_KIT'S HOME FOLKS_
Kit's greeting to her quiet, undemonstrative father was as effusive as
he would allow it to be. She threw both arms about him with a cry of
joy but all he said was: "You're home! That's good!" His tall,
stooped figure was that of a hard working man, an outdoor man. His
face bore criss-cross wrinkles stamped by the winds and heat of the
mountain.
It was from him that Kit had inherited her deep-set brown eyes, her
tall, slight body. Father and daughter were very much alike in looks
but her mother had given her a disposition of joyousness that her
silent father admired but utterly lacked.
Kit knew her father's way. She saw the happiness in his eyes and knew
that he had missed her, perhaps even more than her sociable mother had
done. Ma Patten could make friends with everybody who came near, and
in that way she had worked off a lot of her loneliness at her
daughter's absence. But Dad Patten confided in no one, not even Ma
knew what was in his heart.
After the greeting was over the old man turned to the professor and
continued his conversation without another glance at Kit. One could
see that the professor and the mountaineer were already friends. Not
many words had passed between them by way of introduction but the
vigorous handshake assured the city man that he was welcome, and only
when they began to talk of Indians and their ways did Dad Patten speak.
The two men were in the middle of a discussion when Kit arrived home.
After a few minutes she disappeared and the next thing the professor
saw was Kit trying to embrace a stout old squaw. But the two years
separation from Indian Mary had made Kit a stranger to her, at least
one would judge so by the graven image attitude she put on.
Kit grabbed her by the shoulder. "Now look here, Mary, don't put on
any airs with me. Didn't you pretty nearly bring me up? Why, I'm
almost like your own child. Tell me, don't you love me almost as much
as you do Young Mary?"
The Indian woman shook her head for no, but Kit laughed. "I don't
believe you! You always liked me better than Young Mary.--Where is
she? I brought her something from New York."
"Where? What?" asked Old Mary.
"I want to give it to Young Mary myself. It's so pretty that if you
saw it first you'd never let Mary have it. Where is she?"
"Way off visiting at the reservation. Pretty soon she come home. Lots
of Indians come soon."
"I'm so disappointed," exclaimed Kit. "Here, I brought something for
you, too." And Kit held out a large package.
The old Indian woman unwrapped the large bundle and disclosed a dress.
Kit had chosen it with the idea of pleasing her old nurse, who, above
everything else, delighted in bright clothes. A pleasing mixture of
reds and yellows; modernistic, they called it in New York, but in
Arizona it was just plain "Injun Caste."
The old woman gave grunts of satisfaction as she patted the bright
cloth, then scurried away to show her treasure to her husband, Indian
Joe. He hurried out and shook hands with Kit and beamed on her when
Old Mary displayed her gown. The Indian was more up-to-date than his
wife. He had been to school when young and knew the ways of the white
people.
Kit extended a package to Indian Joe.
"Ah!" breathed Mary excitedly when Joe undid the string and she saw a
pair of comfortable felt slippers. "He like much," she said with a nod
of her head.
But when they saw a stranger watching them from the window they became
embarrassed and wanted to hide away until Kit told them that Professor
Gillette was a great friend of the Indians and would want to meet them
and get acquainted.
Old Mary shook her head with disapproval. It took her a long time to
make up with strangers. But Joe was different. When Kit told him that
the professor was going to pitch a tent in the canyon and live there
for the summer, he nodded and said: "Me fix him up. Joe knows where."
And Kit knew by that that Indian Joe and the stranger would be friends.
The professor had studied his Indians well. He waited patiently for
the proper chance to introduce himself. It came the first evening.
Joe and Old Mary always built a little bonfire back of their shack and
sat around it, as they had done in previous days when outdoor cooking
was their custom. In fact they had never outgrown the habit of
preparing a meal over the glowing coals.
But on this evening the fire was only to look at. And very quietly the
professor approached and squatted down beside them. He merely nodded
and then stared into the fire as Indian Joe was doing.
This continued for a long time, then the professor got up as quietly,
said goodnight and left.
After that Indian Joe and Old Mary were his devoted friends.
The professor returned to the house as pleased as if he had already
found the ancient ruins that he was seeking.
"I'm afraid you can't expect to get much help from the Indians,"
remarked Dad Patten. "There's a legend in these mountains to the
effect that Indians massacred a band of white men, and the daughter of
the old Indian chief cursed her own people. Within a year the tribe
had died out or wandered away. The village was deserted. Now the
daughter is supposed to appear at times when there is treachery going
on, a sort of warning to those who are doing wrong."
"That's a good idea," laughed Professor Gillette. "It has probably
kept many a man on the straight path."
"Maybe so, but I haven't ever noticed it. There is plenty of
crookedness goes on in the canyon. And no one, Indian or white man, is
safe from the ghost."
"Ah, that's interesting!" exclaimed the professor rubbing his hands
together in his excitement.
"The Mexicans believe it to a man," broke in Kit. "They will hardly
come into the canyon at night, especially if they have anything on
their conscience. Some white men are afraid of that ghost. Maybe you
believe in ghosts yourself, Professor Gillette?"
"No, I'm afraid not. But that ghost does complicate matters. The
Indians will not want to give me any information and I had planned to
save time by winning their confidence."
"Don't worry," replied Dad Patten. "Make friends with them and sooner
or later they'll let it slip out without meaning to. That is if they
know anything about a lost village. And truly, Professor, we always
thought that was just a lot of silly talk about there being an ancient
Indian town near here. I've never seen it and I've never seen anyone
else who has. So I doubt it."
"We'll see." The professor's eyes were aglow once more at the prospect
of finding the ruins and winning glory for himself. "If there is one
here, we'll find it, if it takes all summer. And now I'm very tired
and I'd like to go to bed," he added as simply as a child.
Ma Patten was in her glory. Here was another person for her to mother.
And she fluttered around the old man as if he were indeed a child.
Long before daylight the next morning, Professor Gillette was awake and
he waited impatiently for the first sign of life in the house. It
would never do, he thought, to disturb the family on his first morning
in their house.
But he did not have to wait long. Dad Patten was an early riser and at
the first sound the professor was ready to go out in the yard. Here he
found Indian Joe already busy, going doggedly about his work, never in
a hurry, never flustered but accomplishing a surprising lot of jobs
during his long day.
He had brought in Kit's horse, a beautiful, dark, slender animal that
pawed the ground and whinneyed impatiently.
Kit slipped from the house with a cry of joy. "Oh, Powder, you dear,
dear old thing! I love you! And you'll never know how much I missed
you!"
There was a sparkle in Joe's eye as he hastily put on the saddle while
Kit ran into the house for her riding knickers. The professor watched
admiringly as she swung into the saddle. Then he stood paralyzed with
fear as the horse stood straight up on his hind legs, then with a
sudden spring he reversed his position with his hind legs in the air.
Kit had half expected this performance and had put on spurs which she
dug into his sides. Not for a second did she leave the saddle. She
finally turned the horse's head toward the road and with a prod of the
spurs sent the animal down it at a speed that made the professor gasp
in fright. Every moment he expected to see the girl thrown against the
jagged rocks at the side of the narrow thoroughfare. But Kit held the
reins. Soon she was out of sight and the old man went in search of Dad
Patten.
"Kit's horse is running away with her," he exclaimed, his hand
trembling.
But Dad Patten and Indian Joe merely smiled. "It had to come," said
the girl's father. "Whenever Kit leaves that horse, even for a week,
she has to go through this. Powder wants to be boss and tries to win,
but Kit is always master."
"She knows what she's doing," Ma Patten reassured the old man when he
excitedly pointed out Kit far over the mesa, struggling with her pony
who was once more bucking. "Kit has been riding a horse ever since she
was a baby."
Kit returned half an hour later, her cheeks glowing, her eyes dancing
with excitement. And when the professor voiced his fears to her, she
replied: "You know I don't believe that horse would throw me. I think
he goes just as far as he knows I can handle him. He's brainy, that
pony! No one knows how I've missed him."
The professor looked at her with the same admiring glance as Jim
Hawkins, the riding master on Campers' Trail, had done. His eyes were
not seeing the fancy riding in quite such a professional manner as Jim,
but nevertheless he gloried in the poise and daring of this slight bit
of a girl. Things were very different when he was a boy. Then girls
clung like plants and were sheltered.
The professor had never seen such riding and he stood staring over the
mesa as Kit once more gave her horse the spurs.
In spite of her parents' confidence, he could not believe that Kit had
the horse under control for the animal raced madly, then suddenly
without any warning, stopped short and tried by every method known to a
horse, to throw off his burden. He reared, he bucked, he "sun-fished"
but all to no avail. The girl stuck to her saddle.
"Won't somebody help her?" the professor prayed desperately. "She will
be killed!"