FLIGHT
Ermine understood the "talking wire,"--the telegraph had been made plain
to him,--and he knew the soldiers were stretching one into the west. He
sheered away from the white man's medicine, going up a creek where only
the silent waters swirling about his horse's legs could know the story
of his ride, which secret they would carry to the eternal sea.
[Illustration]
The gallant pony's blood was rich from the grain-sacks; he had carried a
rider in the strain of many war-trails, and his heart had not yet
failed. In the prime of life, he was now asked to do the long, quick
distance that should lose the white man; those mighty people who bought
the help of mercenary men; whose inexhaustible food came in the
everlasting wagons; and who spoke to each other twenty sleeps apart. His
rider had violated their laws, and they would have him. Only the pony
could save.
Having walked the bed of the creek as far as he deemed necessary, Ermine
backed his pony out of the stream into some low bushes, where he turned
him about and rode away. All day over the yellow plains and through the
defiles of the hills loped the fugitive. Once having seen buffalo coming
in his direction, he travelled for miles along a buffalo path which he
judged they would follow. If by fortune they did, he knew it would make
the scouts who came after rub their eyes and smoke many pipes in
embarrassment. Not entirely satisfied with his precautions,--for he
thought the Indians would cast ahead when checked,--he continued to urge
the pony steadily forward. The long miles which lay before his pursuers
would make their hearts weak and their ponies' forelegs wobble.
He reflected that since he was indeed going to join Mr. Harding's party
at the secret place in Gap-full-of-arrow-holes,[15] why would not
Lewis's scouts follow the easy trail made by their ponies and trust to
finding him with them; and again, would the Englishman want his company
under his altered status? This he answered by saying that no horse in
the cantonment could eat up the ground with his war-pony; and as for the
Englishman, he could not know of the late tragedy unless the accused
chose to tell him. What of his word? Why was he keeping it? With a quick
bullet from his rifle had gone his honor, along with other things more
material. Still, the Gap lay in his way, so he could stop without
inconvenience, at least long enough for a cup of coffee and some
tobacco. The suddenness of his departure had left him no time to gather
the most simple necessities, and he was living by his gun. Only once did
he see Indians far away in the shimmer of the plains. He had dropped
into the dry washes and sneaked away. They might be Crows, but the
arrows of doubt made sad surgery in his poor brain; the spell of the
white man's vengeance was over him. Their arms were long, their purses
heavy; they could turn the world against him. From their strong
log-towns they would conjure his undoing by the devious methods which
his experience with them had taught him to dread. The strain of his
thoughts made his head ache as he cast up the events which had forced
him to this wolfing through the lonely desert. He had wanted to marry a
pretty girl whose eyes had challenged him to come on, and when he had
ventured them, like a mountain storm the whole cantonment rattled about
his head and shot its bolts to kill. As the girl had fled his presence
at the mere extension of his hand, in swift response to her emotions the
whole combination of white humanity was hard on the heels of his flying
pony.
[15] Pryor Gap.
* * * * *
From the summit of the red cliffs Ermine looked down into the secret
valley of his quest, and sitting there beside a huge boulder he studied
the rendezvous. There were Ramon's pack-ponies--he remembered them all.
There curled the smoke from the tangle of brushwood in the bottom, and
finally Wolf-Voice and Ramon came out to gather in the horses for the
night. He rode down toward them. Their quick ears caught the sound of
the rattle of the stones loosened by his mount, and they stopped. He
waved his hat, and they recognized him. He came up and dismounted from
his drooping horse, stiff-hided with lather and dust, hollow-flanked,
and with his belly drawn up as tight as the head of a tom-tom.
"Are you alone in the camp? Has no one been here?"
"No; what for waas any one been here?" asked and answered the
half-breed. "De King George Man,[16] she waas set by dose fire an' waas
ask me 'bout once a minit when waas Ermine come."
[16] Any person who belonged to the Queen.
The men drove the horses in while Ermine made his way through the brush
to the camp-fire.
"A-ha! Glad to see you, Mr. Ermine. Gad! but you must have put your
horse through. He is barely holding together in the middle. Picket him
out, and we will soon have some coffee going."
Ermine did as directed and was soon squatting before the fire with his
cup and plate. To the hail of questions he made brief response, which
Harding attributed to fatigue and the inclination of these half-wild men
not to mix discourse with the more serious matter of eating.
"How did you leave every one at the camp?"
Ermine borrowed a pipe and interspersed his answers with puffs.
"Left them in the night--and they were all sitting up to see me off. My
pony is weak, Mr. Harding. Will you give me a fresh one in the morning?
We ought to start before daylight and make a long day of it."
"My dear man, before daylight? Are we in such haste? It seems that we
have time enough before us."
"This is a bad country here. Indians of all tribes are coming and going.
We are better off back in the range. In two or three sleeps we will be
where we can lie on the robe, but not here;" saying which, Ermine rolled
up in his saddle blanket, and perforce the others did likewise, in view
of the short hours in store.
The last rasping, straining pack-rope had been laid while yet the
ghostly light played softly with the obscurity of the morning. The
ponies were forced forward, crashing through the bushes, floundering in
the creek, cheered on by hoarse oaths, all strange to the ear of
Harding. The sedate progression of other days was changed to a
fox-trot--riding-whips and trail-ropes slapping about the close-hugged
tails of the horses.
Harding congratulated himself on the unexpected energy of his guide; it
would produce results later when wanted in the hunting. The ponies
strung out ahead to escape the persecution of the lash, but Wolf-Voice
saw something new in it all, and as he rode, his fierce little eyes
gleamed steadily on Ermine. The half-breed knew the value of time when
he was pushing the horses of the enemy away from their lodges, but these
horses had no other masters. He turned his pony alongside of Ermine's.
"Say, John, what for you waas keep look behin'? Who you 'fraid follar
dese pony? Ain't dose Canada-man pay for dese pony--sacre, what you was
do back de camp dare? De Sioux, she broke hout?" And the half-breed's
mischievous eye settled well on his _confrère_.
"Well, I did that back there which will make the high hills safer for me
than any other place. Don't say anything to Mr. Harding until I feel
safe. I want to think."
"You waas shoot some one, mabeso?"
"Yes--that ---- ---- Butler. He said he would force me to give up the
paper we found in the moonlight on the soldier trail down the
Yellowstone a year ago. He pulled his pistol, and I shot him."
"You kiell heem--hey?"
"No, caught him in the arm, but it will not kill him. I may go back and
do that--when the soldiers forget a little."
"Den you waas run away--hey?"
"Yes; I made the grass smoke from Tongue River to here. I don't think
they can follow me, but they may follow this party. That's why I look
behind, Wolf-Voice, and that's why I want you to look behind."
"What for you waas come to de King George Man, anyhow?"
"I wanted coffee and tobacco and a fresh pony and more cartridges, and
it will be many moons before John Ermine will dare look in a trader's
store. If the white men come, I will soon leave you; and if I do, you
must stay and guide Mr. Harding. He is a good man and does what is right
by us."
"Ah!" hissed the half-breed, "old Broken-Shoe and White-Robe, she ain'
let dose Engun follar you. You 'spose dey let dose Crow tak de
ack-kisr-attah[17] to Crooked-Bear's boy? Humph, dey 'fraid of hees
medecin'."
[17] Soldiers.
"Well, they will pile the blankets as high as a horse's back, and say to
the Shoshone, 'Go get the yellow-hair, and these are your blankets.'
What then?"
"Ugh! ugh!--a-nah," grunted the half-breed; "de ---- ---- Shoshone, we
will leek de pony--come--come!"
The energy of the march, the whacking ropes, and scampering horses
passed from satisfaction to downright distress in Mr. Harding's mind. He
pleaded for more deliberation, but it went unheeded. The sun had gone
behind the hard blue of the main range before they camped, and the good
nature of the Englishman departed with it.
"Why is it necessary to break our cattle down by this tremendous
scampering? It does not appeal to my sense of the situation."
"Wael, meester, wan more sun we waas en de hiell--den we have long
smoke; all you waas do waas sit down smoke your pipe--get up--kiell dose
grizzly bear--den sit down some more."
[Illustration: RAMON.]
But this observation of the half-breed's was offset by Ramon, who was
cleaning a frying-pan with a piece of bread, and screwing his eyes into
those of Wolf-Voice. The matter was not clear to him. "What good can
come of running the legs off the ponies? Why can't we sit down here and
smoke?"
"You waas trader--you waas spend all de morning pack de pony--spend all
the afternoon unpack heem--a man see your night fire from stan where
you waas cook your breakfast--bah!" returned Wolf-Voice.
This exasperated Ramon, who vociferated, "When I see men run the pony
dat way, I was wander why dey run dem." Wolf-Voice betook himself to
that ominous silence which, with Indians, follows the knife.
Ermine was lame in the big white camp, but out here in the desert he
walked ahead; so, without looking up, he removed his pipe, and said in
his usual unemotional manner, "Shut up!" The command registered like a
gong.
Wolf-Voice sat down and smoked. When men smoke they are doing nothing
worse than thinking. The cook ceased doing the work he was paid for, and
also smoked. Every one else smoked, and all watched the greatest thinker
that the world has ever known--the Fire.
The first man to break the silence was the Englishman. Whether in a
frock coat, or a more simple garment, the Englishman has for the last
few centuries been able to think quicker, larger, and more to the
purpose in hours of bewilderment, than any other kind of man. He
understood that his big purpose was lost in this "battle of the kites
and crows." The oak should not wither because one bird robbed another's
nest. As a world-wide sportsman he had seen many yellow fellows shine
their lethal weapons to the discomfiture of his plans; and he knew that
in Ermine he had an unterrified adversary to deal with. He talked
kindly from behind his pipe. "Of course, Ermine, I am willing to do what
is proper under any and all circumstances, and we will continue this
vigorous travel if you can make the necessity of it plain to me.
Frankly, I do not understand why we are doing it, and I ask you to tell
me."
Ermine continued to smoke for a time, and having made his mind up he
removed his pipe and said slowly: "Mr. Harding, I shot Butler, and the
soldiers are after me. I have to go fast--you don't--that's all."
The gentleman addressed opened wide eyes on his guide and asked in low
amazement, "D---- me--did you? Did you kill him?"
"No," replied Ermine.
Rising from his seat, Mr. Harding took the scout to one side, out of
reach of other ears, and made him tell the story of the affair, with
most of the girl left out.
"Why did you not give him the photograph?"
"Because he said he would make me give it and drew his pistol, and what
is more, I am going back to kill the man Butler--after a while. We must
go fast to-morrow, then I will be where I am safe, for a time at least."
All this gave Harding a sleepless night. He had neither the power nor
the inclination to arrest the scout. He did not see how the continuance
of his hunt would interfere with final justice; and he hoped to calm
the mood and stay the murderous hand of the enraged man. So in
half-bewilderment, on the morrow, that staid traveller found himself
galloping away from the arms of the law, in a company of long-haired
vagabonds; and at intervals it made him smile. This was one of those
times when he wished his friends at home could have a look at him.
"Say, Wolf-Voice," said he, "Ermine says he is going back to kill
Lieutenant Butler sometime later."
"He says dat--hey?"
"Yes, he says that."
"Wiell den--she wiell do eet--var much, 'fraid--what for she wan kiell
dose man Butler? She already waas shoot heem en the harm."
"I think Ermine is jealous," ventured Harding.
"What you call jealous?" queried the half-breed.
"Ermine wants Butler's girl and cannot get her; that is the trouble."
"Anah-a! a bag of a squaw, ees eet?" and Wolf-Voice ran out to head a
pack-horse into the line of flight. Coming back he continued: "Say,
Meester Harding, dese woman he ver often mak' man wan' kiell some ozer
man. I have done dose ting."
"Whew!" said Harding, in amazement, but he caught himself. "But,
Wolf-Voice, we do not want our friend Ermine to do it, and I want you to
promise me you will help me to keep him from doing it."
"'Spose I say, 'Ermine, you no kiell Meester Butler'--he teel me to go
to hell, mabeso--what den?"
"Oh, he may calm down later."
"Na--Engun she no forget," cautioned the half-breed.
"But Ermine is not an Indian."
"Na, but she all de same Engun," which was true so far as that worthy
could see.
"If we do not stop him from killing Butler, he will hang or be shot for
it, sooner or later, and that is certain," said Harding.
"Yees--yees; deese white man have funny way when one man kiell 'nozer.
Ermine ees brave man--he eese see red, an' he wiell try eet eef he do
hang. No one eese able for stop heem but deese Crooked-Bear," observed
the half-breed.
"Is Crooked-Bear an Indian chief?"
"Na; she ain' Enjun, she ain' white man; she come out of the groun'.
Hees head eet waas so big an' strong eet were break hees back for to
carry eet."
"Where does this person live?" ventured Harding.
"Where she eese lieve, ah?--where Ermine an' his pony can find heem,"
was the vague reply. "You no wan' Ermine for kiell deese Butler; weel
den, you say, 'Ermine, you go see Crooked-Bear--you talk wid heem.' I
weel take you where you wan' go een de montaign for get de grizzly
bear."
"I suppose that is the only solution, and I suppose it is my duty to do
it, though the thing plays havoc with my arrangements."
Later the trail steepened and wound its tortuous way round the pine and
boulders, the ponies grunting under their burdens as they slowly pushed
their toilsome way upwards. When Ermine turned here to look back he
could see a long day's march on the trail, and he no longer worried
concerning any pursuit which might have been in progress. They found
their beds early, all being exhausted by the long day's march,
particularly the fugitive scout.
On the following morning, Harding suggested that he and Ermine begin the
hunting, since fresh meat was needed in camp; so they started. In two
hours they had an elk down and were butchering him. The antlers were in
the velvet and not to the head-hunter's purpose. Making up their package
of meat and hanging the rest out of the way of prowling animals, to wait
a pack-horse, they sat down to smoke.
"Are you still intending to kill Mr. Butler?" ventured Harding.
"Yes, when you are through hunting, I shall begin--begin to hunt
Butler."
"You will find your hunting very dangerous, Ermine," ventured Harding.
"It does not matter; he has got the girl, and he may have my life or I
shall have his."
"But you cannot have the girl. Certainly after killing Butler the young
lady will not come to you. Do you think she would marry you? Do you
dream you are her choice?"
"No, the girl would not marry me; I have forgotten her," mused Ermine,
as he patiently lied to himself.
"Does this maiden wish to marry Butler?" asked Harding, who now
recalled garrison gossip to the effect that all things pointed that way.
"She does."
"Then why do you kill the man she loves?"
"Because I do not want to think he is alive."
The wide vacancy of the scout's blue eyes, together with the low
deliberation in his peaceful voice, was somewhat appalling to Harding.
He never had thought of a murderer in this guise, and he labored with
himself to believe it was only a love-sickness of rather alarming
intenseness; but there was something about the young man which gave this
idea pause. His desperation in battle, his Indian bringing-up, made it
all extremely possible, and he searched in vain for any restraining
forces. So for a long time they sat by the dead elk, and Harding sorted
and picked out all the possible reasons he could conjure as to why
Ermine should not kill Butler, until it began to dawn upon him that he
was not replying to his arguments at all, but simply reiterating his own
intentions despite them. He then recalled cases in England where fists
had been the arguments under a rude lover's code; only out here the
argument was more vital, more insistent, and the final effect left the
lady but one choice should she care to interest herself in the affair.
Resuming his talk, Harding suggested that his guide go to his own
friends, who might advise him more potently than he was able, and ended
by asking pointedly, "You have friends, I presume?"
"I have one friend," answered the youth, sullenly.
"Who is he?"
"Crooked-Bear," came the reply.
"Crooked-Bear is your friend; then you must listen to him; what he
advises will probably be the thing to do."
"Of course I will listen to him. He is the only person in the world I
care for now. I have often heard him talking to himself, and I think he
has known a woman whom he cannot forget," spoke Ermine. "He will not
want me to seek my enemy's life. I have talked too much, Mr. Harding.
Talk weakens a man's heart. I will make no more talk."
"Well, then, my man, go to your friend; I can do nothing more," and
Harding arose. They tied their meat on the saddles, mounted, and sought
their camp. On the following morning Ermine had gone.