Excited and alarmed by the news brought by Ni-ha-be and Rita, Many Bears
had forgotten to scold them; but when the story of their morning's
adventure was related to Mother Dolores, that plump and dignified person
felt bound to make up for the chief's neglect.
She scolded them in the longest and harshest words of the Apache
language, and then in Mexican-Spanish, until she was out of breath.
Finally Ni-ha-be exclaimed:
"I don't care, Mother Dolores; I hit one of them in the arm with an
arrow. It went right through. Rita missed, but she isn't an Apache."
"Two young squaws!" said Dolores, scornfully. "Where would you have been
now, and Red Wolf, too, if it wasn't for that old pale-face and his boy?
What are your talking leaves good for? Why didn't they tell you to stay
in camp?"
"I didn't ask them. Besides, that isn't what they're good for."
"Not good for much, anyhow. I don't believe they can even cure the pain
in my bones."
Poor Dolores had never heard the story of the squaw who had a tract
given her by a missionary, and who tied it on her sore foot, but her
ideas of some of the uses of printing were not much more correct.
"No," said Rita, "I don't believe they're good for that."
"Anyhow," said Ni-ha-be, "the whole camp is getting ready to move. Come,
Rita, let's you and me ride on ahead."
"No, you won't, neither of you. You'll stay by me, now. If the great
chief wants you again, I must have you where I can find you."
The girls looked at one another, but there was nothing to be gained by
rebellion.
"Ni-ha-be," said Rita, "we can keep close together. They won't go fast,
and we can look at the leaves all the way."
On an ordinary march a good many of the squaws would have had to go on
foot and carry their pappooses, and perhaps heavy loads besides, but the
orders of Many Bears prevented that this time. The poorest brave in camp
had a pony provided for his wife and children, and as many more as were
needed for his baggage, for the chief was in a hurry, and there was to
be no straggling. His orders were to push on as fast as possible, until
a safe place to encamp in should be found, or, rather, one that could be
more easily defended than the exposed level they were leaving.
The idea of coming danger was spreading even among the squaws, and they
were in as great a hurry as Many Bears. They did not know exactly what
to be afraid of, but they were thoroughly alarmed for the swarm of
little copper-colored children they had in charge.
[Illustration: "THERE WAS ONE LITTLE PATIENT-LOOKING MULE WHICH HAD MORE
THAN HIS SHARE."]
Some ponies had more to carry, and some had less, but there was one poor
little long-eared, patient-looking mule which had more than his share.
A very fat and dreadfully ugly squaw rode astride with a pappoose on her
back, his round head popping out behind his mother's ragged locks. A
twelve-year-old boy had climbed up in front, and his younger brother and
sister clung on behind, so that the little mule was turned into a sort
of four-footed omnibus.
It seemed, too, as if there were more wretched-looking dogs following
after this forlorn mule than attended the ponies of any chief's family
in the whole band.
"Look, Rita," said Ni-ha-be. "Look at old Too-many-Toes and her mule."
This squaw had a name of her own as well as the others, but it had not
been given her for her beauty.
"Isn't she homely?" said Rita. "I wonder where the rest of her children
are."
"I guess she's divided them around among her relations. There's enough
of them to load another mule. Her husband'll never be rich enough to buy
ponies. He's lazy."
"He doesn't beat her."
"He's too lazy for that. And he's afraid of her. I don't believe he's an
Apache. Think of a brave afraid of his own squaw!"
There was something very bad in that, according to all Indian notions,
but Rita only said,
"What would that mule do if she wanted him to run?"
Just then the shrill voice of Mother Dolores behind them shouted,
"I'm coming. They wanted to make me help pack."
The pride of the best cook in the band was seriously offended. She knew
her dignity better, and she meant to assert it.
Silent and submissive as are all Indian women in the presence of braves
or of white men, they make up for it all in the liberty they give their
tongues among themselves. They can talk wonderfully fast, and say as
many sharp things as may be necessary.
"Now, Rita, see if you can make the leaves tell you anything about
Knotted Cord."
"He isn't in them. Nor Send Warning either."
"Look. They must be there."
Neither Steve Harrison nor Murray were to be found in the three
magazines; Rita felt sure of that, but she turned the pages carefully,
as they rode on side by side.
She came to something else, however, in the back of one of them which
almost drove from her mind the face and form of Send Warning; Ni-ha-be
also forgot the brown hair and handsome face of Knotted Cord.
"Oh, so many squaws!"
"All of them so tall, too. I wonder if pale-face squaws ever grow as
tall as that? Look at the things on their heads."
"See!" exclaimed Rita. "All clothes! No squaws in them."
"Great chief. Ever so many squaws. Lose part of them. Keep their
blankets."
Rita could not quite explain the matter, but she knew better than that.
The series of pictures which so excited and puzzled the two Indian
maidens was simply what the publishers of the magazine advertised as "A
Fashion Supplement."
There was enough there to have, I think, puzzled anybody.
Gradually they began to understand it a little, and their wonder grew
accordingly.
"Are they not ugly?" said Ni-ha-be. "Think of being compelled to wear
such things. I suppose if they won't put them on they get beaten. Ugh!
All black things."
"No. Only black in the pictures. Many colors. It says so: 'red,'
'yellow'--all colors."
That was better, and Ni-ha-be could pity the poor white squaws a little
less. Rita allowed her to take that magazine into her own keeping, but
they ride mile after mile, and all she found in it worth studying was
that wonderful array of dresses, with and without occupants. She had
never dreamed of such things before, and her bright young face grew
almost troubled in its expression.
Oh, how she did long just then for a look at a real pale-face woman,
gotten up and ornamented like one of those pictured on the pages before
her! She was learning a great deal more, indeed, than she had any idea
of.
But to Rita had come a revelation, for the faces and the dresses had
joined themselves in her mind with ever so many things that came
floating up from her memory--things she had forgotten for so long a time
that they would never have come back to her at all but for something
like this.
Just now, while Ni-ha-be had the fashion plates, Rita was busy with the
illustrations of "gold-mining," which had so awakened the interest of
Many Bears. Not that she knew or cared anything about mines or ores or
miners, but that some of those pictures also seemed to her to have a
familiar look.
"Did I ever see anything like that?" she murmured. "The great chief says
he did. It is not a lie. Maybe it will come back to me some day. I don't
care for any more pictures now. I'll try and read some words."
That was harder work, but strange, new thoughts were beginning to come
to Rita.
"You have not spoken to me," said Dolores at last. "Do the leaves talk
all the while?"
"Look at these," said Ni-ha-be. "They are better than the one you cut
out. There's only one squaw in that and a pappoose. Here are ever so
many. And look at the funny little children. How those things must hurt
them! The pale-faces are cruel to their families."
Dolores looked earnestly enough at the fashion plates. With all her
ignorance, she had seen enough in her day to understand more of them
than the girls could. Once, long ago, when the band of Many Bears had
been near one of the frontier "military posts," where United States
troops were encamped, she had seen the beautiful "white squaws" of the
officers, in their wonderful dresses and ornaments, and she knew that
some of these were much like them. She could even help Ni-ha-be to
understand.
Rita had been silent a very long time. All the while the train had
travelled nearly five miles. Now she suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, Ni-ha-be!
Dolores!" And when they turned to look at her, her face was perfectly
radiant with triumph and pleasure.
"What is it? Have you found either of them?"
"I can do it. I have done it."
"What have you done?"
"It is a story talk. Big lie about it all, such as the Apache braves
tell at the camp-fire when they are too lazy to hunt. I have read it
all."
"Is it a good talk?"
"Let me tell it. I can say it all in Apache words."
That was not the easiest thing in the world to do. It would have been
impossible if the short story which Rita had found had not been of the
simplest kind. It was only about hunters following chamois in the Alps
and tumbling into snow-drifts, and being found and helped by great,
wise, benevolent St. Bernard dogs.
There were mountains in sight of the girls now that helped make it real,
and among them were big-horn antelopes as wild as the chamois and with
very much the same habits. There were snow-drifts up there, too, for
they could see the white peaks glisten in the sinking sun. It was all
better than the talk of the braves around the camp-fires, and, besides,
there were the pictures of the dogs and of the chamois.
Neither Ni-ha-be nor Dolores uttered a word until Rita had rapidly
translated that "story talk" from beginning to end.
"Oh, Rita, are there any more talks like that?"
"Maybe. I don't know. Most of them are very long. Big words, too. More
than I can hear."
"Let me see it."
The pictures of the great shaggy dogs and of the chamois were easy
enough to understand. Ni-ha-be knew that she could see a real "big horn"
at a greater distance than Rita. But how was it that not one word came
to her of all the "story talk" Rita had translated from those little
black "signs"? Ni-ha-be grew more and more jealous of her adopted
sister.
Rita's prizes promised to be a source of a good deal of annoyance to her
as well as pleasure and profit. On that day, however, they made the
afternoon's ride across the rolling plain seem very short indeed.
Only a few warriors were to be seen when the order to halt was given,
but they had picked out a capital place for a camp--a thick grove of
trees on the bank of a deep, swift river. There were many scattered
rocks on one side of the grove, and it was just the spot Many Bears had
wanted to find. It was what army officers would call "a very strong
position and easily defended."
[TO BE CONTINUED.]