played with them as colts, and, with her light weight, mounted them long
before they were old enough to carry any one heavier, and yet were too
old to be sway-backed. She tried them first as they stood tied in their
stalls, crawling carefully upon them from the manger. Later, she rode
them at a walk up and down the reservation road.
She had learned the First Reader of the saddle on the St. Bernard's
wide, slipping back. The pinto had been the Second, and she had then
passed rapidly to the graduation class of frisky calves and lean,
darting shoats. Now, for two years, all the horses sold at the
reservation by the big brothers had been of her training, and the
troopers vowed that no gentler, better mounts had ever been in the
service. Her mother viewed the colt-breaking tremblingly, and the big
brothers declared that the little girl would be buried some day with a
broken neck. But the little girl said nothing, and continued her riding
fearlessly, knowing that love, even with horses, makes all things
easy,--except the breaking of the blue mare.
Thirteen hands stood the blue mare, sound, clean-limbed, and beautiful,
and the markings of her sharp front teeth showed that she was but four.
From velvet muzzle to sweeping tail, from mottled croup to fetlocks, she
shone in the sunlight like corn-silk. Her mane was black and waved to
her wide chest, and her heavy forelock hid an inwardly curving nose that
proved an Arab strain. And when, after many spirited bouts with the hay
bolster, the little girl finally won her over to a soft blanket and a
stirruped girth, she showed the endurance and strength of a mustang, the
speed of a racer, and the gait of a rocking-chair.
She was so tall that she could not be climbed upon, like a pony, from
the upper side of sloping ground or from the stone pile on the
carnelian bluff, and too skittish to allow a bare foot to be thrust
behind her sleek elbows as a step to her back, so the little girl
invented a new method of mounting. Her nose was coaxed to the ground by
the offer of a choice wisp of grass, and, as her neck was lowered, the
little girl carefully put one leg over her glossy crest and gave her a
slap to start her,--when the blue mare raised her head and the little
girl hedged along to her back, facing rearward. Then she slowly turned
about!
Herding on the blue mare's back became a pleasure, not a despised duty,
and long jaunts to the station, ten miles away, for mail or groceries,
were welcomed. The eldest brother, too, had ceased to scold the little
girl for the trade with Black Cloud or for the loss of the horse that
was stolen. For the blue mare was worth two of the other.
The subject hardly ever came up in the farm-house any more; when it did,
it only served to remind the little girl of a dread prophecy of the
Swede, that, in good time, the swarthy brave would pass that way again!
The little girl always grew white at the bare thought. And often the
dream of the leering face and the clutching hand would follow her by
day. If she entered the barn, cruel eyes watched her from out dim
corners; if she rode through the corn-field, now waist high, the leaves
rustled a mysterious warning to her. "Run--run!" they whispered, and the
little girl obeyed and sought the safety of the open prairie.
But there were hours of proud security, when, with the Swede boy as an
audience, or, better still, with the colonel's son, she put the blue
mare through her wonderful trick. This trick had been discovered
accidentally by the little girl. One morning, when she was breaking the
horse, she put one hand back playfully and pinched her on the croup to
see if she would buck,--and, instead, she promptly lay down! Afterward,
the same pinch brought her again to the ground, and the little girl
found that it needed barely a touch to make the mare perform. But
however delighted she was over her discovery, the little girl never
mounted the prostrate horse, for she was afraid that she might roll upon
her.
The days had passed, and it was now haying-time. But the mowers stood
idle beneath their sheds, and the work-horses grazed contentedly with
their heads to the south, for a rain was passing over the prairie.
Inside the farm-house, the little girl, standing against the blurred
panes, rebelled against the showers, and fretted for the blue mare and a
gallop; the biggest brother, buried deep in a book, thanked Providence;
while the eldest, remembering the uncovered cocks in the timothy meadow,
cursed the storm.
Toward evening, the third day of the downpour, however, the clouds
lifted. A new moon appeared, holding its chin up,--a promise of
sunshine,--and the little girl ran happily to the barn, slipped a lariat
into the blue mare's mouth, secured it with a thong under the jaw, and,
bareback, started toward the sloughs beyond the reservation road to
bring home the herd. When she was a mile away, the eldest brother
followed her, for he wanted to see if the grass around the farthest
slough would make good cutting. He rode the bald-faced pony, and across
his pommel was slung his musket.
The little girl did not see him. Content with the blue mare beneath her,
her mind busy, she rode on. And her voice, shrill, and broken by her
cantering, floated back to the eldest brother in snatches:
"Scotland's burning! Scotland's burning!
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
More water! More water!"
Then she disappeared over the ridge on her descent to the herd.
The eldest brother urged his horse a little to try to catch up with her.
But she was going faster now, too, and when he reached the top of the
ridge she was in the tall grass between him and the cattle, and he could
just see her bobbing sailor hat and the flying tail of the blue mare.
Her song ceased as she neared the herd, for twilight was coming down and
the meadow blades had taken up the same soft warnings that she had heard
in the corn. Above her, homing birds called to each other, and bullfrogs
croaked from the sloughs at her horse's feet. There flashed into her
mind the night-and-day horror of the Indian's face and hand, and she
began to whistle a little to rally heart as she rode beyond the cows to
turn a stray.
But suddenly the sound died on her lips. For up from the earth rose the
ugly, leering face, and out of the grass came the horrid, clutching
hand! With a choking cry, the little girl struck her horse, but the next
instant was flung down from her seat, and Black Cloud, rifle in hand,
swung himself to her place.
He dared not fire for fear of sounding an alarm, and he dared not wait
an instant to club with his gun-stock the little girl, lying stunned and
half-dead with fear. Without a backward look, he drove the blue mare out
of the meadow to the prairie and turned her toward the river.
But the eldest brother was scarcely a half-mile behind him. And, as the
strange form came into view, going like the wind through the gathering
gloom, he guessed what had happened. He whipped the bald-face wildly,
following the blue mare. And a race for the Vermillion began!
But it was an uneven one. In a few leaps the mare had lengthened the
distance between her and the bald-face. Discouraged, and anxious to know
what had become of the little girl, the eldest brother resolved to stop.
But as he did so, he raised his musket and sent a load of buckshot after
the fleeting brave.
The Indian, safe from pursuit, answered it with a derisive whoop, and,
turning his body around, still going swiftly, waved his rifle
triumphantly aloft in his right hand and, looking back, leaned for an
instant with the other on the blue mare's croup!
The horse obeyed the sign like a flash. As if the eldest brother's shot
had found her heart, she stopped dead still and threw herself upon the
ground,--and Black Cloud, his face for once almost white, lunged
forward, struck his head with crushing force against a boulder on the
river's edge, and lay as motionless as the rock itself!
* * * * *
EARLY that night, when the prairie lay still and sweet, and the new moon
was swimming westward from cloud-island to cloud-island, the gray
buffalo-wolves came up the Vermillion on their way to the sheep-pen of
the Swede, and waked the drowsing valley with their howling. But the
trembling ewes and their babies were not molested; for when the pack
reached the river bank near the farthest slough, they halted to quarrel
at a boulder--till the sun came up in the east again and glittered on a
string of glass wampum lying beside the rock.
XII
THE PROFESSOR'S "FIND"
A NIMBUS of mystery clung to the professor the first two days of his
stay. His arrival, late one afternoon, in the sewing-machine man's
buggy, was as unexplained as it was unexpected; and when he was shown to
the little girl's room, which she hospitably relinquished, he
volunteered neither his name nor his place of residence. The following
morning he left the house, carrying a small paper box and a black
hand-bag, and crossed the fields to the prairie, where he ran about, his
spare figure stooped, as if he were picking something, while his left
hand held an instrument that flashed in the sun. On his return at noon,
his box and bag were closed, and only a green stain on his fingers gave
any suggestion of what he had been doing. He spent the remainder of the
day quietly in his room.
The big brothers made various conjectures about him. The eldest declared
that he was searching for minerals; the biggest thought him a
government agent on a secret mission; while the youngest, to the terror
of the little girl, who had not recovered from her adventure of a month
before with Black Cloud, hinted at a dark purpose and openly asserted
that it was dangerous to have the professor in the house. But, since
their mother would not permit any questioning, their curiosity was not
satisfied nor their fears allayed until the professor, unasked, revealed
his identity.
Then it was ridiculously simple. He was a professor in the botanical
department of an Eastern university, and had come West to obtain floral
specimens. The paper box held his fresh finds; the bag, a telescope with
which to distinguish plants not easily accessible, and a microscope to
study those close at hand. In his trunk were heavy blank books filled
with dried leaves, pressed blossoms, and scientific notes.
When the little girl heard that he taught in one of those colleges,
remote and wonderful, of which she dreamed, her suspicions were
straightway transformed into reverence. She listened eagerly to his
every word, watched him, agape with interest, as he wrote at the
sitting-room table, and hung at his heels, happy and fascinated, when he
walked up and down, smoking a cigar, under the ash trees in the
twilight.
On the other hand, the big brothers respected him less than ever. To
them flower-hunting, as an occupation, seemed trivial and effeminate.
Flowers, though they were well enough in their proper places,--the front
garden or the grass,--were usually a nuisance that crept through the
crops and choked their growth, until descended upon and tediously jerked
up, one after another, by the roots. And a man who could give his entire
time not only to the collection of nosegays but to the gathering of
_weeds_, could not have the esteem of the big brothers. All three,
whenever they spoke of him, raised their shoulders contemptuously, after
the manner of "Frenchy."
It was not long, however, before their attitude changed. The professor
was so gentle and courteous, yet so firm and convincing, and so full of
knowledge concerning things about them of which they were entirely
ignorant, that they soon came to view him seriously. The eldest and the
youngest brothers even took turns at driving him on long trips in the
buckboard, and the biggest loaned him a pair of rubber boots so that he
could hunt in swamps and wet meadows for bristly buttercups and
crowfoot.
After she found out that he was a professor, the little girl always
accompanied him on his jaunts. Before that, the herd being in the care
of the Swede boy, she spent the days either in skilfully outlining on a
wide board, by means of a carpenter's pencil and an overturned milk-pan,
cart-wheels for the box of the little red wagon, or in playing
"Pilgrim's Progress," seated on an empty grain-sack which Bruno,
snarling with delight, dragged by his teeth along the reservation road
from the Slough of Despond to the gates of the Celestial City. She also
helped her mother prepare for the coming Fourth of July celebration at
the station.
But she gave up everything to go with the professor while he scoured the
prairie to the north, east, and south, and burdened herself willingly
with the lunch-bucket and his umbrella. From dawn till noon, for a whole
fortnight, she trotted beside him, straining her eyes to catch sight of
some plant he had not yet seen, and tearing here and there to pluck
posies for his bouquet. When, however, there remained to be searched
only a wide strip bordering the Vermillion, she remained at home.
The professor carried forward his work along the river enthusiastically,
planning to finish by the eve of the celebration, so that he could
accompany the family to the station on the morning of the Fourth, and
there take the afternoon local going east. He tramped up and down the
bluffs, finding many a rare shrub in high, sunny spots or low,
sheltered nooks, and returning to the farm-house only when he was laden
with spoil. But it was on his very last excursion that he discovered
something really remarkable.
He visited a point far up the valley, where the banks were precipitous
and came close together. At their base lay narrow reaches of sand
between which, even at its lowest, the river hurried; and when it was
swelled by heavy rains or melting snow, it rushed through boisterously
and spat high to right and left against the walls.
The western side, with its southern exposure, was the greener.
Box-elders belted its foot, growing at a sharp angle to the side. Above
the elders an aspen thrust out its slender trunk, and, still higher,
grass and weeds protruded. Where the cliff was of solid rock, trailing
wild-bean drooped across and softened it. But the professor, after
sweeping it carefully with his glass and finding no new specimens upon
it, resolved not to waste his time and labor, and turned his attention
opposite.
Though almost bare, for it faced the north, the eastern precipice still
was promising. No trees interrupted its rise, and the stones that,
midway, coincided with it were uncovered. Low down were scattered clumps
of wild black currant and clusters of coral-berry. But above the
stones, bending temptingly forward into plain view, was a cactus which
the professor had long sought.
He determined to scale the wall and secure the plant. Dropping the paper
box and the hand-bag, he toiled from the sand to a first narrow ledge,
from there to the currant bushes, and thence higher, by relying for a
foothold upon snake holes and crevices. Once having gained the flat
stones, the climb was over. He had only to put out his hand and gather
the cactus.
But its stalk remained unbroken. For his eye, traveling over the rock to
which he was clinging, made out a figure and some letters cut deep into
its red-gray surface. He looked at them with interest, then with mingled
pleasure and doubt, and lastly with wonder. And he trembled as, with one
hand, he finally drew a small blank-book from an inner coat pocket and
began to copy. He realized at once that, though it did not relate to
floral science, he had ended by making a most notable find.
Having finished, and put away his pencil and book, he studied the figure
and letters carefully for a few moments, and then descended slowly to
the sand. All thoughts of growing things had faded from his mind; in
their stead came crowding others that pictured possible fame. He sat
down to rest and think beside the box and the hand-bag, and stayed
there, bowed over, his spectacles in his hands, his eyes roving
thoughtfully, until the sun was so low that the little canyon was in
gloom.
At suppertime he announced his discovery to the big brothers and their
mother. They received the news with amazement. The week previous he had
declared that the plains were once covered by a vast ocean, and had
proved his assertion by showing them sea-shells at the top of the
carnelian bluff. So they expressed their intention of visiting the
cliffs, never doubting his second and almost incredible statement that,
long before the Indians came to inhabit the surrounding country, it had
been the home of a superior race of Latin origin.
The little girl was at the table and heard the professor's story; and
she showed some agitation as she listened with downcast eyes. She knew
more about the red-gray rock and its scribblings than she cared to tell
before the big brothers, for she had spent one whole happy afternoon in
the canyon with the colonel's son, watching him as he scrambled up the
south bank, with the agility and sure-footedness of a goat, and hung for
an hour in mid-air by one hand. So, while she ate her bread and
smear-case, she made up her mind to follow the professor after the meal
was over and unburden herself.
But no chance to see him alone was afforded her. He disappeared to pack
his trunk while she was doing the dishes, and did not emerge again
during the evening. She squatted under his window for a while in the
dark, hoping that he would look out, and gave up her watch only when she
heard him snoring. Then she, too, went to bed, where she lay turning and
twisting until after midnight. Dropping off, at last, she dreamed that
she and the colonel's son had been court-martialed by the professor and
were to be shot at the celebration.
Breakfast was eaten at three o'clock next morning, and at sun-up the
light wagon and the buckboard were ready for the drive to the station.
Every one had been so busy since rising that the professor's discovery
was not mentioned. In fact, the big brothers and their mother had
forgotten it; the little girl thought of it many times, however, and
hoped each moment that she could speak privately to the professor. And
he, as he took his seat in the buckboard, remembered it and smiled
contentedly, never suspecting that the youngest brother, riding beside
him, had secretly planned to file at once a claim on the quarter-section
that included the little canyon so that the red-gray rock should be
lawfully his.
Arrived at the station, all became occupied with the celebration. While
the big brothers took care of the horses, their mother and the little
girl changed their dresses at the hotel. The professor hunted up the
grand marshal, held a whispered conversation with him, and was assigned
a place in the procession. For the scientist purposed that the day
should be more than one of national commemoration to the townspeople: it
should be one of local rejoicing.
This was the first public holiday ever observed at the station, for it
was still very young. Two years before, when the railroad crept up to it
and passed it, it consisted of a lonely box-car standing in the center
of a broad, level tract flecked with anemones. The next week, thanks to
a sudden boom, the box-car gave place to a board depot, with other pine
structures springing up all about, and to long lines of white stakes
that marked the avenues, streets, and alleys of a future city. Now it
consisted of half a hundred houses and stores surrounded by as many
shanties and dugouts.
The streets were gay with color. Everywhere festoons of red, white, and
blue swung in the morning breeze, and flags flapped from improvised
poles. Horses with ribbons braided into their manes and tails dashed
about, carrying riders who were importantly arranging for the
procession, and who wore broad sashes of tricolored bunting.
The crowds added further to the brightness of the scene. Soldiers in
uniform, frontiersmen in red shirts and leather breeches, farmers and
men of the town, dressed in their best, and Indians in every imaginable
style of raiment, filled the saloons and shooting galleries, where they
kept the glasses clinking and the bells a-jangle. Women and children, in
light dresses and flower-trimmed hats, lined the scanty sidewalks and
the store porches, with a fringe of squaws and Indian babies seated in
the weeds beside the way or on the steps at their feet.
But at ten o'clock both men and women came into the open, for the
procession had formed across the track in the rear of the depot and was
advancing. Excitement was high. Crackers were popping on all sides,
horses were prancing wildly, frightened by the unusual clatter, and
people were laughing and shouting to one another as they craned to catch
a first glimpse of the oncoming cortege.
A silence fell suddenly as the grand marshal rounded the depot, leading
the way north to the grove where the exercises were to be held. Behind
and flanking him rode his aides, and in their rear walked the band, a
few in a prescribed dress of red caps, blue coats, and white trousers,
others lacking in one or more details of it, but jauntily wearing
substitutes in the shape of straw hats and store clothes. About them
trailed a gang of small boys, an inevitable though uninvited part of
every procession, and, after, rumbled heavy floats representing events
in the history of America,--General and Mrs. Washington at Mount Vernon,
Pocahontas rescuing Captain John Smith, Lincoln freeing the Slaves, and
Columbus greeting the Redmen. Following was a company of cavalry from
the reservation, with the colonel and his son at their head, and a band
of Indians, naked but for their breech-cloths, and in war-plumes and
paint, that whooped and brandished their bows and arrows as they bolted
from side to side.
But the crowning feature of the parade came next. It was a hay-rack
wound over every inch of its wide, open frame with the national colors,
drawn by four white horses, and bearing the Goddess of Liberty,
Columbia, Dakota, and a score of girls who represented the States and
Territories, and who wore filmy white frocks, red garlands on their
hair, blue girdles about their waists, and ribbons lettered in gilt
across their breasts.
To the family, as to many, the passing of the rack was a proud moment,
for the little girl rode upon it. Like her companions, she was hatless,
and she shone out from among them as she stood directly behind the
goddess, because her hair, a two years' growth--she was now nine and a
half years old--rippled luxuriantly about her face.
Her place in the rack had been assigned her as a special honor. It was
found, when the girls assembled to receive their garlands and colors,
that there were not enough of them to represent fully the map of the
United States. So the little girl, being the last to arrive, was given
three ribbons bearing the names of California, Texas, and Minnesota.
As the hay-wagon rolled by the family, the compliment paid the little
girl did not escape their eyes. The cattleman, too, observed it, and
proudly expressed himself to the biggest brother. "Say!" he whispered,
"don't she cover a lot o' terrytory!"
The little girl was aware of the attention she was attracting, and she
kept a graceful poise, looking neither to one side nor the other. Each
girl on the rack held something in her hands that suggested the wealth
of the particular State she symbolized. So the little girl wore, just
under her collar, the picture of a fat beef as an appropriate emblem of
Texas, while in one hand she carried a gilded stone to recall
California's riches, and, in the other, through the instigation of the
grand marshal, who had once been jailed at St. Paul, she held aloft a
wad of cotton batting to emphasize the annual snowfall of the rival
State to the east.
The end of the procession consisted of decorated buggies--in which sat
the orator of the day, a local poet, the school-teacher at the station,
the minister, the professor, and a dozen prominent citizens--and a
rabble of horribles and plug-uglies that rent the air with yells; as it
went by, it bore the admiring crowd in its train. When the grand stand
was reached, the people quickly filled the board benches which had been
put up for them, while the principals in the festivities settled
themselves picturesquely upon the platform.