COUSINS
"Aunty," said Beatrice, at breakfast the next morning, "do you think I
scared him to death?"
"What do you mean, dear?"
"Why, that young man--yesterday. Mr. Ronald is his name, isn't it?"
Mrs. Mackenzie laughed at the memory of the Ensign's scarlet face. "I
think he'll get over it," she said; "don't you, Rob?"
"I certainly do. He's the last man in the world to be afraid of a
woman."
"Oh, yes, he'll recover," put in Mackenzie, significantly.
"I think it's lovely here," observed Beatrice, irrelevantly, "and I
know I'm going to like it."
"We're going to try very hard to make you happy," said Forsyth, with
evident sincerity.
"I've wanted to live with Aunt Eleanor ever since last Spring, when
they all came to Fort Wayne. Otherwise, I wouldn't have fought. That
is, perhaps I wouldn't."
Rising from the table, she went out on the piazza, and Robert
instinctively followed her. If the long journey on horseback had
tired her, she showed no sign of it, for she might have been a part
of the morning as she stood there, smiling, with the sunlight on her
wind-blown hair.
The heavy brown coil, with auburn lights and black shadows in it, had
a strange fascination for Forsyth. He liked the way her hair grew
around her forehead and temples, and the little curl that escaped at
her neck. She was looking away from him, and he thought her unaware of
his scrutiny till she said quietly: "Well, how do you like your new
cousin? Do you think I will do?"
"Yes," he stammered, dimly grateful for the impulse that kept her face
still turned away; "that is, very much."
"How am I going to get my horse over here," she demanded suddenly.
"What horse?" asked Robert, stupidly.
"The one I rode from Fort Wayne, of course. Did I understand you to
say you had been to college?"
"Yes; I graduated."
"Really?" Beatrice turned upon him a dazzling smile. "I never should
have thought it," she added pleasantly.
"Where is your horse?" he asked, crimsoning.
"You don't see it anywhere, do you?"
"N--no."
"Then, obviously, it's at the Fort, isn't it?"
"I--I suppose so."
"Well, then, we're making progress. Now, how do I get it over here?"
"Swim," said Robert, helplessly, at his wit's end.
Beatrice stamped her small foot upon the piazza. "Uncle John," she
called, "come here! How is Queen coming across the river?" she asked,
when he appeared.
"Well, now, Bee, I don't know. There's no bridge and no way to go
around. She'll either have to come in a boat or swim."
Robert flashed a grateful glance at him, but said nothing.
"She won't get into a boat," said Beatrice, with a puzzled little
frown on her face. "We swam a river together once, but she didn't like
it, and we both got wet."
"Go down near the bar and come across," suggested Forsyth, having
partially recovered his self-possession. "It can't be very deep
there."
"No; but the sand is soft. Better leave her at the Fort, Bee, and
you can go over there when you want her. It's safer," he added. "The
Indians might get her out of my barn, but she'll be all right in the
garrison stables."
"That settles it," replied Beatrice. "Here comes Captain Wells."
An erect, soldierly figure came up the path with the characteristic
walk of the Indian. His eyes were small and dark, and his face was
bronzed like the people among whom he had lived; but when he smiled at
Beatrice and bowed with mock humility, all traces of the savage were
instantly effaced. He wore the rough garb of the plainsman, and the
only suggestion of vanity was in the black ribbon that tied his queue.
"Mackenzie," he said, "I warn you. You have a tyrannical
commander-in-chief."
Beatrice pouted prettily. "I'm sorry for Uncle John," she said; "but
it's too late to help him now. I've come for keeps."
All the time he was speaking, Captain Wells's piercing glance was
fixed upon Forsyth, to whom he had just been introduced, but of whom
he had heard at the Fort, and the young man grew vaguely uncomfortable.
"Your pardon, sir," said Captain Wells. "I fear the manners of the
prairie seem strange to a gentleman of culture. My only excuse is that
your face interests me."
"Come on over to the Fort, Cousin Rob," suggested Beatrice, with ready
tact, "and I'll introduce you to Queen. They don't want us here,
anyhow."
Together they climbed into the pirogue in which Captain Wells had
crossed the river, and with some difficulty reached the opposite
shore. Ronald was standing at the entrance, talking with the sentinel,
and when he saw them coming he went toward the barracks with more
haste than dignity. Forsyth laughed, but Beatrice held her head high,
and a faint flush stole into her cheeks.
"Where are the stables, Cousin Rob?"
"This way."
Robert's involuntary gasp of admiration at the sight of Queen
instantly placed him high in his fair cousin's favour. "Isn't she a
beauty?" she asked.
The little black mare whinnied joyously at the approach of her young
mistress, prancing and curvetting prettily in spite of her halter.
"Poor dear," said Beatrice, "you aren't used to being tied, are you?"
She led the horse out on the parade-ground and exclaimed with
pleasure at the satin smoothness of the glossy coat. The grooms had
done their work well and stood around, grinning broadly, while she
praised them. The mare might have hailed from the blue grass country,
so perfect were her lines. She was built for speed as well as beauty,
and the small black hoofs pawed the ground impatiently, as she rubbed
her velvet nose against her owner's cheek by way of a caress.
"There isn't any sugar, Queen," laughed the girl, "and I just came to
say good-morning."
"We'll have some rides on the prairie together," said Robert. "My
horse isn't much, compared with yours, but he used to get along pretty
well on the roads back East."
"Aren't there any roads here?"
"I haven't discovered any, but the prairie isn't bad."
"Come on out now," said Beatrice, "and I'll show you what she can do."
As they passed the barracks, Robert was dimly aware of Ronald's
scrutiny from some safe point of observation; but Beatrice chattered
merrily until they reached the open space beyond the Fort.
A convenient stump stood near by and she led the mare to it. "Now
then, Beauty," she said. In an instant she was mounted on Queen's
bare back, and there ensued an exhibition of horsemanship that would
have put a cavalryman to shame. Some of the soldiers came out to see
the mare change her gait at a word from her rider, and turn readily
with neither bit nor bridle. The pins dropped, one by one, from the
girl's hair, and when she turned out on the open plain for a final
gallop, it streamed out behind her as Atalanta's may have done when
she made her last race.
Beatrice was riding like the wind. She went straight on until she was
scarcely a speck upon the horizon, then circled back gradually. Queen
was on her mettle, and no dame of high degree ever held her head more
proudly than the little black mare with the tossing mane. With a last
turn she came toward the Fort straight as an arrow, and stopped so
suddenly at the word that she was thrown back upon her haunches.
The girl slipped to the ground, laughing and flushed. "Oh!" she cried,
"that was glorious, wasn't it, Queen?"
"I'm proud of my cousin," was all Forsyth said; but there was a volume
of meaning in the tone.
A groom led the horse away to be rubbed down, and Beatrice began a
fruitless search for the lost hairpins, in which Robert refused to
join her. "Don't put it up," he pleaded, "you look so much prettier
with it down."
"I can't, anyway," she said. "I haven't a single pin."
The heavy mass of brown and auburn hung far below her waist, rippling
ever so slightly, and ending in a curl. A pink flush was on her face
and her eyes were dancing. "Come," she continued, "they're talking
about me over there, and I know it."
She had hit upon the truth, for the Mackenzies were having an animated
conference with Captain Wells. "I never suspected there was any
trouble," he was saying, "and she didn't mention it. She was waiting
for us a piece up the trail, and two men with her were carrying her
box. She said she was coming, so the soldiers took her things and she
rode with me.
"As she told you, they probably know it now, but I'll see them the
first thing when I go back and explain. They'll be glad to know she's
safe. She's as skittish a filly as I've ever laid eyes on--she won't
wear a bit, nor stand; and that little black devil that she rides is
made out of the same kind of timber. The two of them will have the
settlement by the ears inside of a month--you wait and see."
Beatrice appeared at this juncture and pointed a rosy finger at
Captain Wells. "Perjurer!" she laughed. "You've been taking my
character away from me!"
"I never tell anything but the truth, Miss," returned the Captain,
awkwardly. "Are you going back with me this afternoon?"
"I told you once," she answered, "that I was going to live with Aunt
Eleanor. I'm never going to Fort Wayne again!"
"Do you want me to take a letter or a message to your people?"
"No!" cried Beatrice, with her eyes blazing. "If you dare to mention
me to them, or say I sent any kind of a message, I'll--I'll haunt you!"
The Captain went out, murmuring confused apologies; and Robert,
feeling himself in the way, went to his room. The moccasins hanging on
the wall gave him a vivid moment of self-knowledge. The dainty, arched
foot he had seen for the first time when Beatrice stamped on the
piazza, might easily have been the one for which the moccasins were
made. He stroked the pretty things caressingly, with a soft light in
his eyes.
"I knew she was coming," he said to himself; "but how did I know?"
In the afternoon, Mackenzie and the officers rode a little way on the
Fort Wayne trail with Captain Wells, who was charged with many letters
and messages for friends there, and Beatrice watched the start from
the window of the living-room.
"Who's that, Aunt Eleanor, riding beside Uncle John?"
"Captain Franklin, in command of the Fort."
"And who's the mean-looking one, twisting his mustache?"
"Lieutenant Howard, dear--Katherine's husband."
"Oh!" said Beatrice, quickly. "Aren't they happy together?"
There was a long silence. "Not very happy, I'm afraid," sighed Mrs.
Mackenzie.
"I'm sorry," said the girl, with genuine sympathy. "Do you think I
could help in any way?"
"I don't know, Bee--I wish you could. You will be company for
Katherine, and perhaps you can make it easier for her, in some ways,
if you try."
"Poor Cousin Kit! Of course I'll try! Look, Aunty," she said, abruptly
pointing to a belated rider who was galloping to overtake the others.
He had his cap in his hand, and his yellow hair was blowing in the
wind. "That's the big boy I scared. Is he married?"
"No," replied Mrs. Mackenzie. Her lips did not move, but her eyes
smiled.
"He's handsome," said Beatrice, dispassionately. "I've lived at all
the posts--Fort Wayne, Detroit, and Fort Mackinac, and he's the
best-looking soldier I've seen. I'd like to paint his picture, if he'd
let me."
"I'll ask him, dear; I think he'll let you."
"Aunt Eleanor!" cried Beatrice, reproachfully.
"Why not?"
"Oh--because. Where are those soldiers going, Aunty?"
Mrs. Mackenzie looked out of the window and saw half a dozen men in
the boat belonging to the Fort, headed up-stream.
"They're going fishing, I guess. I'll have to go away a little while
this afternoon, Bee. Mrs. Burns is sick and she needs me--you won't
mind, will you? I'll leave the table all set, and I'll surely be back
before dark. Are you afraid to be left alone?"
"No. I'm not afraid of anything; but where is Cousin Rob?"
"He's teaching the children. They don't seem to get much time,
someway, in the morning, so they begin right after dinner and study
till supper time. I'm so glad to have Robert here--he's doing wonders
with them."
"He seems nice," said Beatrice, "and I like him. Can't I go with you,
Aunt Eleanor?"
"No, dear--somebody has to stay with the baby. He's asleep, though,
and I don't think he'll trouble you."
"I'll take care of him, Aunty. Don't fret about us."
Nevertheless, the house seemed very lonely to Beatrice after Mrs.
Mackenzie went away, and she roamed about restlessly. For a time she
amused herself by examining the articles on the depleted shelves
behind the counters, but the interest soon vanished. She could find
nothing to read except a soiled and ragged copy of a paper three
months old, which she had already seen at Fort Wayne. The murmur
of voices from a distant room, reached her ears with sudden and
attractive significance, and her face brightened.
"I don't know as I should do it," she said to herself, but she went to
the door and tapped softly.
Robert opened it, in surprise, and Beatrice stepped into the room.
"I've come to visit the school," she said.
"Goody!" cried Johnny.
She seated herself on the window ledge and smiled radiantly at the
embarrassed teacher. Discipline had been difficult from the beginning,
and the guest made matters worse.
"Now, then, Johnny," Forsyth said, "what were we studying?"
"Eight times three."
"Yes, and how many are eight times three?"
"Twenty----"
"Twenty-one," said Beatrice.
"Twenty-one," repeated Johnny, readily, with the air of one who has
accomplished a difficult feat.
Robert frowned and bit his lips. "Eight times three are twenty-four,
Johnny. Write it ten times on your slate--that will help you to
remember."
"What a gift for teaching," murmured Beatrice. Robert flushed, but
did not speak, and there was no sound in the room but the pencil
scratching on the slate.
"Cousin Rob?"
"Yes, Johnny. What is it?"
"Why, Cousin Bee just said eight times three were twenty-one. Did she
tell a lie, or didn't she know?"
"Never mind, Johnny; just attend to your lesson."
"Mamma says it's wicked to tell lies," observed Ellen, virtuously,
sucking her slate pencil.
Beatrice was enjoying herself hugely. She flashed a wicked glance at
Forsyth as she said, "I'm so glad I came!"
"Go on with your work, Ellen. I want you to write that sentence five
times without a mistake. Maria Indiana, bring me your primer. Begin
here."
"Tan't. Baby's fordot."
"Oh, no, you haven't. We learned this yesterday, don't you remember?
Now, then,--'I see,'--what's the rest of it?"
"I see a tat."
"Where?" asked Beatrice, lightly, and Maria Indiana gazed at her,
sadly bewildered.
"Where is the cat?" she asked again. "I don't see any."
"Here, Baby," said Robert; "look at the picture."
"I don't like a picture cat," said Beatrice, with a tempting smile, as
she held out her arms to the child.
"Tuzzin Bee!" crowed the baby, running to her, "me loves oo!"
"I've got this done now," said Johnny. "Eight times three are
twenty-four."
"That's a mistake," put in Beatrice. "Didn't I tell you it was
twenty-one?"
"Cousin Rob," asked Ellen, in deep trouble, "if Cousin Bee has told a
lie, will she go to hell?"
"No," sobbed the baby; "me doesn't want Tuzzin Bee to go to hell!"
Robert's face was pale, and there was a dangerous look in the set
lines of his mouth. He went to Beatrice, took her by the shoulders,
and gently, but firmly, put her out of the room, then locked the door.
"Well, I never!" she said to herself.
Beatrice was not given to self-analysis, but she could not keep from
wondering why she felt so queer. She knew she had no right to be
angry, and yet she was furious. She was certain that she would have
done the same thing if she had been in his place, and much earlier at
that; but the fact did not lessen the enormity of his crime.
"He dared to touch me!" she whispered, with her face hidden.
The long afternoon faded into dusk, and then Mackenzie came home.
"Where's mother?" he asked.
"She went to see Mrs. Burns. She said she was sick."
"Have you been lonesome, Bee?"
The girl bit her lips. "Not very," she answered grimly.
School was dismissed and the children trooped into the living-room.
Robert spoke pleasantly to his uncle, but took no notice of Beatrice.
"Uncle John," she said at length, "what do you think of a person who
takes a lady by the shoulders and puts her out of a room?"
"If you had been a lady," retorted Robert, "I wouldn't have put you
out."
"Don't quarrel," said Mackenzie. "Life is too short to fuss." He took
Chan's violin from the chimney-shelf in the next room, and began to
play a lively tune. Ellen and Johnny pranced around the tea-table, and
Maria Indiana, with faltering steps, endeavoured to imitate them.
Beatrice laughed, and Robert's heart softened, though he had been very
angry with her only a little while before. He was about to beg her
pardon for his seeming harshness, when the door burst open and Mrs.
Mackenzie rushed in, breathless and white with fear.
"The Indians!" she cried. "The Indians!"
"Where?" shouted Mackenzie, springing to his feet.
"Up at Lee's! Killing and scalping!"