THE ARRIVAL OF BLUE WOLF
During the busy week that followed, Blanche Shirly showed small
enthusiasm for the joyous outdoor life in which the Equitable Eight
reveled. She moped about the cottage, stolidly refusing to join the gay
bathing parties that usually heralded the beginning of the long
pleasure-filled days. She accompanied the Equitable Eight and Miss
Drexal on the several excursions into the woods, but exerted little
effort to gain the honors she still lacked to make her a Wood Gatherer.
It had not taken her companions long to realize that, for some unknown
reason, Blanche was sulking. Not daring to exhibit her open dislike
toward Ruth, she entered the seven others in her black books and treated
them all with a lofty indifference bordering on disdain.
It may be set down to their credit that they good-naturedly ignored her
sullenness, and tried so far as they could to interest her in their
daily round of fun. As Sarah had confidentially remarked to Jane, “We
expected Blanche would act like this, and now you see we haven’t been
disappointed.”
Ruth alone knew the true cause of Blanche’s moroseness. On the afternoon
following their talk, the latter had coldly informed her that the
promised letter had been written and delivered to the postman of the
Rural Free Delivery Route, who brought the mail each morning. Since then
little conversation had passed between them. Finding her friendly
overtures coolly rebuffed, Ruth was careful to treat Blanche exactly as
though nothing had happened, when in the presence of the others. Aside
from that, she prudently let her alone. She did not wish her companions
to discover that she was the real object of Blanche’s animosity. She was
afraid it might lead to pointed questions. Refusal to answer them would
be quite as embarrassing as to do so. She was earnestly trying to
protect Blanche from the displeasure of her own friends, whom she felt
would instinctively resent any churlish treatment of herself on
Blanche’s part.
Naturally straightforward, even kindly pretense came hard for Ruth.
There were times when she heartily wished she had not made the unlucky
discovery. Again she was glad of it. She was convinced, however, that
she had done right in keeping it a secret. Nevertheless the strain irked
her. It took its toll of her usual zest for enjoyment. More than once,
she reflected resentfully that it was hardly fair in Blanche not to meet
her halfway. The end of the week saw the breach between the two steadily
widening through no fault of Ruth’s. Saturday morning’s mail had brought
Blanche a scathing letter from an indignant young man, who accused her
of the double crime of not knowing her own mind and spoiling his summer.
She had anticipated some such reply and it made her very angry. She
promptly retaliated with an equally scathing letter to him, in which she
expressed herself as thankful to have found out his true character in
time and hoped she would never see him again. All of which proved
conclusively that Blanche was merely a very foolish young girl. In
consequence, she was particularly thorny all day, and so far forgot
caution as to fling several ill-natured remarks directly at Ruth, whom
she could not forgive for having “pried into her affairs.”
“What ails Blanche Shirly, anyway?” asked Jane Pellew disgustedly of
Betty and Anne as the three girls met in their room, preparatory to
going downstairs to dinner. “Did you hear her snap at Ruth when we were
out on the veranda this afternoon? After all the trouble Ruth has taken
for her, too!”
“Yes, I noticed it.” Betty frowned. “Ruth didn’t seem to mind, though.
Blanche has hardly treated any of us civilly, of late. I suppose she
doesn’t care much for our way of doing things. She certainly doesn’t
seem interested in Camp Fire work.”
“Then why did she come up here?” demanded Jane tartly. “She makes me
tired. She might better have gone with her mother to the sanatorium.
She’s a regular wet-blanket.”
“Give her time, Janie,” smiled Anne, unconsciously repeating Ruth’s own
words. “You can’t expect her to see things as we do all in a minute.
We’ve just got to keep on pretending we don’t notice her glum looks.
It’s—well—it’s a kind of experiment. If it turns out well in the end,
think how glad we’ll all be! Sooner or later, something will happen to
make Blanche wake up.”
“That’s what Ruth says, too, but I don’t agree with either of you,”
retorted Jane. “It’s awfully aggravating when one person in a jolly
crowd like ours isn’t with us in our fun. If Blanche keeps on sulking as
she has, I’ll tell her what I think of her. See if I don’t!”
“You mustn’t.” Betty shook a positive head. “Ruth wouldn’t like it. Do
as Anne says and pay no attention to Blanche’s moods. You know how she’s
always acted at Hillside. She and Jeanette Hayes are chums, yet they
were on bad terms half the time last year.”
“Thank goodness we’ve been spared Jeanette, at least,” grumbled Jane.
“There!” she continued, with a final pat to her fluffy brown locks. “I’m
ready for dinner. I’m going down to the veranda. See you later.”
Running lightly down the stairs, Jane passed out to the veranda.
“Where’s everybody?” was her question as she spied Frances comfortably
ensconced in the big porch swing.
“Why ask for ‘everybody’ when I am here?” counter-questioned Frances
blandly.
Jane elevated her nose, then giggled. Advancing upon the swing with
intent to seat herself beside Frances, her eyes lighted upon a strange
figure just leaving the road and about to cross the lawn.
“Oh!” she ejaculated in a half-frightened tone, and turning, fled into
the house.
Frances’ first inclination was to do likewise. Then she laughed.
Slipping from the swing, she walked sedately forward to greet the
newcomer, who had now reached the steps. Having been brought up on a
ranch, she was quite accustomed to the sight of Indians. She immediately
recognized the caller as an unusually fine specimen. At least six feet
tall, with dark, piercing eyes and high cheek bones, his long black hair
hanging in two braids over his shoulders, he looked every inch a
warrior. Unlike the majority of Indians she had seen, his attire
differed from theirs in that he still clung to the fringed deerskin
leggings. These, together with his long black braids and a rifle slung
across one shoulder, gave him the picturesqueness of the red man of
earlier days.
“How do you do?” greeted Frances affably. “I am sure you must be Blue
Wolf!”
“How do,” grunted the caller, surveying Frances stolidly. “Me Blue
Wolf.”
“Come up on the veranda and sit down,” she invited. “Miss Drexal has
been expecting you. Excuse me while I find her. She will be so pleased
to see you.”
“Thank!” commented Blue Wolf unemotionally. Though he accepted the
invitation onto the veranda, he remained standing, the picture of
stoical indifference.
Stifling the chuckle that bubbled to her lips, Frances disappeared into
the house in search of Miss Drexal. She bumped squarely against her in
the hall, for Jane had already fled to the living room with the dire
news that a “regular Indian war chief was coming straight for the
house!”
“It’s Blue Wolf!” gasped Frances.
“I thought as much.” Miss Drexal smilingly stepped to the door and onto
the veranda. “Why, how do you do, Blue Wolf?”
The Guardian’s voice had a friendly note as she offered her hand to her
caller.
A swift gleam of pleasure shot into the Indian’s piercing eyes. “How
do,” he returned. Setting his rifle carefully against the porch rail, he
gravely shook hands. “You well?”
“Very well, indeed, thank you. I have been looking for you since Friday.
You are just in time for dinner.”
Blue Wolf’s stern features relaxed into the shadow of a grin at this
hospitable news.
“Hungry,” he admitted. “Come far. From Vermillon Lake. Next week, you
ready, go there? Know good place camp. Find man in Tower who rent tents.
After dinner we talk about?”
“We surely will. Now come into the kitchen, and Martha will take care of
you. It’s very nice to see you again. Have you been hunting? I see you
have your rifle.”
“Hunt little; no much get. Too much game law.”
“I see.” Miss Drexal led the way into the house, her strange guest
stalking in her wake. Turning him over to Martha, who had furnished him
with many a meal, the registrar returned to the living room where an
excited bevy of girls awaited her. Ruth and Emmy were not among them.
Detailed as first aids to Martha, they had already been presented to the
famous old guide by Miss Drexal, and were at that very moment engaged in
viewing him slyly at close range. So far as he was concerned, they might
as well not have been in the kitchen. After gingerly shaking hands with
them, he had taken a stiff stand at one end of the kitchen and
vouchsafed them not so much as a glance from his sharp black eyes.
“He gave me an awful fright,” confessed Jane, during a brief lull in the
eager questions the girls had hurled at their hostess. “Isn’t he really
a bit fierce or savage?”
“Not a bit,” laughed Miss Drexal. “He is a splendid man and not at all
like the average Indian of to-day. As I have already told you, his
grandfather was a great Cheyenne chief, and Blue Wolf can tell you all
the most interesting traditions of the Cheyennes. Just now, he is out of
his element. Wait until he gets used to the idea of you girls; then he
will talk to you and become quite friendly in his proud, silent way. He
is a dependable guide, too. After dinner I will ask him to come into the
living room. I don’t imagine he will stay long to-night. I shall have to
find out what arrangements he has made for us. Perhaps we shall be able
to start on our trip within a day or two.”
This information elicited a chorus of gleeful cries. Even Jane had so
far forgotten her recent fright as to inquire eagerly: “How shall we act
when we’re introduced to Blue Wolf? Do we shake hands or just bow, or
what?”
“You may offer him your hand,” replied Miss Drexal, “but don’t any of
you dare to giggle. If you do, you will offend him. Be strictly on your
dignity with him at first. He will like that.”
The appearance of Emmy in the doorway announcing dinner brought to an
end the discussion of the proper way to receive Blue Wolf.
“Someone ought to warn Blanche not to behave like a refrigerator when
she meets him,” Sarah whispered wickedly to Frances as the party trooped
into the dining room.
“Where is she? In the kitchen with Ruth?”
“Not she,” murmured Sarah. “She hasn’t helped with a single meal since
she came. She’s upstairs sulking, I suppose, about goodness knows what.”
Frances answered with a discreet pressure of Sarah’s arm. Her roving
eyes had glimpsed Blanche descending the last step of the stairway. The
forbidding expression of the latter’s face quite bore out Sarah’s
theory. Seated beside Miss Drexal at the table, she received the news of
the arrival of the guide with marked indifference. Her sole disgruntled
comment was, “I have always heard that Indians are thieves and not to be
trusted.”
“Then Blue Wolf is the great exception,” laughed Ruth. “He looks too
proud and splendid for that. Emmy and I were taking sly peeps at him all
the time we were in the kitchen. He never noticed us, though.”
“Really, I am surprised.” Blanche lifted satiric eye-brows. “I am sure I
hope you won’t be disappointed in him.”
“No danger of that.” Ruth forced herself to ignore the spitefulness of
the speech, replying to it as pleasantly as though Blanche had paid her
a compliment. “Is there, Miss Drexal?” she appealed smilingly to her
hostess.
An almost imperceptible shade of displeasure crossed Miss Drexal’s fine
face. Blanche’s frequent stabs at Ruth during the past few days had not
been lost on her. “None whatever,” she assured with a placidity that
nevertheless contained a hint of the authoritative. “Blanche’s statement
that Indians have a reputation for thieving is quite correct, however.
Almost anyone living up here will tell you that. But, as Ruth says, Blue
Wolf is indeed the ‘great exception.’”
Finding herself politely worsted, Blanche relapsed into moody silence.
Nor did anyone at the table attempt to draw her into the merry talk,
which her sarcastic fling at Ruth had halted for a moment. Dinner over,
she rose with the others, but did not go with them into the living room
to meet the quaint guest. Instead, she made a bee-line for the stairs.
Called to the kitchen by Martha, Miss Drexal was unaware of this fact
until, a little later, Blue Wolf in tow, she entered the living room. In
the midst of introducing him to those of her flock who had yet to make
his acquaintance, she discovered that Blanche was missing.
“Where is Blanche?” she inquired.
“I saw her go upstairs.” It was Marian who answered. “Shall I—”
“I’ll go and get her.” Ruth darted from the room and up the stairs. All
in an instant she had decided that she had something to say to Blanche.
Arriving at her door which stood slightly ajar, she knocked. “Who is
there?” challenged a pettish voice.
For answer, Ruth swung open the door and boldly entered. “I came to tell
you that Miss Drexal would like you to join us in the living room,” she
announced. “She wants you to meet Blue Wolf.”
“I don’t want to meet a silly, old Indian!” Blanche sprang to her feet,
slamming the book she had evidently been reading on the table. “Why
can’t you let me alone, Ruth Garnier?” she demanded crossly. “I simply
won’t stand your tagging me around! Haven’t you spied on me enough?”
For once Ruth’s sorely tried patience slipped its leash. “You have no
right to accuse me of any such thing!” she cried out heatedly. “Since
you have, just let me tell you this, Blanche, you are acting very
foolishly! You’ve been perfectly hateful to me ever since we had that
talk. I’ve tried to pass it off, simply to keep the girls from guessing
at anything that might make them ask questions I couldn’t answer. I’m
sorry you can’t understand that I want to be your friend. I know you
believe that I’m only pretending. I’m not, but as long as you _will_
think that, I can’t make you see it differently. It hurts me, naturally,
to have you say rude things to me, but it hurts you a good deal more in
the eyes of the others. For your own sake, I wish you’d stop it!”
Her color high, Ruth wheeled and marched from the room. Halfway down
stairs, she recalled that she had volunteered to escort belligerent
Blanche to the living room. She paused, then went bravely back. “I think
you had better come down now,” she said coolly, halting in the doorway.
Blanche eyed her for a second, then to Ruth’s intense surprise replied
almost civilly, “All right.” Unbeknown to Ruth, she had made an
astounding discovery. Ruth Garnier actually had a temper! As she
followed the other girl’s fleeing footsteps down the stairs, she felt a
certain grudging respect for her that had hitherto been quite absent in
her estimation of Ruth’s character. And though neither of them could
possibly know it, it was the first milestone along the road to Blanche’s
better self.