THE END OF ALL THINGS
The heart of the rider hung like a leaden weight in his body, as he cast
accustomed glances at the old trail up the mountain to Crooked-Bear's
cabin. He heard the dogs bark, and gave the wolf's call which was the
hermit's countersign. The dogs grew menacing at his unfamiliar scent,
but a word satisfied them. A dog forgets many things about a person in a
year, but never his voice. From out of a dark corner came the goblin of
the desolate mountain, ready with his gun for the unwelcome, but to
greet Ermine with what enthusiasm his silent forest ways had left him.
For a long time they held each other's hands, while their faces lighted
with pleasure; even the warmth of kindliness kindling in the scout's as
he stood in the presence of one who did not seek him with the corner of
his eyes.
[Illustration]
As they built the fire and boiled the water, the old man noted the
improved appearance of his protégé--the new clothes and the perfect
equipment were a starched reminder of the glories of the old world,
which he had left in the years long gone. He plied his questions, and
was more confused to uncover Ermine's lack of enthusiasm concerning the
events which must have been tremendous, and with difficulty drew the
belated news of war and men and things from him. Then like the raising
of a curtain, which reveals the play, the hermit saw suddenly that it
was heavy and solemn--he was to see a tragedy, and this was not a play;
it was real, it was his boy, and he did not want to see a tragedy.
He feared to have it go on; he shut his eyes for a long time, and then
rose to his feet and put his hands on the young man's shoulders. He
sought the weak gleam of the eyes in the dusk of the cabin. "Tell me,
boy, tell me all; you cannot hide it any more than a deer can hide his
trail in the snow. I can read your thoughts."
Ermine did not immediately reply, but the leaden heart turned slowly
into a burning coal.
"Crooked-Bear, I wanted a white girl for my wife, and I shot a soldier,
who drew a revolver and said he would force me to give him her picture
which I had in my pocket, and then I ran away, everybody shooting at me.
They may even come here for me. They want to stand me up beside the long
table with all the officers sitting around it, and they want to take me
out and hang me on a tree for the ravens and magpies to pick at. That is
what your white people want to do to me, Crooked-Bear, and by God they
are going to have a chance to do it, for I am going back to kill the man
and get the girl or die. Do you hear that, Crooked-Bear, do you hear
that?"
The hermit's arms dropped to his side, and he could make no sound or
sign. "Sit down, be quiet, boy; let us talk more of this thing. Be calm,
and I can find a reason why you will not want to stain your hands with
this man's blood. When I sent you to the white men to do a man's work in
a white man's way, I did not think you would lock horns with any buck
you met on the trail, like the dumb things that carry their reason for
being on the point of their antlers--sit down." And the long arms of the
hermit waved with a dropping motion.
Ermine sat down, but by no means found his composure. Even in the
darkness his eyes gave an unnatural light, his muscles twitched, and his
feet were not still. "I knew, Crooked-Bear, I knew you would talk that
way. It is the soft talk of the white men. She made a fool of me, and he
was going to put his foot on me as though John Ermine was a grasshopper,
and every white man would say to me after that, 'Be quiet, Ermine, sit
down.' Bah! I will be quiet and I will sit down until they forget a
little, and then--" Ermine emitted the savage snarl of a lynx in a steel
trap. Slapping his knee, he continued: "The white men in the camp are
two-sided; they pat you with a hand that is always ready to strike. When
the girl looked at me, it lighted a fire in my heart, and then she blew
the flame until I was burning up. She told me as well as any words can
say, 'Come on,' and when I offered her my hand she blatted like a fawn
and ran away. As if that were not enough, this Butler walked into the
room and talked to me as though I were a dog and drew his gun;
everything swam before my eyes, and they swim yet, Crooked-Bear. I tell
you I will kill him as surely as day follows night. These soldiers talk
as white and soft as milk when it suits their plan, but old Major
Searles says that they stand pat in war, that they never give up the
fight, that they must win if it takes years to do it. Very well, I shall
not forget that."
"But, my boy, you must not see red in a private feud; that is only
allowed against the enemies of the whole people. Your heart has gone to
your head; you can never win a white woman by spilling the blood of the
other man who happens to love her also. That is not the way with them."
"No, it is not the way with them; it is the way with their women to set
a man on fire and then laugh at him, and it is the way with their men to
draw a gun. What do they expect, Crooked-Bear? I ask you that!"
"Who was the girl, Ermine?"
The scout unwrapped the package from his bosom, and handed the
photograph to the old man, saying, "She is like that."
The hermit regarded the picture and ventured, "An officer's daughter?"
"Yes; daughter of Major Searles."
"Who was the man you shot?"
"A young pony soldier,--an officer; his name is Butler." And gradually
Ermine was led to reveal events to the wise man, who was able to piece
out the plot with much knowledge not natural to the wilds of the Rocky
Mountains. And it was a tragedy. He knew that the girl's unfortunate
shot had penetrated deeper than Ermine's, and that the Law and the
Lawless were in a death grapple.
They sought their bunks, and in the following days the prophet poured
much cold water on Ermine's determination, which only turned to steam
and lost itself in the air. The love of the woman and the hate of the
man had taken root in the bedrock of his human nature, and the pallid
"should nots" and "must nots" of the prophet only rustled the leaves of
Ermine's philosophy.
"He has taken her from me; he has made me lose everything I worked for
with the white men; he has made me a human wolf, and I mean to go back
and kill him. You say I may lose my life; ho! what is a dead man? A dead
man and a buffalo chip look just alike to these mountains, to this sky,
and to me, Crooked-Bear," came the lover's reply.
And at other times: "I know, Crooked-Bear, that you wanted a girl to
marry you once, and because she would not, you have lived all your life
like a gray bear up here in these rocks, and you will die here. I am not
going to do that; I am going to make others drink with me this bitter
drink, which will sweeten it for me."
Sadly the hermit saw this last interest on earth pass from him; saw Fate
wave her victorious banners over him; saw the forces of nature work
their will; and he sank under the burden of his thoughts. "I had hoped,"
he said to himself, "to be able to restore this boy to his proper place
among the white people, but I have failed. I do not understand why men
should be so afflicted in this world as Ermine and I have been, but
doubtless it is the working of a great law, and possibly of a good one.
My long years as a hunter have taught me that the stopping of the
heart-beat is no great thing--it is soon over; but the years of living
that some men are made to undergo is a very trying matter. Brave and
sane is he who keeps his faith. I fear for the boy."
After a few weeks Ermine could no longer bear with the sullen savagery
of his emotions, and he took his departure. Crooked-Bear sat by his
cabin door and saw him tie his blanket on his saddle; saw him mount and
extend his hand, which he shook, and they parted without a word. They
had grown accustomed to this ending; there was nothing in words that
mattered now. The prophet's boy disappeared in the gloom of the woods,
snapping bushes, and rolling stones, until there was no sound save the
crackling of the fire on the lonely hearth.
As Ermine ambled over the yellow wastes, he thought of the difference
between now and his going to the white man one year ago. Then he was
full of hopes; but now no Crow Indian would dare be seen in his
company--not even Wolf-Voice could offer him the comfort of his reckless
presence. He was compelled to sneak into the Absaroke camp in the night,
to trade for an extra pony with his relatives, and to be gone before the
morning. The ghostly tepees, in the quiet of the night, seemed to dance
around him, coming up, and then retiring, while their smoke-flaps waved
their giant fingers, beckoning him to be gone. The dogs slunk from him,
and the ponies walked away. The curse of the white man was here in the
shadows, and he could feel the Indians draw their robes more closely
over their heads as they dreamed. The winds from the mountains blew on
his back to help him along, and whispered ugly thoughts. All the good of
the world had drawn away from Ermine, and it seemed that the sun did not
care to look at him, so long was he left to stumble through the dark.
But Nature did not paint this part of her day any blacker than she had
Ermine's heart; each footfall of his pony took him nearer to death, and
he whipped on impatiently to meet it. Hope had long since departed--he
could not steal the girl; he realized the impossibility of eluding
pursuit; he only wanted to carry Butler with him away from her. All the
patient training of Crooked-Bear, all the humanizing influence of white
association, all softening moods of the pensive face in the photograph,
were blown from the fugitive as though carried on a wind; he was a
shellfish-eating cave-dweller, with a Springfield, a knife, and a
revolver. He had ceased to think in English, and muttered to himself in
Absaroke. As his pony stumbled at a ford in the river, he cut it
savagely with his whip,--the pony which was the last of his
friends,--and it grunted piteously as it scrambled for its foothold.
Day after day he crawled through the rugged hills far from the places
where men might be; for every one was his enemy, and any chance rifle
would take away from him his vengeance. The tale of his undoing had
travelled wide--he found that out in the Crow camp; Ba-cher-hish-a had
told him that through her tears. He could trust no one; the scouts at
Tongue River might be apathetic in an attempt to capture him, but they
could not fail to report his presence if seen in the vicinity. Butler
was probably in the middle of the log-town, which swarmed with soldiers,
but it was there he must go, and he had one friend left, just one; it is
always the last friend such a one has,--the Night.
Having arrived in the vicinity of the post, he prowled out on foot with
his only friend. It was early, for he must do his deed while yet the
lights were lit. Any one moving about after "taps" would surely be
investigated by the guard. The country was not yet tranquil enough to
permit of laxity in the matter of sentry duty, and the soldiers counted
"ten" very fast after they challenged. He had laid aside his big hat,
and was wrapped in his blanket. Many Indians were about, and he was less
apt to be spoken to or noticed. He moved forward to the scout fire,
which was outside of the guard-line, and stood for a time in some
brushwood, beyond the play of the flames. He was closely enveloped in
his blanket, and although Indians passed quite near him, he was not
noticed. Suddenly he heard a detail of wagons clanking up the road, and
conjectured rightly that they would go into the post. He ran silently
toward them, and stooping low, saw against the skyline that the cavalry
guard had worked up in front, impatient to shave the time when they
should reach their quarters.
It was a wood train, and it clanked and ground and jingled to the
quartermaster's corral, bearing one log on the last wagon which was John
Ermine and his fortunes. This log slid to the ground and walked swiftly
away.
* * * * *
The time for "taps" was drawing near, and the post buzzed in the usual
expectation of that approaching time of quiet. A rifle-shot rang loud
and clear up on the officers' row; it was near Major Searles's house,
every one said as they ran. Women screamed, and Tongue River cantonment
laid its legs to the ground as it gathered to the place. Officers came
with revolvers, and the guard with lanterns. Mrs. Searles and her
daughter were clasped in each other's arms, while Mary, the cook, put
her apron over her head. Searles ran out with his gun; the shot had been
right under the window of his sitting-room. An Indian voice greeted
him, "Don' shoot; me killi him."
"Who in h---- are you?" swore Searles, at a present.
"Don' shoot, me Ahhæta--all same Sharp-Nose--don' shoot--me killi him."
"Killi who? Who have you killed? Talk up quick!"
"Me killi him. You come--you see."
By this time the crowd drew in with questions and eager to help. A
sergeant arrived with a lantern, and the guard laid rude hands on the
Crow scout, Sharp-Nose, who was well known. He was standing over the
prostrate figure, and continued to reiterate, "Me killi him."
The lantern quickly disclosed the man on the ground to be John Ermine,
late scout and fugitive from justice, shot through the heart and dead,
with his blanket and rifle on the ground beside him. As he looked
through the window, he had been stalked and killed by the fool whom he
would not allow to shake hands with Katherine Searles, and a few moments
later, when Sharp-Nose was brought into her presence, between two
soldiers, she recognized him when he said, "Mabeso, now you shake
hands."
"Yes, I will shake hands with you, Sharp-Nose," and half to herself, as
she eyed her malevolent friend, she muttered, "and he kept you to
remember me by."
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=Roberts--Kings in Exile=
BY CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS
"The author catches the spirit of forest and sea life, and the reader
comes to have a personal love and knowledge of our animal
friends."--_Boston Globe._
=Robins--The Convert=
BY ELIZABETH ROBINS
"'The Convert' devotes itself to the exploitation of the recent
suffragist movement in England. It is a book not easily forgotten, by
any thoughtful reader."--_Chicago Evening Post._
=Robins--A Dark Lantern=
BY ELIZABETH ROBINS
A powerful and striking novel, English in scene, which takes an
essentially modern view of society and of certain dramatic situations.
=Ward--David Grieve=
BY MRS. HUMPHREY WARD
"A perfect picture of life, remarkable for its humor and extraordinary
success at character analysis."
=Wells--The Wheels of Chance=
BY H. G. WELLS
"Mr. Wells is beyond question the most plausible romancer of the
time."--_The New York Tribune._
THE MACMILLAN JUVENILE LIBRARY
This collection of juvenile books contains works of standard quality, on
a variety of subjects--history, biography, fiction, science, and
poetry--carefully chosen to meet the needs and interests of both boys
and girls.
=_Each volume, cloth, 12mo, 50 cents net; postage, 10 cents extra_=
=Altsheler--The Horsemen of the Plains=
BY JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER
"A story of the West, of Indians, of scouts, trappers, fur traders, and,
in short, of everything that is dear to the imagination of a healthy
American boy."--_New York Sun._
=Bacon--While Caroline Was Growing=
BY JOSEPHINE DASKAM BACON
"Only a genuine lover of children, and a keenly sympathetic observer of
human nature, could have given us a book as this."--_Boston Herald._
=Carroll--Alice's Adventures, and Through the Looking Glass=
BY LEWIS CARROLL
"One of the immortal books for children."
=Dix--A Little Captive Lad=
BY MARIE BEULAH DIX
"The human interest is strong, and children are sure to like
it."--_Washington Times._
=Greene--Pickett's Gap=
BY HOMER GREENE
"The story presents a picture of truth and honor that cannot fail to
have a vivid impression upon the reader."--_Toledo Blade._
=Lucas--Slowcoach=
BY E. V. LUCAS
"The record of an English family's coaching tour in a great
old-fashioned wagon. A charming narrative, as quaint and original as its
name."--_Booknews Monthly._
=Mabie--Book of Christmas=
BY H. W. MABIE
"A beautiful collection of Christmas verse and prose in which all the
old favorites will be found in an artistic setting."--_The St. Louis
Mirror._
=Major--The Bears of Blue River=
BY CHARLES MAJOR
"An exciting story with all the thrills the title implies."
=Major--Uncle Tom Andy Bill=
BY CHARLES MAJOR
"A stirring story full of bears, Indians, and hidden
treasures."--_Cleveland Leader._
=Nesbit--The Railway Children=
BY E. NESBIT
"A delightful story revealing the author's intimate knowledge of
juvenile ways."--_The Nation._
=Whyte--The Story Book Girls=
BY CHRISTINA G. WHYTE
"A book that all girls will read with delight--a sweet, wholesome story
of girl life."
=Wright--Dream Fox Story Book=
BY MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT
"The whole book is delicious with its wise and kindly humor, its just
perspective of the true value of things."
=Wright--Aunt Jimmy's Will=
BY MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT
"Barbara has written no more delightful book than this."
Transcriber's Note
Apparent printer's errors have been retained, unless stated below.
Page numbers cited in illustration captions refer to their original
placement in the text. Illustrations have been moved near their mention
in the text.
"_" surrounding text represents italics.
"=" surrounding text represents bold.
Punctuation, capitalization, accents and formatting markup have been
made consistent.
Page 34, "Ba-chua-hish-a" changed to "Ba-cher-hish-a" for consistency.
(Ba-cher-hish-a sobbed and wailed all night in her lodge, while the
foster-father walked outside, speculating endlessly with his friends.)
Page 94, "trial" changed to "trail". (Now we must blind our trail; their
scouts will find it in the morning.)
Page 5 of the Advertisements, "These" changed to "There". (There is
interwoven with it a play of mild philosophy and of pointed wit.)
Page 12 of the Advertisements, "JOHN" changed to "FREDERIC". (BY
FREDERIC REMINGTON)
Page 14 of the Advertisements has been left as originally published. The
accompanying comment for "Aunt Jimmy's Will" by Mabel Osgood Wright has
been left to read: "Barbara has written no more delightful book than
this."