was wearing her hair in a braid and her dresses to her shoe-tops. That
summer, for the first time in her life, she had not gone barefoot. She
had also taken to riding a side-saddle with a red plush seat. When her
mother, therefore, suggested that the trip would be a hard one, that the
post was a rough place, and that, since the colonel's family had gone
to a new fort in Wyoming, there was no house on the reservation at which
she could stay overnight, the eldest brother pooh-poohed and declared
that the little girl was no baby and that very good accommodations could
be secured at a hotel near the barracks.
They started immediately after dinner, taking two dogs along, and
crossed the Vermillion to the West Fork. There the cattle were brought
to a stand and a camping-place was selected. They were still so near the
farm that the eldest brother, anxious to know how matters were at home,
induced the little girl to return to the farm-house for the night. She
did so, and joined him before sunrise next morning.
There was a worried look on her face as she came galloping up, and the
eldest brother, fearful that the youngest was worse, demanded the news.
"Everything's just as it was when we left," said the little girl, "only
mother's awfully scared about my going, because the Swede told her last
night, when he heard that I was gone, that the hotel at the post is an
awful place, full of gamblers and thieves. Two or three men that had
money have disappeared there, and never been seen since. The Swede says
he thinks the proprietor isn't any better than he should be."
"Oh, that Swede's a regular croaker," replied the eldest brother.
"'Fraid as death of his own shadow. I can take care of you and myself
and the money to boot. Needn't to fret while I've got my pistols handy."
"Well, mother says," added the little girl, "that she hopes nothing
happens to the money, because it'll finish putting us in as good shape
as we were before the fire. She doesn't think anybody'd hurt us,
exactly."
Nothing more was said about the hotel after that, and the little girl
soon forgot her disquiet in the pleasures of the trip. She had made it
but two or three times since the return from her christening, and had
always gone so fast in the light wagon or the buckboard that she had no
time to enjoy the changing scenery. Now they were not keeping to the
main road, and she saw landmarks and farms that were new to her as they
traveled from the West Fork to the "Jim," and on to the Missouri.
That night the eldest brother pitched camp on a hillock not far from the
herd and well out of way of the mosquitos. To make the little girl's
safety certain, he put her blankets at the center of a square that was
roped in by lariats, the stakes being black willows cut from a clump on
the river bank. She lay down with the dogs beside her, but, unused to
the strangeness of her bed, slept little. The eldest brother stayed
with the herd, so she passed the long hours before midnight looking up
at the stars and thinking.
She could hear the yelping of some coyotes that were cautiously
reconnoitering from a neighboring bluff. When they came near, the dogs
sprang up and challenged them, and soon their cries died away as they
slunk down a deep coulee. The dogs quieting again, she caught the sound
of faint movements and calls in the grass. An owl hooted, and it was so
like the signal-cry of some prowling Blackfeet who had visited the farm
one night that she was startled and sat up. A bird chirped and a rabbit
hopped by. Down among the cattle a steer coughed, or grunted as it got
awkwardly to its feet. And there was an occasional click of horn against
horn as an animal moved its head. At last all the sounds blended and
faded, and she fell asleep, lulled by the song that the eldest brother
was singing to the herd.
At three o'clock the following afternoon, though they had gone at a
grazing pace since sun-up, they arrived in sight of the post and halted
a mile away from the nearest dugout. The little girl and the dogs
remained with the cattle while the eldest brother cantered in to report
his arrival. When he returned, a young lieutenant came with him to
inspect the drove; and by six o'clock the beeves had been declared
satisfactory and were in a stockade pen behind the barracks. Then the
eldest brother, his belt heavy with good government coin, rode with the
little girl toward the hotel, a rough, one-story building flanked on
either side by a gambling-house.
They ate their supper in the small, unpapered parlor which adjoined the
bar, for the eldest brother had looked into the dining-room and found it
as thick with smoke and men as the saloon. When the meal, which was
served by an Indian woman, was over, the little girl remained quietly in
her chair while the eldest brother went out to sell the pack-pony. He
returned late, delighted over making a fine bargain with a Canadian
fur-trader, to find her waiting patiently but tremblingly for him.
"Oh, they've been making such a terrible noise in the saloon," she told
him, as she sprang up to let him in. "I locked the door because I was
scared. I could hear swearing and quarreling, and poker chips rattling
around."
He did not answer until he had carefully hidden the price of the pony in
his belt. Then he put his revolvers on the table and drew a chair close
to hers.
"I just met Eagle Eye," he whispered, "an' he says that what the Swede
told ma is true. This hotel's a tough place, and the man that runs it
's got a bad name. It's full of gamblers now, too, because the troopers
have just been paid. I don't like to think of bunkin' here to-night one
bit. Pretty nearly every man knows I've got a lot of money on me. But
what c'n we do?"
The little girl knit her brows. "We might stay right in this room," she
whispered at last. "You could bring in the blankets and I'd watch while
you slept a little while; and then you could watch till morning."
"Oh, I guess it ain't so bad as all that."
"Or we could ride toward home and camp. I'm not tired, and I'd rather
ride than stay here, especially alone in a room."
"Well, now, I don't intend to let you stay alone in a room," declared
the eldest brother. "But there's no use of our tryin' to start home
to-night. We couldn't get off without somebody knowin' about it, and I
don't want any cutthroat Indians after me. If we had fresh horses it'd
be a different thing. We'd lead 'em a run for the farm. But the ponies
are tired. We'll start home in the mornin', and I'll get this wad into a
safe at the station before night." He tapped his belt.
A knock brought him to his feet. On opening the door, the hotel man
stood before him. "I suppose you folks want a brace of rooms," he said,
taking in the revolvers with a swift glance of his little, deep-set
eyes. "I can give you two that have a door between. Only ones I've got
left. Had to put Pinky Jackson into the barn to clear one of 'em. And
he's a reg'lar boarder, too." He looked the little girl up and down so
searchingly that she shrank behind the eldest brother.
The eldest brother took up his revolvers. "One room'll do us," he said.
"We'll jus' camp like we did on the prairie last night. Sister's a
little bit nervous; couldn't think of puttin' her off by herself. Give
us a room with a shake-down, and I'll roll up in some blankets on the
floor."
The hotel man slapped the eldest brother on the back. "You're the right
kind of a brother," he cried heartily; "like to see it. We men kind o'
forget, living out in these wilds, how scarey and tender girls are. Come
along, I've got the very room for you." He picked up the lamp, crossed
the crowded saloon, between card-tables full of men, and led the way
down a long passage. The eldest brother and the little girl followed
close at his heels, scarcely giving a glance to the gaping crowd in the
bar.
The room into which they were shown was at the very end of the passage
and in the rear part of the house. It was uncarpeted, and its ceiling
was so low that the eldest brother could reach up and touch it with the
flat of his hand. A wide, rough bedstead occupied one side; against the
opposite wall stood a cot of the kind used in military camps. A chair
with a rawhide bottom completed the furniture. The door from the passage
was the only one leading into the room. There were no windows at all,
but at one end a casing had been boarded up. The eldest brother, after a
quick survey, remarked the lack of light.
"Well, you see," explained the hotel man, "this room originally looked
out on the yard. But when I built on a lean-to, the window was closed.
Won't make any difference to you, will it? Heard you were going to leave
early."
"Oh, no," said the eldest brother. He took the lamp and set it on the
floor. When the hotel man had given a last sharp look around, he went
out and closed the door.
Without losing a moment, the little girl, who was wearied with her long
day's ride, put some matches within easy reach and flung herself down in
her clothes on the cot. But the eldest brother, after rolling the
bedstead against the door, examined the window to make sure that it was
nailed fast, and gently tapped the walls to see that no spot gave back
the hollow sound that would suggest a secret entrance. Satisfied that
all was safe, he unbuckled his belt, put it under the blankets at the
little girl's feet, and extinguished the light.
It was then past eleven, but the hotel was still awake and noisy. The
eldest brother concluded that it would be well to get a short nap at
once and remain awake throughout the hours when, the bar-room being
deserted, any attempt to molest him would be made. The little girl was
already breathing deeply. He threw himself across the bed, his pistols
beside him.
He did not know how long he had been asleep when he found himself wide
awake and conscious that some one was moving softly toward him. He
struggled to spring up, half convinced that he was having a nightmare,
but his body refused to obey. All at once, as he lay silently looking
upward, a man arose from beside the bed and leaned over him.
A dim light, which seemed to come from the rear, brought out the
menacing figure plainly. One arm was half raised as if to strike. It was
evident that the assassin was in doubt, since the headboard shaded the
bed, as to whether the eldest brother or the little girl was stretched
before him. The next instant he knew, for the eldest brother twisted in
agony at sight of the arm poised above him and uttered a groan.
Quick as a flash the figure swayed toward him and the arm descended. But
the eldest brother was quicker. He rolled sidewise, and at the same time
struck out with his right hand. There was the sound of a dull blow not
made by his fist, a scream from the little girl, and the thump of the
eldest brother's body as he struck the floor on the farther side of the
bed.
Intense stillness followed. The eldest brother, a revolver in either
hand, got cautiously to his knees and peered across to where his
assailant had stood. The dim light was gone now, however, and he could
make out nothing. He waited, holding his breath, to see if any one were
creeping upon him from under or around the bed. Hearing nothing but a
sob from the little girl, he at last arose to his feet, his eyes and his
weapons on the alert, and stepped back against the wall. Then he sidled
along until, having passed the boarded-up window and two corners, his
knees struck the cot.
"Don't be afraid," he said, squatting instantly to one side to dodge any
bullet or knife that might be guided by his voice. After another short
wait he added, "I think he's gone. Light the lamp."
While the match flickered in the little girl's hand, the eldest brother
again moved eyes and pistols in a half-circle. But as the lamp was
lifted and its light dispelled the darkness, he saw that they were
alone. To remove every doubt, he looked under the bed and the cot and
behind the headboard. When his search was completed he sat down on the
rawhide-bottomed chair, trembling, enraged, and mystified.
"Am I crazy?" he asked in a low voice. "I was sure there was a man in
here. But if there was, how'd he get out?"
"I heard some one," whispered the little girl. She was very pale, and
kept close beside him for protection.
The eldest brother thought a moment. Then he jumped up and strode over
to the bed. "Bring the lamp," he said.
Together they examined the covers. Only the top one had been turned
down. Now it lay as the eldest brother had tossed it when he rolled out
upon the floor. The other blankets were undisturbed. He ran his fingers
over them carefully.
Suddenly he uttered a cry and began to fold them back swiftly, finding
on each the trace he sought. When the mattress was at last laid bare, he
pointed to a narrow slit that did not penetrate to the under side.
"It was a knife," said the little girl, and the lamp almost fell from
her grasp.
The eldest brother nodded, dragged the bed away from the door, and flung
it wide. The passage was dark and still, apparently empty. "Hello!" he
shouted at the top of his lungs. "Hello, there!"
As the sound of his voice died away, a distant door creaked and the
hotel man came out in his underclothes, a candle in his hand. "What's
the matter?" he called crossly, coming toward them. "You'll wake the
whole house." He looked around, a trifle dismayed, the eldest brother
thought, to see other doors being opened and heads thrust out.
"That's just what I intend to do," cried the eldest brother. "I want to
let every man in the hotel know that you keep a murderer handy to stab
people in their sleep!"
The proprietor was now close. He brought up abruptly at the daring
accusation and glared at the eldest brother. "Don't you give me any such
talk as that," he said. His teeth came together with a snap, and he
reached instinctively to the place where, in the daytime, was the pocket
that held a ready pistol.
"Don't you dare deny it," answered the eldest brother. He brought a
revolver in line with the hotel man's eyes. "Do you see that?" he
queried. "Well, just be very careful, and come here. I want to show you
something." He motioned the other to precede him. Together they entered
the bedroom. A curious crowd followed and filled the apartment. "Now,"
went on the eldest brother, "look at that bed."
One by one they stepped forward, ran their fingers through the slits in
the covers, smiled grimly, and backed away to whisper among themselves.
The hotel man did like the rest, only his smile was pacifying, cringing.
When all had had their turn, the eldest brother faced the crowd. "I
heard last night," he said, "that more 'n one man has hired a room in
this hotel and never been seen again. So I shoved my bed against the
door, before I went to sleep, to make sure we'd be safe. That knife cut
shows how safe we was." He seized the proprietor roughly by the
shoulder. "There's a remedy for holes like this. Like as not, these
gentlemen know about it." There was a murmur of assent from the
listening crowd. "Now I'll give you jus' a minute to show the gentlemen
where that secret entrance is that I looked for last night. Then we'll
talk remedy."
He cocked a pistol, his fingers still on the hotel man's shoulder, and
held the eyes of the latter steadily. They stood thus for a moment, face
to face.
"I don't know anything about a secret entrance," growled the hotel man
at last, with an oath. "But if you'll take your hand off me and put down
that shooting-iron, I'll help you hunt it, if there is one."
The eldest brother did as he was asked, and the hotel man began to walk
about, looking above him, examining the walls, scrutinizing the floor.
Soon all the rest were similarly occupied, even the eldest brother
taking his eyes off his host to search the boards at his feet.
The opportunity for which the hotel man was waiting came. While the
attention of all was diverted, he moved around until he was opposite the
door, and then slipped through it with a defiant yell. Down the dark
passage he fled, and gained its farther end before the eldest brother,
with the crowd behind him, took up the chase. Shots were fired at
haphazard into the gloom. But when the hotel had been carefully
searched, no proprietor was to be found. His pursuers, certain that he
was hidden in some closet known only to himself, adjourned to the bar to
discuss ways and means.
The news of the trouble at the hotel spread like thistle-down in a high
wind. In half an hour the saloon was jammed with cattlemen, traders,
soldiers, gamblers, half-breeds, and Indians, all more or less under the
influence of the absent proprietor's liquor, which was flowing freely,
and all ready to hear what the eldest brother had to say.
He stood on the slippery counter to address them, his weapons still in
his hands. On one side was a solitary lamp that brought out dimly the
faces upturned to him; on the other sat the little girl, facing the mob
as it waited, sinister, determined, threatening, ready to act upon any
mad suggestion.
When the eldest brother had recounted his story, he stood in silence,
waiting for some one to speak. After a short pause there was a movement
in the rear of the room, and, with a jingle of spurs, there stepped
forward Eagle Eye, the scout.
He pulled off his slouch-hat and shook back his long hair as he leaped
to a place beside the eldest brother. Then he put his hands to his belt
and stood, arms akimbo. "There's been bad work here before," he said,
"and we've let it pass. But shall we let it pass this time?" There were
cries of "No, no," and curses on the head of the hotel man. Eagle Eye
went on. "It's a dark night: the moon is down, and the sun is slow
a-rising. We had better have a light to show us to our beds." There was
a hidden meaning in his voice that was read and answered with cheers by
the drunken mob.
"What say you, Langdon?" he continued, whirling round upon a man on
whose blue flannel shirt shone a star and whose belt gave back the glint
of nickel.
Langdon gave a laugh and shrugged his shoulders before draining the
flask in his hand.
"This is my friend," said Eagle Eye, extending one arm above the little
girl and resting it on the eldest brother's shoulder. "We will help him
drive the fox from the haystack."
Another cheer greeted him. He jumped to the floor, and the eldest
brother followed, lifting the little girl down beside him. The crowd,
eager for the vengeful finale, rushed out of the bar to the street.
Eagle Eye hung back to whisper in the eldest brother's ear. "It's a good
time for you to get out," he said. "I'll help you saddle the ponies." He
knelt to unfasten his spurs and put them on the other's boots.
The eldest brother felt of his belt, grasped the little girl's hand, and
hurried out of a side door with the half-breed. A soldier had carried
away the lamp to use it as a brand, and no one saw them leave the
darkened room. Once in the stable, the work of getting the horses ready
took but a few moments. Then the eldest brother and the little girl
mounted and rode at a walk toward the barracks, with Eagle Eye on foot
beside them and the dogs trotting after.
When they were so far that their horses' hoof-beats could not be heard
by the crowd, they gave the half-breed a silent, grateful shake of the
hand and galloped rapidly toward home. Not until the post was a mile
behind did they halt at the top of a ridge to look back.
Volleys of shots and shouting were borne to their ears by the early
morning breeze, for the crowd was celebrating the progress of a swiftly
mounting blaze. Soon the eldest brother and the little girl could see
the men running excitedly about, and caught the smell of kindling
lumber. In a few moments the post sprang into sight as the hotel became
a mass of flame.
The mob as it moved about the rim of the burning pile, looked like
wooden men pulled by wires. There were fewer shots now and little
shouting. The conflagration seemed to glut the horde. The eldest brother
and the little girl dared pause no longer, but cantered on. When they
looked around for the last time, the fire had died down, and its thin
smoke was carrying up a myriad sparks, to die out in the dome of the
slowly brightening sky.
XVII
ANOTHER MOUND ON THE BLUFF
COTTONWOOD leaves from the wind-break, splashed with red from the wounds
of the frost, tarried at the window-panes to tap gently, or went
hurrying past the farm-house with the north wind that was whining
dolorously under the wet gables, to find their way through the branches
of the ash-trees in front. The crows strutted across the stubbled wheat,
spouting to one another over their finds. The dead pea-vines in the
vegetable garden screwed about till they loosened their roots, and then
scampered up the furrowed potato-field as the guardian of their gathered
fruit flounced his empty sleeves and ample coat-tails at them. A family
of robins that had dallied too long in the north whirred over the
corn-field, where the shocks were standing in long, regular lines, and
called down a last crisp good-by to the russet, plume-topped tents of
autumn's invading army.
But all the bleakness without, that November morning, could not equal
the bitterness within, though the iron tea-kettle was singing cheerily
enough over the hot coal fire in the sitting-room stove, and the
collies, to show their lazy appreciation of cozy quarters, were thumping
their tails contentedly against the rag carpet. For, with the eldest and
the youngest brothers elk-hunting beyond Fort Mandan, and the biggest
miles away at Yankton with a load of hogs, the little girl, half dazed
with anxiety, was watching, alone save for the neighbor woman, beside
the canopied bed.
Her mother's illness had come with alarming suddenness. The afternoon
before she had been apparently as well as usual, and when the little
girl went into her room for the night, was humming to herself as she
chopped up turnips for the cows. But the neighbor woman, arriving later
in quest of a start of yeast, found her lying still and speechless in
the entry, where she had been stricken at her work. Brandy had revived
her, and she had begun to recover her strength. Yet it was plain to the
neighbor woman and the little girl, no matter how much the sufferer
strove to make light of her fainting, that help was needed.
Throughout the forenoon the little girl begged hard for permission to go
to the station for the new doctor. Her mother, seeing through the
windows how sunless and blustery it was outside, entreated her to wait
until the next day, when the biggest brother would be home. But the
neighbor woman, who dreaded a second attack, at last joined her
arguments to the little girl's, dwelling upon the uncertainty of the
brother's return; and shortly after dinner the mother consented.
"If there were only some one else to send," she whispered as the little
girl bent over her for a parting embrace. "It is cold and stormy."
"It's getting colder every minute," was the answer. "If I go at all, I
must go now. I'll take the sorrel and ride fast. And I'll be back before
you know it." She kissed her mother tenderly and hastened from the
house.
When she led her horse out of the barn and mounted at a nail-keg near
the tool-house, she saw that her start had been delayed too long and
that she was threatened with a drenching. The air was rapidly growing
more chill, and northward the sky was streaked in long, slanting lines
with a downfall that was advancing toward the farm. She gave no thought
to deferring her trip, however, but sprang into the saddle, and instead
of taking the road leading through the corn-shocks, started across the
fields toward the carnelian bluff.
To her dismay, her short cut resulted only in a loss of time. When she
passed through the cottonwoods to the barley-field beyond, the ground,
still soaked from the recent rain, became so soft that the sorrel sank
to his knees at every step. He began to plunge excitedly, and she guided
him to the left, away from the timothy meadow, to a firmer foothold on
the edge of the corn-field. It brought her out upon the prairie at the
western base of the hill.
As she crossed the southern slope, setting her horse into a run with her
whip, she chanced to glance up toward the summit, and her eyes met an
unfamiliar object. The next moment, despite her solicitude for her
mother, the oncoming storm and the long road ahead, she reined him in so
abruptly that he sat back upon his haunches, and then urged him up the
incline to where, in place of the usual pile of stones, was a low, dark
mound of earth with a pipestone cross at its head.
Halted beside the mound, her curiosity changed to sudden awe; for,
leaning from her horse, she read aloud a word that imparted painful
knowledge carefully kept from her for almost fourteen years,--a word
that was chiseled deep into the polished face of the cross:
FATHER