THE HARVESTING.
Kitty had no time to ask further explanation. Already there was an ox
team driving up to the cabin and, scanning the prairies, she saw
others on the way, so merely stopped to cry, eagerly:
"They've come! The folks have come!" before she hastened in with the
butter and to see if she could in any way help Mercy dress for the
great occasion.
She was just in time, for the plump housewife was vainly struggling to
fasten the buttons of a new lilac calico gown which she had made:
"A teeny tiny mite too tight. I didn't know I was gettin' so fat, I
really didn't."
"Oh! it's all right, dear Mother Mercy. It looked just lovely that day
you tried it on. I'll help you. You're all trembling and warm. That's
the reason it bothers."
She was so deft and earnest in her efforts that Mercy submitted
without protest, and in this manner succeeded in "making herself fit
to be seen by folks" about the moment that they arrived to observe.
Then everything else was forgotten, amid the greetings and gayety
that followed. For out of what purported to be a task the whole
community was making a frolic.
While the men repaired to the golden fields to reap the grain the
women hurried to the smooth grassy place where the harvest-dinner was
to be enjoyed out-of-doors.
Most of the vehicles--which brought whole families, down to the babe
in long clothes--were drawn by oxen, though some of the pioneers owned
fine horses and had driven these, groomed with extraordinary care and
destined, later on, to be entered in the races which should conclude
the business and fun of the day.
Both horses and oxen were, for the present, led out to graze upon a
fine pasture and were supposed to be under the care, while there, of
the young people. These were, however, more deeply engaged in playing
games than in watching, and for once their stern parents ignored the
carelessness.
"Oh, such bright faces!" cried the Sun Maid to Mercy. "And yours is
the happiest of all, even though you did have such a terrible time to
get ready. See, they are fixing the tables out of the wagon boards,
and every woman has brought her own dishes. They're making fires, too,
some of the bigger boys. What for, Mother Mercy?"
"Oh! don't bother me now. It's to boil the coffee on, and to bake the
jonny-cakes. 'Journey-cakes,' they used to call them. Mis' Waldron,
she's mixin' some this minute. Step acrost to her table an' watch. A
girl a'most ten years old ought to learn all kinds of housekeepin'."
Kitty was nothing loath. It was, indeed, a treat to see with what
skill the comely settler of the wilderness mixed and tossed and patted
her jonny-cake, famous all through that countryside for lightness and
delicacy; and as she finished each batch of dough, and slapped it down
upon the board where it was to cook, she would hand it over to Kitty's
charge, with the injunction:
"Carry that to one of the fires, an' stand it up slantin', so 's to
give it a good chance to bake even. Watch 'em all, too; an' as soon as
they are a nice brown on one side, either call me to turn 'em to the
other, or else do it yourself. As Mercy Smith says, a girl can't begin
too early to housekeep."
"But this is out-door keep, isn't it?" laughed the Sun Maid, as, with
a board upon each arm, she bounded away to place the cakes as she had
been directed.
In ordinary, Mercy Smith was not a lavish woman; but on such a day as
this she threw thrift to the wind and, brought out the best she could
procure for the refreshment of her guests; and everybody knows how
much better food tastes when eaten out-of-doors than in regular
fashion beside a table. The dinner was a huge success; and even
Gaspar, whom Kitty's loving watchful eyes had noticed was more than
usually serious that day, so far relaxed his indignation as to partake
of the feast with the other visiting lads.
But, when it was over and the women were gathering up the dishes,
preparatory to cleansing them for their homeward journey, the child
came to where Mercy stood among a group of women, and asked:
"Shall I wash the dishes, Mother Mercy?"
"No, sissy, you needn't. We grown folks'll fix that. If you want
something to do, an' are tired of out-doors, you can set right down
yonder an' rock Mis' Waldron's baby to sleep. By and by, Abel's got a
job for you will suit you to a T!"
Kitty was by no means tired of out-doors, but a baby to attend was
even a greater rarity than a holiday; so she sat down beside the
cradle, which its mother had brought in her great wagon, and gently
swayed the little occupant into a quiet slumber. Then she began to
listen to the voices about her, and presently caught a sentence which
puzzled her.
"Fifty dollars is a pile of money. It's more 'n ary Indian ever was
worth. Let alone a sulky squaw."
"Yes it is. An' I need it. I need it dreadful," assented Mercy,
forgetful of the Sun Maid's presence in the room.
"Well, I, for one, should be afraid of her," observed another visitor,
clattering the knives she was wiping. "I wouldn't have a squaw livin'
so near my door, an' that's a fact."
Kitty now understood that these people were speaking of Wahneenah, and
listened intently.
"Oh! I ain't afraid of her. Not that. But I never did like her, nor
she me. She's sullen an' top-lofty. Why, you'd think I wasn't no
better than the dirt under her feet, to see her sometimes. She was
good to the childern, I'll 'low, afore me an' Abel took 'em in. But
that's four years ago, an' I've cared for 'em ever since. Sometimes I
think she's regular bewitched 'em, they dote on her so. If you believe
me, they'll listen to her leastest word sooner 'n a whole hour of my
talk!"
"I shouldn't be surprised," quietly commented one young matron, who
was jogging her own baby to sleep by tipping her chair violently back
and forth upon its four legs.
Continued Mercy:
"She wouldn't eat a meal of victuals with me if she was starvin'. Yet
I've treated her Christian. Only this mornin' I give her leave to fry
cakes for herself, an' even have some syrup, but she wouldn't touch to
do it. Yes; fifty dollars of good government money would be more to
me 'n she is, an' she'd be took care of, I hear, along with all the
rest is caught. It's time the country was rid of the Indians an' white
folks had a chance. There's all the while some massacrein' an'
fightin' goin' on somewhere."
"Oh! I guess the government just puts 'em under lock an' key, in a
guard-house, or some such place, till it gets enough to send away off
West somewheres. I'd get the fifty dollars, if I was you, and march
her off. She'll be puttin' notions into the youngsters' heads first
you see an' makin' trouble."
"I don't know just how to manage it. Abel, he's queer an' sot. He's
gettin' tired, though, of some things, himself."
"Manage it easy enough. Like fallin' off a log. My man could do you
that good turn. She could be took along in our wagon as far as the
Agency. Then, next time he comes by with his grist on his road to
mill, he could fetch you the money. I'd do it, sure. I only wish I had
an Indian to catch as handy as she is." Having given this advice,
Mercy's guest sat down.
There was a rush of small feet and the Sun Maid confronted them. Her
blue eyes blazed with indignation, her face was white, and her hair,
which the day's activity had loosed from its braid, streamed backward
as if every fibre quivered with life. With heaving breast and clenched
hands, she faced them all.
"Oh, how dare you! How dare you! You are talking of my Wahneenah; of
selling her, of selling her like a pig or a horse. Even you, Mrs.
Jordan, though she nursed your little one till it got well, and only
told you the truth: that if you'd look after it more and visit less it
wouldn't have the croup so often. You didn't like to hear her say it,
and you do not love her. But she is good, good, good! There is nobody
so good as she is. And no harm shall come to her. I tell you. I say
it. I, the Sun Maid, whom the Great Spirit sent to her out of the sky.
I will go and tell her at once. She shall run away. She shall not be
sold--never, never, never!"
The women remained dumfounded where she left them, watching her skim
the distance between cabin and wigwam, scarcely touching the earth
with her bare feet in her haste to warn her friend of this new danger
which threatened her and her race. For it was quite true, this matter
that had been discussed. The Indians had given so much trouble in the
sparsely settled country that the authorities had offered a price for
their capture; and it was this price which money-loving Mercy coveted.
Like a flash of a bird's wing, Kitty had darted into the lodge and
out again, with an agony of fear upon her features; and then she saw
Gaspar beckoning.
As she reached him he motioned silence and drew her away into the
shadow of the forest, that just there fringed the clearing behind the
tepee.
"But--Wahneenah's gone!" she whispered.
"Don't worry. She's safe enough for the present. Listen to me. Do you
remember the horse-racing last year?"
"Course. I remember I got so excited over the horses, and so sorry for
the boys that rode and didn't win. But what of that? Other Mother has
gone!"
"I tell you she's safe. Safer than you or me. Listen. Abel says _we_,
too, will have to ride a race to-day! On Tempest and Snowbird. Even if
we win, the money will belong to him; and if we lose--he's going to
sell one of our horses to pay his loss. I heard him say it."
"But they are ours!"
"He's kept them all these years, he says. He claims the right to do
with them as he chooses. Bad as that is, it isn't the worst. Though
Wahneenah is safe, still she will not be always. You and I will have
to ride this race--to save her life, or liberty!"
"What do--you--mean?"
"I haven't time to explain. Only--will you do as I say? Exactly?"
"Of course." Kitty looked inquiringly into her foster-brother's face.
Didn't he know she loved him better than anybody and would mind him
always?
"When we are on the horses if I say to you: 'Follow me!' will you?"
"Of course. Away to the sky, over yonder, if you want me."
"Even if any grown folks should try to stop you? Even if Abel or
Mercy?"
"Even"--declared the little girl, sincerely.
"Now go back to the house, or anywhere you please till Abel calls you,
or I do. Then come and mount. And then--then--do exactly as I tell
you. Remember."
He went away, back to the group of men about the barn, and Kitty sat
down in the shady place to wait. But it was not for long. Presently
she heard Mercy calling her, and saw Abel, with Gaspar, leading the
black gelding and pretty Snowbird out of the stable toward a ring of
other horses. She got up and passed toward the cabin very slowly.
Oddly enough, she began to feel timid about riding before all those
watching, strange faces; yet did not understand why. Then she thought
of Wahneenah, and her returning anger made her indifferent to them.
"Abel wants you, Kit!" cried Mrs. Smith, quite ignoring the child's
recent outbreak, and the girl walked quietly toward him. But it was
Gaspar who helped to swing her into her saddle, where she settled
herself with an ease learned long ago of the Snake-Who-Leaps. The lad,
also, found time to whisper:
"Remember your promise! We are to ride this race for Wahneenah's
life--though nobody knows that save you and me. So ride your best.
Ride as you never rode before--and on the road I lead you!"
The sons of the new settler and horse dealer were to ride against
these two. There were three of these youths, all well mounted, and the
course was to be a certain number of times around the great wheat
field so freshly reaped. It was a rough route, indeed, but as just for
one as another, and in plain sight of all the visitors. The five
horses ranged in a row with their noses touching a line, held by two
men, that fell as the word was given:
"One--two--three--GO!"
They went. They made the circuit of the field in fair style, with the
three strangers a trifle ahead. On the completion of the second heat,
the easterners passed the starting-point alone.
"Why, Gaspar! Why, Kitty!" shouted Abel reprovingly. "How's this?"
"Maybe they don't understand what's meant," suggested somebody.
Seemingly, they did not. For neither at the third round did they
appear in leading. On the contrary, they had started off at a right
angle, straight across the prairie; but now so fast they rode, and so
unerringly, that long before their deserted friends had ceased to
stare and wonder they had passed out of sight.