CROSS PURPOSES
OLIVE was not so unconscious of the Indian boy's attitude toward her as
Jack believed. Indeed she could not well be. And now as the three of
them drove together to the station she was pondering on whether or not
she should confide her experience to Jack. But Jack was not sympathetic
toward Carlos, for with her intense and forceful nature it was hard for
her to understand the boy's idleness and dreaming. Therefore to tell her
what had recently occurred would doubtless make her prejudice the
deeper. For she was almost sure to regard the boy's behavior as
impertinence and to wish to send him at once away from the ranch.
Yet though Olive herself was annoyed, she did not wish matters to go so
far as that. For she had a peculiar appreciation and pity for the Indian
boy's difficulties which no one else could so readily have. Had she not
been raised among the Indian people and did she not comprehend their
shy, proud natures? For white people to realize that the Indian, even in
the midst of his overthrow and degradation, still considers himself
their superior is an almost impossible conception. Nevertheless Olive
knew this to be true. The white man's religion is to the Indian less
full of visions and of dreams. An educated Indian writes:
"When we plant our plumes where the shrines are, our first prayer is for
good thoughts--that our children may be wise and strong, and that the
God of the sky may be glad of us. I have listened to the mission talk
many days, and nothing in the words of the missionary is more white than
the thought which we plant with the prayer plumes on our shrines."
Neither does the Indian, though of course there are exceptions in his
race as in all other things, have the respect that we feel he should
have for the advantages of our education. What more does it teach him of
the woods and the fields, of the beauty and imagery of nature, of all
that he cares to know? Of a boy who had been to a government school an
Indian says:
"He comes back to his people and knows that if he lives there it must be
as his father lived--except that now he has more cultivated tastes to
satisfy, and no further means or methods of earning the price of them.
To plant the corn, herd the sheep, hunt the rabbits, take care of his
share of his own village--these are the life-work of the Indian. The
schools teach him to do that no better than his fathers did it before
him. He is taught to read and write, and he asks 'for what?'
"The cities of the mesa have no books, and have never felt the need of
them. Why should he read of the American life he lives apart from?"
Therefore Olive understood that though the boy Carlos might not be able
to express himself in this fashion, in his heart of hearts this was
exactly the way that he felt. Why should he study what Jim Colter and
the girls wished him to learn? Books and figures had no possible
interest for him or relation to the life which he meant to lead. His
world was the outdoor one, among the animals and birds, under the new
moons of each succeeding month, and lifting up his eyes and his heart to
the sun when he wished to be glad.
To work like the other men did about the ranch, digging under the earth
or plowing in the fields! This was not for the son and the grandson of
many chieftains! It was not merely laziness on Carlos' part that kept
him from making himself useful, but the feeling that any such labor as
he might be expected to do was beneath his dignity. Therefore the boy
could never really get into his mind the idea that the white people were
his masters, although in a vague way he knew that they felt themselves
to be. It was this thought that was always the foundation of Carlos'
sullenness and lack of gratitude.
So Olive realized that the Indian boy's letter to her, which she had
found at her door one day hidden among a bunch of prairie roses, had not
been written in any spirit of presumption or audacity. Had she not at
one time seemed to be an Indian like himself? Had she not lived among
them, eaten their food and spoken their speech? And was it not for her
sake that Carlos had left his own tribe and taken upon himself many of
the ways of the white man? The boy had cared for his "Princess Olilie"
always, but in years past he had been a boy and felt as one. Now he was
a man!
All this and more Carlos had put into his note. Olive remembered it at
the present moment almost word for word, for it had touched and hurt her
at the same time. Although Carlos was too young to mean all that he had
said, she knew that with his queer nature he must suffer from her reply.
For he had written:
MY LADY OF THE LONE TRAIL:
Are you not weary of the life and the ways of the
white women and men? Are you not tired of having
your soul shut up between four walls of wood with
no vision for your eyes by day and no night wind
to touch your cheek as you lay asleep? You and I
have grown older now; there is no one in any
Indian tribe to hurt us. Have I not stayed quietly
here waiting and watching for you, learning many
things which I have hated, that we might not fail
to understand each other? For my love for you is
as the Tu-wa-ni-ne-ma, the sand of the desert.
Therefore will you not come away with me back to
the wonderful, free outdoor world, where we lived
together for a little while when both of us were
children. Under a tree in a dim forest I shall
build for you such a nest as only a man shall
build for his mate. Then in the day time I shall
plant corn while you weave the beautiful Indian
blanket, which the Indian Laska taught you to
make. And in the night we shall listen to the
little night bird of the desert, the Hoetska. But
both day and night we shall be alone and away
from these people who do not understand me as you
do and who will never love you as I do.
Whenever you will come with me, I shall have two
horses waiting.
Olive stole a glimpse at Jacqueline's face. For a quarter of an hour
they had been sitting beside each other, and yet neither one of them had
uttered a word. But certainly she should not tell Jack of Carlos'
unhappy and impossible letter. For Jack might be amused, she might be
angry, and certainly she would be resentful.
No, Olive decided that she must keep the boy's secret inviolate. Some
day she would have a chance to see him alone. Then she might be able to
explain how far she herself had traveled from the old Indian days--how
she could never again love the things that the boy did, nor endure the
life which he wished to lead. Besides, Carlos was only a boy, while she
was almost a woman--at least a good many years his senior! Perhaps she
might even tell Carlos that it would be best for him to go away from
Rainbow Ranch, back to his own people where he could live with Indian
boys and girls of his own age. There was the Indian village not far off
to which she herself might return after a few years. For one of these
days the Indians were to have a teacher who _could_ understand their
point of view as well as that of the white people. Perhaps Carlos might
by that time be married to a girl of his own race and be able to help
her with her chosen work.
But she must not speak of this idea to Jacqueline either, for the
suggestion always made her friend unhappy. It was odd how utterly
devoted she and Jack were and how intimate; yet they did not often speak
of the deepest desires of their hearts to each other. Not once had Jack
voluntarily mentioned Frank Kent's name since their return from the
visit to Lord and Lady Kent the year before.
Was Jack in love with Frank? Olive could not make up her mind. Because
if she were, what was standing in the way of their engagement? Of course
Jack could never have dreamed of her foolish, impossible affection for
Frank, who had never been anything except her good friend. Olive was
quite certain that she had never by any sign betrayed herself. She
believed that she had entirely recovered from her former feeling, and
was hoping with all her heart that Jack and Frank would now find out
that they truly loved each other.
But what was making Jacqueline so unusually quiet? Olive's slender hand
slipped into her friend's larger and firmer one, and Jack's fingers
closed over it lovingly.
They were now almost at the depot and Frank Kent's train would be due in
another quarter of an hour. If only Jack would not look so pale and
reserved--she was not nearly so pretty as usual! Her face was white and
her eyes had dark shadows under them. Jean and Frieda had insisted that
Jack wear a new silk suit that had recently been made for her, but it
was not half so becoming as her old brown corduroys or faded khaki;
neither was her cream-colored straw hat with its single brown rose so
picturesque as the ranch hat in which Frank had first seen her.
Olive sighed, and the sigh attracted the other girl's attention.
"I have been a dreadfully stupid companion, Olive dear. Forgive me,"
Jack murmured penitently. And then: "How pretty you are looking! Frank
will be so glad to see you, I know!"
At this moment Carlos stopped the carriage and pair of horses before the
station platform, where both girls got out without time for further
speech. Yet all this while Jacqueline had been thinking: "If Olive still
cares for Frank after this year of absence I am sure that her feeling
will never change. So if this be true I shall tell Frank that I do not
care for him enough to marry him. Olive has had too unhappy a life for
me to add to her unhappiness. Surely when Frank believes that I do not
love him, he will find out what Olive means to him and how immeasurably
she is my superior, in beauty, brains, sweetness and everything that
counts. Then he will know that he has liked her best all along!"
Nevertheless and in spite of all her excellent reasoning as the whistle
blew announcing the approaching train, Jack caught her breath. She hoped
that Frank would not be angry with her for having refused to let him
come to Rainbow Ranch for almost a year. Could she dare to pretend that
she had forgotten the conversation which they had had in that last ride
together between the hawthorn hedges of an English lane?
When Frank Kent came down the steps of the train with his grave,
handsome face flushed with eagerness--and something else--it was Olive
Van Mater whom he found waiting for him alone on the platform. With all
his old delightful friendliness and charm of manner he greeted her,
dropping his luggage to hold both her hands close for a moment.
Yet Olive to save her life could not at once be equally friendly and
natural. For what in heaven's name had become of Jacqueline Ralston at
this critical moment? As the train drew in, she had been standing close
by her side. Here she was approaching them at last, holding out her hand
stiffly, with a frozen smile on her face.
"Awfully glad to see you, Frank; you are looking very fit after a trip
across the continent. Sorry not to be here when your train got in, but I
had to attend to something about the horses. Give me your check and let
me see after your trunk. Everybody at the ranch is well and tremendously
anxious to see you."
Frank smiled. Holding on to his trunk check he followed the girl a few
yards to the spot where his trunk had been thrown out. Olive waited
alone to watch his bags.
"Hope you will be more enthusiastic over seeing me yourself, dear, when
I have a chance to talk to you," Frank remarked in the quiet fashion
that always had its effect on the girl's ardent nature. "You are glad,
aren't you?"
And while Jack nodded, not entirely trusting herself to speak, Frank
laughed, saying: "Here comes a porter. I'll have him carry my stuff to
the carriage. It is like you, Miss America, to wish to start out by
taking care of me. But if I am an Englishman and too much accustomed to
being waited upon, at least I won't endure that!"