hills! The great stacks of
new hay emitted an intoxicating odor, and busy bees buzzed about, drunk
with sweetness.
Mrs. West had come to the gate to make a request just as Bess placed
her foot into the stirrup and was adjusting her divided skirt as she
seated herself in the saddle. Her well-groomed horse shone like satin,
and his dainty foot persistently pawed the damp earth, impatient for
a run after his long confinement and rest. Bess leaned over and was
patting the arched neck and trying to quiet him with soft words as she
gathered from Mrs. West the several errands to be done.
“And then, little Mother, after I have seen Mrs. White for you, do you
mind if I cross on the ferry and ride over toward Paul Trahan’s ranch
to meet James and Henry on their return?”
“Are you quite sure, dear, that you can find the place? It is at least
ten miles from the ferry,” replied Mrs. West, and in her voice rang a
solicitous tone.
“Oh, yes! You need not feel alarmed. I am sure I could find the ranch,
but most likely I’ll meet the boys long before I reach it,” assured
Bess, as she touched Mauchacho with the quirt and then threw a dainty
kiss to the white-haired woman whose face still wore an anxious look.
A sharp pang clutched at the gentle woman’s heart as she watched the
rider melting into the distance. She had scarcely thought before that
sooner or later Bess might be so melting out of her life—that life of
which she had grown to be such an integral part. How unconsciously
had her love grown day by day! How dependent had she become upon the
girl’s judgment and suggestions! And yet, the day was surely inevitable
whose declining rays would not linger on a sweet, girlish face near the
window, but rather pierce a woman’s heart with loneliness and pain.
“But then,” she thought, “it will be a long time yet before Mr. Davis
will take her away and leave my arms empty once more, and doubly lone.”
Bess stood at her horse’s head patting his soft, sleek nose as the
Indian rowed them across the Pend d’Oreille on the crude ferry boat.
The only other passengers were a round-faced, fat squaw and two
struggling papooses. At first Bess was oblivious to everything about
her, when suddenly she was attracted by a shrill cry and turned just in
time to jump to the edge and snatch a wet, wriggling bunch of humanity
out of the water. Such a jargon of words as were meted out to the
would-be voyager for his venturesomeness!
Bess quickly fastened Mauchacho’s bridle about the railing and soon had
the sobbing, bedraggled victim snuggled in her arms. What did it matter
to her if his skin was red or his hair matted! Was he not a baby in
distress? The squaw looked with interest and wonder at the comforter;
and finally when the howlings had ceased and only nervous little sobs
came forth convulsively, she touched Bess on the arm and motioned that
she would take the child. It did the girl’s heart good to see him
snuggle down under the folds of the bright blanket like a little wet
chicken seeking the warmth and comfort of its mother’s wing.
Again, just as the nose of the ferry was scraping on the pebbles at the
landing, the squaw touched Bess upon the arm. She could not resist the
silent appeal in the woman’s eyes as she held up for Bess’ acceptance
a beautifully beaded belt. At first Bess quietly and smilingly pushed
aside the proffered gift, but the look of disappointment given her
caused her to relent, and then she fastened it securely around her own
trim waist.
“Thank you, very much; it shall always remind me of you and the baby
who nearly went down the stream.”
“You love him papoose? You hold Injun baby? You no care?” asked the
woman, as she saw with gratified eyes her treasure worn by the white
girl.
“I do not care if he is a papoose—he is one of God’s children,” Bess
answered, and the woman understood.
The little incident was soon quite out of the girl’s mind, and only
recurred as she touched the belt with her fingers or felt its dangling
ends beat regularly against her side as Mauchacho galloped across the
range. She had never before been in this direction, and all the hills
and rocks held a new interest for her. Several times she checked her
horse and slid quickly from her saddle to inspect some odd-looking
stones, or to pluck some strange, new flower. Was not this tour of
exploration fine! Perhaps she might discover something never seen nor
heard of before! It surely seemed as if no one had ever set foot here,
and as if she had come alone into an undiscovered and unexplored land.
What fun to feel such utter isolation and possession! Riotous thoughts
of adventure and daring and possible danger surged through the girl’s
mind as her horse carried her on and further on into new places and
over strange paths.
With a start she came out of her reverie, and straightening up in the
saddle began to wonder at the time of day. Unheeded miles had passed
under Mauchacho’s hoofs, and the slanting sun told her that the hour
was late.
“Really, the boys ought to be coming soon. I am sure—that is, I feel
almost certain this is the right place. Still, it seems so far back to
the last ranch! Oh, well, I’ll just let Mauchacho nibble, and I’ll take
a look around that bunch of thorn-apple shrubs.”
She began to sing softly and confidently as she loosened the cinch
and pulled the saddle and blanket off the horse’s wet back. He shook
himself with a grunt of satisfaction and began at once to seek out the
most tender grasses.
“Be a good boy till I come back, won’t you?” Bess gave him a sounding
slap on his wet shoulder that caused him to lift his tail with a
“please-don’t-bother-me” flirt.
The sun was fervent and Bess walked hurriedly on to reach the shade
of the thorns. She reached up and plucked some of the plump, ripe,
red thorn-apples, and enjoyed munching them as she wandered idly on.
Far ahead of her she discerned, by shading her eyes with her hand, a
large herd of cattle. At first she could not tell if they were being
driven or whether they were simply eating. As they created no clouds
of dust nor seemed to be coming any nearer she decided it could not be
the cattle she expected to meet being driven by her brother and Henry.
Just then there flashed across her mind an almost forgotten warning
which Henry West had given her. Here she was, almost upon a herd of
wild cattle all alone and off her horse! Had he not told her how their
curiosity was excited by seeing persons afoot with often disastrous
results, and warned her to be sure and stay in the saddle if she were
near any of the grazing herds. Filled with sudden alarm at her temerity
she hurriedly retraced her steps, only to be horrified to realize that
she could not tell where to go. The clumps of brush now looked all
alike and seemed only to be a confused mass of limbs and leaves. There
was the declining sun towards which she had advanced, so now she must
retreat in the opposite direction. Yes, but should she turn to the
right or the left?
For a moment she stood trying to collect her bewildered senses. She
took her sombrero from her dishevelled hair and gave a frightened
scream as her finger-tips came in contact with the rattles which still
adorned the band.
“Oh, I just can’t bear those horrid things any longer,” she cried and
with a stick began to tear her trophy off. She had not succeeded,
however, when her attention was attracted by a horseman riding far
to the left of her. How madly he was riding, bending low over his
horse till they seemed like one! Bess watched the rider as he rode
on swiftly, then swerved to the left, then back again. He was so
indistinct in the hazy distance that she could not tell whether he rode
like an Indian or a white man.
At first she felt an impulse to call, but she knew her voice could not
reach him at that distance. Look, toward the sun! What is that? A wall
of smoke? A cloud of rolling, increasing dust, mounting higher, higher,
nearer, nearer, and caused only by the rushing, fleeing hoofs of a
stampeding herd!
Frozen with terror the girl stood irresolute, unable to decide whether
to flee in the hope that she might reach her horse or to try to seek
safety among the frail protection of the thorn shrubs! She could feel
the earth begin to tremble from the rush of pounding hoofs and saw the
ominous cloud rolling nearer and nearer. There was no time to flee; no
chance to reach the trees; only now could she rush to that projecting
boulder and cast her body close against it in the hope that the frantic
steers might not crumble it in pieces in their mad onslaught.
What was that she heard? She hesitated an instant as she neared the
rock whose unpromising shelter she sought. Surely she heard someone
calling her name. “Bess—Bess,” the agonized tones came to her ears!
Where from, from whom came that ray of hope? Now she reached the rock.
Standing boldly upon it she placed her hands to her lips in a rounded
funnel and screamed with all her strength, again and again.
Like a flash across and from out the cloud of dust shot Eagle! She
saw the red in his nostrils as he leaped directly toward her, a fleck
of foam struck her face—and then—and then a vise clutched the beaded
buckskin belt; some Herculean arm tore her from the pedestal and hot,
swiftly drawn breaths moistened her cheek and neck. She felt herself
flying through obscure space! She felt her breath gripped out of her
body by some terrible, encircling pressure. What dreadful creature held
her in such a death-like grip?
She lifted her hands and felt the rough bristles on a man’s cheeks,
then let them slide together about his tense neck in a tenacious hold.
A firm, stirruped foot supported one of hers and she let her weight
settle upon it. Each breath she drew was impregnated with stifling
dust, while surging in her ears was the bellowing of frantic steers
and thundering of a thousand hoofs! Would those mad, fleeing creatures
never cease; would they never swerve; would they ever keep gaining?
What if Eagle should stumble! What if his double burden should prove
greater than his strength? The terrifying thought made the girl’s arms
cling all the more firmly about the rigid neck and made her heart beat
with aching throbs in her parched throat! She placed her lips close
to the man’s ear and in an agonized and almost inaudible voice cried,
“Hurry, for God’s sake, hurry!”
Instantly she felt the horse make a supreme leap, another and yet
more, till soon, through her half-opened eyelids the girl could see
that the enveloping cloud of dirt and dust was falling behind. Now a
steady, even voice was saying, “Slow, old boy! Easy, easy! All right
Eagle; take your time, boy! Slow, slow!” Bess could feel the arm’s
muscles relaxing with the slackening speed of the horse; hear a deep,
indrawn breath of relief, and see through the dust-covered hair which
nearly veiled her face, a man’s features o’er spread with grime, yet
white with pallor.
As Eagle came to a stop she felt herself gently lowered to the ground
and supported by her rescuer who dismounted at the same instant.
Lifting her hands whose fingers were still stiff from their tenacity,
she pushed the dishevelled hair far back from her eyes and forehead
and stood gazing with thankfulness and gratitude into the deep glowing
eyes. No words came to her lips nor was the silence broken by the
passive man. It seemed that hours had elapsed since Eagle had been
relieved of his burden, when a nervous unnatural laugh came from the
now quivering lips of Bess.
“It’s very dusty for such a recent rain, isn’t it?” came in a voice
husky and high-strung. “Henry—Henry—for pity’s sake speak to me, or
can’t,—don’t you see—see—that I, oh dear—I know—I shall—c-r-y!” and
already great tears filled her eyes and began coursing down her flaming
cheeks through tiny streaks of mud.
“Sit down here, Bess, till you feel rested. Poor little girl—it was a
dreadful ordeal, but you are brave, braver than a man would have been.”
Henry West seated himself near the girl whose whole being was torn
with convulsive sobs. She had thrown herself on the ground and buried
her face in her arms. How he longed to lift her within his arms and
hold her tightly until the storm of loosened terror might cease! Could
he only have drunk the salty tears that rained upon her face! Dared
he only whisper in her ear all his love and longing! He must—must! He
could not, would not be silent longer! She was his very own now—his,
saved from the mangling blows of wild beasts. His heart pounded against
his throat demanding that its pleadings be given voice! With a swift
start and open arms he bent over the trembling form. His fingers closed
hard till the skin was drawn tight over the knuckles! His hands opened,
slowly, appealingly—eager to enfold their treasure, their right, but
only the tips of the fingers swept gently, softly across the brown,
disordered tresses. With the long, gentle stroke the sobbing lessened
and then at length ceased.
Slowly the girl turned and faced the comforter whose fingers still
thrilled with the delicious contact of the dear head and hair. She
sought in vain for a look or word of censure which she imagined she
deserved. Instead, a dark face was all aglow with gratitude and love,
and deep eyes spoke the words which a guarded voice dared not utter.
“Oh! Henry—see—blood on your spurs. Look at Eagle—and yet once you told
me that you never rode him with spurs!”
As soon as his attention had been directed toward the almost forgotten
horse he walked swiftly over to Eagle still quivering and trembling in
every limb.
“Old boy—was it a pretty hard run? Brace up—don’t give up—you’re good
for another,” West was saying as he let his solicitous hands touch here
and there. Bess knew from his manner that the horse was really sick,
although he tried to appear unconcerned. Henry began to walk the horse
about, and it made the girl’s heart ache to see the splendid limbs move
with stiffness and pain. If there were only something she could do to
help!
On she walked, close to Henry West’s side, now unconsciously touching
the reins and now patting the shoulder wet with beads of pain.
Suddenly—with an almost human cry the horse gave a plunge and fell to
the ground! West stood aside—for a moment immovable and still—then
with a reluctant yet decisive movement drew his gun from his holster.
Bess sprang quickly to his side and grasped both his arms with her
own! Thrusting up her face till her breath fanned his cheek she cried,
“Don’t—Henry—he shall not die! All this just because I forgot your
warning—because I am a fool—a horrid—careless girl!”
“He cannot live—I cannot bear to see him suffer. I
must—shoot—if—I—can!” Releasing his right arm he drew the left one up
and about the girl’s head, and closing her ear with the palm of his
hand he held her tightly and closely to him, her face completely buried
in the soft, silken folds of his begrimed white shirt. How could she
know that that embrace was firm with love? How could she know what the
wild, irregular beatings of that strong heart were saying? How could
she know that the prolonged hesitancy was caused by the recrudescence
of hopeless longings! She sensed his effort at calmness, felt an arm
uplifted, a slight concussion, and knew that Eagle was dead. She did
not watch Henry West as he removed the saddle and bridle from the dead
horse, nor did she see the last tender caress given to the stiffening
neck.
“Had it not been for you, my Eagle—she—she—would—now—be—,” were the
parting words given to the favorite of all the horses which West had
ever ridden. And yet he was glad of the sacrifice.
“Do you mind staying here alone, Bess, while I go in search of
Mauchacho? It will soon be growing chilly and dark and we must get home
tonight. Can you give me any idea where he is?” Bess looked helplessly
about and was still utterly confused by the mad, mad rush ahead of
the steers. She could not tell if she had ridden one mile or twenty.
West noted her bewilderment, and with an assurance that he would try
to return soon started rather doubtingly forward. He retraced the way
they had so recently come and after several indecisive swervings to the
right and left Bess saw him hit upon a trail and hurry swiftly on until
the thorns and brush hid him from her view.
How utterly alone she felt! She could scarcely refrain from running
after West and calling on him to wait! Glancing over her shoulder her
heart was filled with pity and regret at the sight of the dead hero.
Already she saw circling high in the evening sky, a pair of huge, black
wings eager for prey.
“I’ll stay here and watch Eagle! Those vultures shall not banquet yet
awhile!”
Glowing red and yellow colors dyed the evening skies. Soft shades of
purple touched the distant tops and slopes of the mountains. Darkening
shadows silently gathered among the pines, indistinct in the distance.
Night was coming on apace, and still the girl stood—silent and alone,
keeping vigil over the coveted feast. In the glow of the western sky
gleamed brightly the tender sickle of the new moon. Turning so as to
glance over her shoulder, Bess wished that the waiting might soon be
ended.
She arose from the flat rock upon which she had been resting and began
pacing nervously back and forth. Snatches of verses she said aloud,
then some strain of a song floated spasmodically across the range, too
wide to send back an echo. The moon, with its brief consolation, had
gone behind the horizon, and the night was rapidly growing darker. A
qualm of fear filled the girl’s heart, as a coyote’s shrill, hungry cry
rent the air. She quickly drew forth the weapon which she had always
worn, from its snug and inconspicuous pocket, and stood ready to defend
rather than for defense.
From out the gloom she felt rather than heard an approach, which she
prayed might be Henry West. A low whistle came in response to her call,
and soon Mauchacho was led to his mistress and his soft nose brushed
caressingly against her arm.
“I had a hard time in finding the saddle or else I might have returned
sooner. Have you been very anxious and lonely?”
“Can we hurry away from here, Henry. I cannot bear to feel these
dreadful, hungry creatures so near,” replied Bess, as another unearthly
cry came from the waiting, anxious coyotes.
West placed Bess in the saddle, flung his own empty one upon the horse
and walked swiftly forward leading the way. At length they came to a
ranch where West secured a horse, and rode with conservative speed
toward home.
It was after numerous futile calls that at last they heard the squeak
of the ferry-boat as it came laboriously across the stream in the
darkness to meet them. Dark clouds were filling the sky and another
rain seemed imminent. Groping his way with the horses, West led them
on to the boat and then lifted Bess from the saddle. Silently they
stood as the Indian rowed them over the dark water. Startled by a glare
of lightning Bess placed her arm through Henry West’s and gave it a
pressure of confidence.
“Had it not been for the gleam of the beads showing me your belt I
doubt if I could have lifted you, Bess—for our—our ride—today,” said
Henry, after a long silence. “Where did you get it? I do not remember
ever seeing you wear it before!”
“I have only had it today. An Indian woman gave it to me this morning
as I came over on this ferry, because—well, because I held her little
dirty baby in my arms!”
“Bess, that same Indian woman was the one who directed me when I
discovered Mauchacho’s shoe print in the trail leading away from the
right direction. She also told me with tears in her eyes why she gave
you her belt. Not wishing to alarm James, I did not even show him where
you and Mauchacho had gone, giving him some excuse. I borrowed his
spurs, for I knew, intuitively perhaps, that Eagle—even Eagle—might
need them, for the first time.”
“And for the last time, also,” added Bess, and tears again came freely.