"It's from my father's physician," explained Hal, handing the cable to
McCloud.
"And say, Boss," said Bill, trying to keep the worst news to the last,
"Ladd's out here."
"Ain't a-losin' any time, is he?" commented McShay.
"And he's got quite a few Injins with him," added Bill slowly. "In
fact, they got us surrounded, I reckon." And Bill returned to his post.
"Go out and see Ladd, will you?" Hal said to his two friends. "And let
me know what he has to propose? It'll give me a moment to think."
"Come on, Parson," said McShay, and he took the preacher affectionately
by the arm. "By the way, would you say that Ladd was a _Scotch_ name?"
McCloud shot him a sly glance.
"I shouldn't wonder, McShay; but I don't think the yellow canine mixture
is _monopolized_ by the Scotch, do you?"
"Oh, ain't you touchy about your damned old race?"
And the two queer pals walked away arm in arm.
"Wah-na-gi, come here, please."
Hal called gently at the door. She did not hear. It was a shame to wake
her. He called again and then again. When she did awaken it was with a
start, her heart throbbing violently until she saw him, then she
breathed evenly with an assured smile. He thought she had never looked
so beautiful as she stood holding to the support of the portico, and
then he noticed for the first time that she was dressed like her people,
and the brave flash and glitter of the barbaric colors stirred something
within him; something strange, mystical. He felt the touch of an unseen
hand, heard the sound of a silent voice. He thrilled to vague impulses,
to a half-remembered strain that might have been a love song or a
lullaby, that had in it the note of the primeval woods and the vastness
of the sky and plain. He forgot the exigency of the moment, the dangers
that confronted them, and said: "Wah-na-gi, wait here for a moment.
I've something I want to give you."
And he disappeared into the house leaving her wondering and alone. She,
too, was conscious of some occult force to whose vibration she thrilled.
When Hal woke her she was quivering with the ragged remnants of a dream.
Nat-u-ritch had come to her and said: "You will be very happy. My son
loves you." Then John McCloud had come and led her away to the Land of
Shadows. Here were shadow streams and shadow hills, shadow wickiups,
shadow horses and cattle, shadow lovers and shadow children. Then Hal
had come and called her away, and she woke to see him.
This dream came back to her as she waited. There was the grave of
Nat-u-ritch. She walked over to it. The gravestone was very simple like
her life, a rough bowlder torn from the bed of a mountain torrent. It
displayed no date of birth or death, no line of eulogy, no word of
sentiment, just her name in rude lettering cut into the face of the
rock, but to any one who knew her tragic story it seemed appropriate and
impressive. To Wah-na-gi it made the whole dingy, desolate place
sacred. Nat-u-ritch seemed very real as she stood there by her grave.
She knew Nat-u-ritch's story and understood it. The resignation of the
Indian woman toiling patiently through life knowing that she was
unloved, finding consolation in her child; then bewildered, unable to
understand why her baby should be taken from her arms and given to a
strange white woman to be taken into a far country; then the tall chief
bringing his dead daughter in his arms and holding her out to the white
man, all that was left of the little savage who was wife and mother,
with the weapon of destruction in one hand and her child's little
moccasins in the other. Nat-u-ritch was very real to Wah-na-gi just
then. Her spirit brooded near.
"Wah-na-gi, I want you to have these as a keepsake."
Hal held something in his hands at which he looked intently. Something
glittered and gleamed like her buckskin dress. They were a tiny pair of
child's moccasins.
"They were mine," he said, "when I was a little boy running around here
on the ranch. Those were happy days," he added dreamily. "My father
gave them to me before I left England. He took them from my dead
mother's hand. When my father gave them to me I knew I had seen them
before, often and often in my dreams. I used to think it was
Nat-u-ritch, my little mother, holding them out to me. Then it seemed to
me to be you, calling to me, calling me to leave the cities, the limits,
the din, the make-believe, the murderous crowds; calling me to the
desert, the naked rocks, and the far spaces, the brooding snows, the
camp-fires, the songs of the pines, and the angry rapids; calling me to
my own, to live my life in the open, and be a man among men."
His eye was fixed on space and he spoke like one hypnotized or in a
dream. She knew it was the son of Nat-u-ritch speaking to her, speaking
to his own soul.
"Perhaps--you would like them," he added. "I would like you to have
them," and he held them toward her. "It's the best I have to give.
They are my 'medicine,' my 'sacred bundle.'"
Tears were gathering in her eyes as she took and kissed them.
"And now John McCloud says I must go back to all that--to the land and
the life where I was an idler, a drunkard, and a failure."
Her heart stood still.
"Go back! Why?"
"Because I love you, because I want you, because I can't live without
you."
She was in his arms and knew the supremest joy of her life.
"And nobody is going to take you from me," he added defiantly.
He was fighting McCloud, doing battle with himself. He had forgotten
the agent until McShay entered with a face graver than his wont.
"Well, what does he say, Mike?"
"He insists on talkin' things over with you in person."
"Oh, well, bring him in. Wah-na-gi," he turned to her as the Irishman
disappeared, "_Ladd is here_."
*CHAPTER XVI*
Wan-na-gi shrank back, her eyes set with terror.
"Don't let him take me away. I couldn't go back there. When I sent to
you I had stood all I could. Don't let that man put his hand on me. You
thought he was protecting me from Appah. I didn't tell you--I was
ashamed. It was because, because----"
"He wanted you for himself."
"Yes."
"He won't take you back; not if I live. Now listen and don't be afraid.
My men believe in me, better still, in my luck. McShay's men want
nothing better than a chance to even scores with Ladd. We have the
position. Ladd isn't a soldier. He doesn't know this game. I do. He
couldn't take the ranch if he had twice as many braves, except at a
fearful cost----"
"My own people!" she said, as if it just occurred to her for the first
time. "We shall kill our own people!" This time she included him.
"You are my people," he said passionately. "You are my country, my all.
Nothing else matters. Go in, Wah-na-gi, and don't be afraid."
"We must not kill our own people. They're your people as well as mine."
"A fight's a fight, Wah-na-gi. Leave it to me."
"I didn't think of this when I called to you. I was tortured, mad,
desperate, and I cried out for help. It was a mistake. I--I--yes, I
will go back."
"No, that would be horrible; I could not let you go back. We don't know
what may happen, but I could not do that. Won't you leave it to me?
Trust to me?"
She raised her eyes to him with a look of serene abnegation, of exalted
self-surrender, that transported him, then sobered him.
He took her in his arms, kissed her as a brother might, and she went
within.
"Howd'y, Calthorpe?" said Ladd easily as he entered with McShay and
McCloud.
"How are you, Mr. Ladd?"
"I want to talk to Calthorpe alone, if you don't mind," said the agent
to the other two.
"Certainly," said Hal; "these gentlemen will step into the house for a
moment."
The Irishman drew the preacher toward the upper wing of the house,
keeping his eye steadily on the agent who sauntered away. Suddenly he
stopped.
"On second thought you may have him," he said _sotto voce_ to McCloud.
"Suppose we divide the responsibility," responded the preacher with a
grave face, "and call him--Scotch-Irish?"
And they went within to continue the animated discussion as to the
relative contributions of each country to the world's greatness.
As Ladd turned the two men faced each other.
"I understand," said Hal easily, "that you threatened to shoot me on
sight. Well, I'm on sight."
"Well," said the other calmly, "it may come to that, and it may not.
That's up to you."
"Sit down," and Hal motioned to a seat with a smile.
"Thanks!" and Ladd sat on the harrow and nursed his knee in a careless
off-hand way. "The Indians are very mad. Abduction of women is a
serious matter, isn't it? Even a mean, dispirited race will fight for
its women. Well, her people think you stole Wah-na-gi."
Hal thought for a moment and then as he did not see any advantage in
dodging the issue, he said:
"Yes, I took her. She's here."
"Oh, you admit it?" said the agent with elation. "Well, that's
something. Then perhaps you'll be good enough to hand her over to me."
"Well, no, not exactly. You see she's claimed my protection."
"_Your_ protection?" responded Ladd with a cynical laugh. "That's
rather feeble, isn't it? Well, the Indians claim my protection;
protection for their women, for their homes!"
To Hal, who knew the extent of Wah-na-gi's obligations to her own people
and their supreme indifference to the girl, this buncombe was peculiarly
exasperating, but he did not honor it with a reply.
Ladd rose and came over to him. Hal was seated and the other bent down
over him: "Now, you're no fool, Calthorpe; you know that you've done a
wild, reckless, impossible thing, and you also know that you can't get
away with it," and the smooth, cool, even manner gave place to the
aggressive attitude of the bully who felt secure in his position. "Now,
after what happened at the powwow over at the Agency, no one State is
big enough for you and me."
"Yes," assented Hal complacently, "I've realized that you and I were a
bit crowded."
"You're in wrong this time, Calthorpe, and I've got you where I want
you," and Ladd chuckled over the prospect.
In the cold light of day and in the scrutiny of second thought and under
hostile criticism, Hal had a sickening sense that his act was crazy,
quixotic, indefensible, and yet what could he have done otherwise?
Could he as a man have left this woman he loved to be hounded into
self-destruction or dishonor? She had called to him in her desperation.
Could he have turned a deaf ear to that cry? He had as usual acted on
impulse. Having at very great risk effected her rescue, was he to face
the ultimate and inevitable and hand her back to these wolves? It was
inconceivable. One step involved another. He must go on, trusting to
chance, a perilous trust.
"What is the idea?" asked Ladd with sarcastic tolerance. "The
Government, the Army, and the American nation is behind me."
Hal knew that this was too true.
"I am responsible to the Government and the people for this girl. And
you come over and take her away from me by force."
"Because you have betrayed your trust."
"I was in the very act of affording her protection from the man of whom
she complained when you stole her. Well, what are you going to do with
her now that you've got her?"
Hal did not quail under Ladd's merciless gaze, but inwardly he writhed.
What was he going to do? Oh, if he could take this wretch by the throat
and say: "She's mine--my wife, my wife!"
Ladd waited, then added: "Why, if you try to keep her, we'll wipe you
out of existence--you and your ranch."
"That sounds like a threat."
"We'll make it good. Now you and McShay and your crowd have been
getting busy at Washington! You have been trying to get me removed,
haven't you?"
"We have."
"And you haven't done it, have you?"
"Not yet, but we have hopes; we have hopes, Brother Ladd."
"It didn't take you long to discover that I had a few friends in
Washington myself, did it?"
"No, we found that you were a patriot who had all his life sacrificed
his own interests to the good of his country. We found it was first
Washington, then Lincoln, and now Ladd."
"Your only excuse is that you're a kid. You make it hard for me to keep
my temper. You make it hard for me to let you out of the hole you've
put yourself in."
"Let me out?"
"Yes, I can let you out or I can drown you in it. You want this woman."
"So do you."
The two men stood eye to eye for a tense moment. Then Ladd shrugged his
shoulders and returned to the business in hand.
"Cadger has decided that I cannot afford such a luxury under the
circumstances, and perhaps I can't. He thinks, and perhaps he's right,
that you and I could do a whole lot better than fight each other. If you
think so too, I'll meet you half-way."
"What's your game, Mr. Agent?"
"Well, I can arrest Appah and take these Indians home, and--forget it.
Now you call off your crowd in Washington and I'll call off mine here.
What do you say?"
"Your offer takes me by surprise. I'll have to submit it to McShay."
As Hal walked to the house it went through his brain that this was a
very quick solution of a very dangerous situation. It was obvious that
it would meet the worldly views of McShay. That astute politician had
just expressed the belief that the war on Ladd was bad policy. It also
shot through his brain that it would not coincide with the unworldly
views of McCloud. Should he call out McShay alone? It is useless to
deny that he was tempted. In fact, he was on the Mount of Temptation and
was to miss no phase of that ordeal.
Ladd hesitated. "Why, you're not going to--Can't this be settled
between you and me?" he suggested nervously.
"You two Macs come out here," called Hal through the door.
"These men are interested with me in this fight. I can't act without
them. Gentlemen," said Hal to the Irishman and the Scotchman as they
came forward with an air of expectancy; "the agent has made me a
proposition. Unless we agree to call off the fight against him in
Washington, or I surrender Wah-na-gi, he will turn Appah and his friends
loose on us and make the ranch a dust heap. That's about it."
"Now, ain't that nice?" said McShay with the air of a pleased child.
"Now, Parson, you have an introduction to practical politics. Well,
son," he continued, turning to Hal; "it's up to you to decide. Of course
my constituents will say I was bought off, but it wouldn't be the first
time they've said unpleasant things about me, and I'll see you through
this either way. To me and the parson you're on the square with regards
to this girl, but we're only two people and we ain't a workin' majority.
Ladd's got a strangle holt on you in a way, so if you want to buy him
off--well, I'll stand in."
"Thank you, Mike. What do you say, John?"
"What you have done, you have done. For the protection of this fine
Indian girl, well, trust her to God. Omnipotence can care for her."
"Well, Parson," said Mike doubtfully, "just for the sake of argument;
why not leave Ladd to Omnipotence? Think the agent's too many for
Omnipotence?"
The clergyman ignored the irrepressible Irishman.
"You have asserted," he went on, "that Agent Ladd is unfit for his
responsible position, that he has been untrue to his trust. If you go
back on that you make yourselves liars and frauds, and continue this
man's tyranny, and fasten it on these helpless people. There are those
who are looking to you, trusting to you, who have enlisted under you in
this fight. You can't betray them. You can't juggle with the right.
You can't do it."
"That's the answer, Mr. Agent," said Hal quietly.
"Ain't parsons the limit?" murmured McShay to himself.
"Then of course you've decided to hand Wah-na-gi over to me," said Ladd
with menace.
"I'll see you damned first," was Hal's reply.
"Then you'll be responsible for hell cut loose," and the agent started
to go.
"See here; wait a minute!" cried McShay intercepting him. "I've got it,
and I can fix it so as to satisfy everybody."
He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a coin. "I'll match you
for it--to see whether we give up the fight against you in Washington,
or you throw up the sponge here. Now that's fair, Parson. That sort of
puts it up to Providence, don't you see?"
"We're wasting time," snapped Ladd, now quivering with rage. "I'll give
you ten minutes to produce Wah-na-gi or take the consequences."
The participants in this scene had been so intent on the business in
hand that they were oblivious to the noise of horses' hoofs beating the
plain and the rattle of accoutrements as a couple of troops of United
States cavalry swept through the Indian lines and the cowboy outposts
without stopping to say by your leave, and came to a sudden and
spectacular halt just back of the grave of Nat-u-ritch.
Captain Baker dismounted and advanced to the group in front of the
house.
"What is the meaning of this, gentlemen?" he asked in a clear, ringing
voice that had the cut of a sabre in it. His mouth was set, his face
firm and four square, determination and authority written in every
angle. He looked from one to the other and waited for the answer.
Meanwhile Appah, in war bonnet and war-paint, pushed his pony to the
background as if determined not to be ignored in the settlement of the
dispute. Big Bill followed him.
It was obvious to Hal and McShay that Baker's advent was not just what
Ladd had planned.
"I didn't call on you, Captain," said the agent, "because my Indian
police are quite sufficient."
"Police?" said Captain Baker, eying the other sternly. "Why, you've got
the whole tribe out here. Some one sent me a wire that a fight was on at
Red Butte Ranch between the settlers and the Indians."
The Irishman grinned.
"Sure, I took the liberty of invitin' you, Captain! Knew you wouldn't
like to miss a little thing like that."
After the asphalt conference Baker's opinion of the agent wasn't
printable, and now he looked him over with unmistakable disapproval.
That Ladd hadn't appealed to him or notified him of the trouble seemed
to him most suspicious.
"Well, there isn't going to be any scrap between the settlers and the
Indians. I'll see to that."
Knowing that he could not move without orders, he had telegraphed to
head-quarters.
"Mr. Ladd, your Indians are off the Reservation. I've instructions to
put them back."
Ladd saw that he could expect no favors from the officer.
"Correct, Captain," he answered, meeting the challenge.
"And I call upon you to see to it that they go back, _all of them_."
"I'll do that fast enough."
Wah-na-gi could stand the strain no longer. She had crouched within the
door of the cabin trying to follow the course of events which were to
decide her fate: hearing something, missing much, trying to fill in the
gaps, scanning the faces to read there the answer that meant so much to
her, every nerve and muscle tense, her heart pounding like an engine
carrying too heavy a load. She seemed to be suffocating in the house,
and she walked out and faced them. Every eye was turned upon her. She
saw the troopers cleared for action, bronzed, clean-cut figures, with no
frills or gold braid, their service khaki covered with alkali dust,
weather stained, sitting potential on their smoking horses, so much
bigger than the Indian ponies or the cowboys' mustangs, waiting for the
word of this quiet young man who eyed her sternly. What was all this
fuss about? Nothing but an Indian woman! nothing but an Indian woman!
That was what she seemed to feel.
Realizing that the Army would cast the deciding vote, the Indians had
broken their formation, and the cowboys had come in from the cover of
the outbuildings and their hastily constructed intrenchments and were
standing about in groups awaiting developments. There was Appah's
hawk-like face, the agent's penetrating stare! Big Bill and McShay! So
many cruel, hostile eyes! The air seemed filled with poisoned arrows.
She slipped without design between McCloud and Hal, like a hunted animal
seeking shelter. Hal felt her fear, her craving for love and shelter,
and put his hand on her arm.
The agent advanced toward the officer and pointed at her.
"Calthorpe, here, has kidnapped an Indian woman, and holds her by force
against me, the agent, and against her relatives and friends."
Appah cut his pony with a quirt and pushed to the front.
"My squaw--my woman!" he said, pointing too.
So that was it. All this fuss and fury over a woman, an Indian woman at
that. The captain was beginning to feel distinctly annoyed. He and his
men in a forced march in the broiling sun and the choking dust! A
squaw! However, as he took another good look at the Indian Helen,
perhaps there were mitigating circumstances--she was pretty; she was
damn pretty.
"Your woman?" he said without looking at Appah, and deciding on the spot
that she was entirely too good for that copper-colored malefactor.
"Are you Appah's squaw?" he asked Wah-na-gi, but in a kinder tone than
he intended and which he felt was unmistakably unofficial. He was a
young man and rather careful of his dignity.
"No," she replied with decision.
"Whether she is or is not," said Ladd sharply; "she's the Government's
ward--my ward. I'm responsible for her, and I demand her."
The force of this was unanswerable. The captain paused for a moment.
Then he addressed Hal, whom he liked.
"I don't see, Calthorpe, on what theory you take and detain this woman,
unless," and he paused again, "unless you claim that she is _your_
wife."
It was Hal's turn to feel that the air was filled with poisoned arrows.
Every eye was upon him. Every one waited. It was _his_ turn to speak.
There was a clergyman standing beside him who in a half-dozen words
could make them man and wife. It was perfectly true he had taken her
from the care of the representative of the Government for _what_? The
pause was interminable. The silence was maddening. Why didn't some one
say something? His position was grotesque, impossible, cowardly. If he
shrank from becoming a squaw-man, why didn't he leave the Indian woman
to her own life and her own people? He felt as if an armor-piercing
shell had burst in his brain, leaving his mind in ruins. He couldn't
speak. He hadn't two consecutive words to put together. McCloud, the
only one present who knew the truth, had been so conscious of the boy's
predicament and so deeply grieved with and for him that he, too, shrank
back into silence. The pause was obvious therefore before the clergyman
crossed to the officer and began to speak.
"Thank God some one was talking," was Hal's thought, though he did not
hear what McCloud was saying.
"Captain Baker," said the clergyman, "it is common report that certain
interests are trying to get the asphalt lands belonging to the Indians
and that Appah is betraying his people for a price. Wah-na-gi is that
price. As you know, I have lived on the Agency, and I know of my own
knowledge that this woman has been persecuted by this man with the
connivance of the agent, and her honor and perhaps her life threatened.
In order to protect her I have made an application to the Secretary of
the Interior to adopt her as my ward."
"With her consent?" asked the officer.
"Oh, yes, yes," cried Wah-na-gi.
"Where are the woman's parents?
"Dead," she replied.
"Any near relations?"
"None."
"Captain Baker!" cried the agent, seeing the drift of this; "you haven't
any discretionary powers in this case. _I_ am the Indian agent and I
call on you in the interests of peace to restore this woman to the
Agency, to my care."
The captain paused a moment, shrugged his shoulders, and then said with
obvious reluctance: "That is absolutely correct, gentlemen. I have no
discretion in this matter. If the agent insists, she must go back to
the Agency."
Well, that was finished. There was to be no fight and no reviewing of
that ultimatum. Every one except those immediately concerned drew a
sigh of relief, and Baker walked back to give some instructions to his
orderly.
What was that? His quick ear detected something.
"What is it, Sergeant?" he asked of his non-commissioned officer whose
gaze was fixed intently on the road by which they had come.
"Someone from the fort, sir, as I make out."
"She must go back to the Agency."
That was the final word.
So that was the end. The agent had said it. There was the Army to
enforce it, and back of these troops the might of millions.
The Indian agent was an autocrat, a combination of king, judge,
administrator, chief of police, doctor, engineer; in fact, it was a
position requiring powers almost unlimited and corresponding
responsibilities, and this impossible combination of inconceivable
virtues was supposed to be tempted into the service of the Government by
a salary of one thousand five hundred dollars a year or less. That
these unique powers sometimes fell into incompetent or unworthy hands
was inevitable, that the consequences were sometimes tragic, likewise
inevitable.
"She must go back to the Agency."
Hal heard it in a numb way. Wah-na-gi heard it. Hal had a wild mad
impulse to kill Ladd where he stood, and his fingers sought the handle
of his gun, to feel the restraining touch of John McCloud.
"Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and incline not to thine own
understanding," whispered the calm voice of faith in his ear.
"Come on," said Ladd; "we must be moving."
The troopers made way for the new arrival who spurred his tired horse to
the side of the young commander.
"Despatches from department head-quarters, sir," he said, touching his
hat. "They arrived at the post just after you left."
Few people had been privileged to see Baker hurry. He was a deliberate
body. He took his time now. In fact, he took so much time that Ladd,
who was nervous and irritable, finally recalled him to the situation by
saying:
"We have a long, hard ride, Captain; whenever you're ready."
"Yes--y-e-s," and Baker drew out the little word until it threatened to
break. "I haven't forgotten. Thank you for reminding me."
Then he read the papers all over again. By this time the air seemed to
become electrical again, and the little group into which the spectators
had divided were hypnotized by the soldier's preoccupation. The
attention became concentric. Talking stopped. Everybody waited on the
captain.
Finally he said with great deliberation:
"Mr. Ladd, you will probably find similar instructions on your return to
the Agency. These are orders from General Ruggles, Department Commander
at Denver, directing me to relieve you of your office, pending an
investigation, and ordering me to assume your duties until further
notice."
Ladd was a man of quick and violent temper, and his hand instinctively
felt for his gun.
The husky cavalryman looked him in the eye and said very slowly:
"If you pull a gun on the uniform I wear, you'll go back to Washington
as damaged goods. You'd better hit the trail," and he turned away.
"I'm not afraid to go to Washington," said the agent, white with anger,
"and I'm not afraid of an investigation," and he walked deliberately
over to Calthorpe and said: "I owe this to you, Calthorpe."
"I told you," was the affable reply, "that I'd camp on your trail until
I had your official head."
"I owe a lot to you, and I've got a damned good memory." And the agent
turned on his heel and disappeared.
McCloud was the first to recover from his surprise and turn the
situation to account.
"So you are acting agent, Captain Baker. Then you _have_ discretionary
powers _now_. This young woman is like my own daughter. I'm sure the
Government will eventually let me adopt her. Will you trust her to me?"
"Dr. McCloud," said the soldier, a bit embarrassed by the strange
situation, "we all know you. Everybody round here knows you. I guess
I'll take a chance on you."
This disposition of the bone of contention seemed to the captain like a
special providence, and he was immensely relieved.
"My squaw--my woman!"
Everybody had forgotten Appah.
"You get out of here. Savey? Go on! Get your people home."
Appah looked at the young officer for a moment. The Indian respects our
soldiers. The men who fought the Indians have as a rule been just to
them, have kept their promises to them when they could, and the Indian
fears our soldiers and also trusts them.
"Go on or I'll have you in the guard-house."
Appah turned his horse's head and rode away, but ugly and surly.
Baker was in the saddle and his men were already on the move when he
turned and said to the clergyman:
"When people get to scrappin' over a young and pretty woman, I guess
it's about time for Bobby Baker to pass up the job of chaperon. You got
your work cut out for you, Doctor, and by the holy smoke I'll hold you
accountable."
"Thank you, Captain; thank you. I'll try to be worthy of your
confidence," and Baker rode after his men.
McShay's eyes were twinkling as he gazed after the boys in khaki.
"Parson," he said, "the Lord and the little old picayune U.S.A. is a
fine workin' combination, ain't it?"
And the Irishman went out to round up his desperadoes, almost consoled
for missing the fight by the sight of his adopted country's flag and her
fighting men. Perhaps it's an inherited impulse, but even the man of
peace stirs to the sound of the bugle, the beat of the drum, and the
brave glitter of a fluttering flag.
McCloud turned to see the troopers round up the Indians like a bunch of
cattle and start them back to the Agency.
"Wah-na-gi," he said without turning, "after to-day I think you can look
on that flag as your flag. For once at least it has stood for protection
instead of oppression to the Indian. You will learn to love it too,
some day."
As she did not reply he turned to see her in Hal's arms, held close in a
fierce embrace, the young man murmuring incoherently: "You are safe, and
you are mine--mine--mine!"
They were alone, these three. McCloud regarded the two young people for
a moment with sympathy, then he advanced to the side of Hal, touched him
on the elbow, and said:
"This is yours."
It was the cable from the London physician about his father's illness.
"Oh, yes," Hal said in a dazed way; "I had forgotten."
"You can't forget; you can't avoid; you can't postpone. You must
choose, and you must choose now."
It was hard not to be allowed a moment in which to enjoy the fierce
ecstasy of triumph, of possession. Hal's life went out of him. He sank
down on the rough bench and buried his face in his hands.
McCloud continued: "I have assumed certain obligations to this child
which I consider sacred. I know that I have no power over her, no
influence with her, except what you may choose to give me. I leave you
together to decide this for yourselves, and I pray that you may deny
yourselves the present and trust God for the future," and he went within
to lie down to rest, for the strain and the excitement had been a great
drain on his small store of energy.
They were alone together, their fate in their own hands. Wah-na-gi came
over to him and put her hand on his bowed head with a caress.
"It shall be as you wish."
"No, my girl, it cannot be as I wish. It cannot be."
The acquired powers of review, of analysis, of restraint were forever
battling within him with the impulses of the savage. He didn't
understand it himself, this tumult, this confusion, this irresolution.
"I'm all wrong somehow," he cried bitterly. "McCloud is right. I'm not
fit to be trusted with a love like yours. I'd soil it or crush and
destroy it. I want you; I want you like a madman. I hate McCloud
because he stands between us. I can't wait and toil and suffer. I
don't know how, and yet I know I must."
"Whatever you decide will be right."
"It's that makes it impossible. You trust me."
"Of course," she said with a smile.
"You don't know that I'm a coward or a fool or both. I must live up to
your belief in me, and I can't. I haven't the will to go back, to leave
everything I want and go back to everything I loathe. McCloud says
happiness is worth fighting for, worth waiting for, but I want to take
it. How do I know if I let it slip from my grasp now that I'll ever see
it again? How do I know that if I do go now I'll ever see _you_ again?
Oh, Wah-na-gi, worse than all, I haven't had the courage to destroy your
belief in me."
"You couldn't do that."
"You have known for a long time that I loved you. You have wondered, of
course you have wondered, why I never asked you to be my wife. You saw
me stand here like a helpless imbecile when I ought to have stood out
and said proudly: 'She is mine. Touch her if you dare. She is my wife.'
And I couldn't, I couldn't, because I am married. My wife is living in
England."
Wah-na-gi drew a long breath. Then she sat down on a bench beside him.
"It's always like that," she said with the fatalism of her race.
"Happiness goes out like one's breath on a frosty night."
She dropped into the figure of speech of her people.
"There sleeps Nat-u-ritch," she thought. "She, too, loved a white man,
and there she lies dreaming. Did God make the Indian woman too? I
wonder why?"
She always thought of him as a white man.
"The white woman is waiting for you."
"No, she cares for me less even than I care for her. If I go back it
will be to be free."
McCloud appeared at the door of the cabin. He had tried to rest but he
carried with him the sense of the conflict which he had left behind. He
must know the result. Was it victory or defeat?
"Well, Hal, my son," he said gently; "which is it? Do you stay or do you
go?"
Hal rose to his feet, pressed his hands to his head and then there was a
long silence. Big Bill appeared at the entrance to the stable.
"Well, Boss," he said, awaiting instructions.
"My horse ready, Bill?"
Hal referred to the fresh horse he had ordered to be ready for the
fight.
"As you ordered, sir."
"I'll catch the Overland Limited at Carbon. Send my things after me."
"Yes, sir," and Bill disappeared into the stable.
"You are going," said Wah-na-gi in a scarce audible whisper. "Where?"
"Back to London. Back home--no, not home. This is home to me."
Wah-na-gi crept to McCloud like a timid child.
"Must he go?"
"Yes, I think so."