A DAY OF HAPPENINGS.
"Abel! Abel Smith! Here I am. Right here, in our little Kitty's own
house. How'd you get along? Did the man buy?"
"Shucks!" groaned the pioneer, as these words reached him where he
stood beside the Sun Maid, eager to hear what she could tell him of
the lad Gaspar. "Shucks! I've had a right peaceful sort of day, me and
old Dobbin, and I'd most forgot it couldn't last. Say, Kit, you look
like a girl could do a'most ary thing she tried to. Just put your
shoulder to the wheel, won't you, and shut the power off Mercy's
tongue. Tell her 'tain't the fashion for women to talk much or loud,
not in big settlements like this. She's death on the fashion, Mercy
is. Why, that last gown of hers, cut out a piece of calico a neighbor
brought from the East--you'd ought to see it. She got hold a
picture-book, land knows when or where, and copied one the pictures.
Waist clean up to her neck, it's so short, and sleeves big enough to
make me a suit of clothes. Fact! Wait till you see it. She's a sight,
I tell you. But so long 's she thinks it's a touch beyond, why she's
happy. But don't let her talk so much. 'Tain't proper; not in
settlements."
The Sun Maid set her head on one side and regarded her old friend
critically; then frankly, if laughingly, remarked:
"Abel, you dear, you can beat Mercy talking, by a great length. It's
funny to hear you blaming her for the very thing you do. But I like
it. You can't guess how I like it, and how it brings back my childish
days in the forest. Now come in and get something to eat. Then we can
have another talk."
"I ain't hungry. I had some doughnuts in my saddle-bags, and I munched
them along the road. Say, Kit. Don't tell Mercy; but I didn't try to
sell. Just put the question once, so to satisfy her when she asked. We
hain't no need. She's got a lot of money in a buckskin bag tied round
her waist. The land's all right. It's a good investment. I'll let it
stand. This country is bound to grow. Some day it will be worth a
power, and then I'll sell out, if I'm livin'; and if I ain't, you can.
One of the reasons I came was to fix things up for you. I always meant
to make you my legatee. We've no kith nor kin nigh enough to worry
about, Mercy an' me; an' I 'low she'd be agreeable. So we'll let the
land lie. Oh, bosh! There she is, calling again. May as well go in for
she won't stop till we do."
After all, there was real pleasure in the faces of both husband and
wife at their reunion, short though their separation had been, and
bitter though their words sounded to a stranger; and, already, there
was a personal pride in Mercy's tones as she exhibited the house over
which the Sun Maid presided, and explained the details--supplied by
her own imagination--of its purposes.
"But about Gaspar, Mercy. Has she told you anything about him yet? I'm
'lowing to have him help me keep tavern if he's grown up as capable as
he promised when he was a little shaver."
"No. She hain't said a word. Fact is, I hain't asked. We've been too
busy with other things. Likely he's round somewheres. Maybe off
hunting with them lazy soldiers. Shame, I think. The Government
keepin' 'em just to loaf away their time."
"Hmm! What on earth else could they do with it? I met a man, coming
along, said there'd been a right sharp lot of wolves prowlin' this
winter an' spring. They're gettin' most too neighborly for comfort for
the settlers across the prairies, so the military are trying to clear
them out. That's not a bad idee. But don't it beat all! That little
sissy, that used to have to stand on a three-legged stool to turn the
stirabout, grown like she has? I never saw a finer woman, never; and
her hair's the same dazzlin' kind it always was. I 'low I'm proud of
her, and no mistake. Hello! What's yonder? An Indian, on horseback,
a-stoppin' to this place! What's he after? His face is painted black,
too. There's Sunny Maid going out to talk with him, and Wahneeny, too.
Must be somethin' up."
"There's always somethin' up, where there's an Indian. I hate 'em, an'
they know it."
"I guess they do, ma. Wahneeny, for instance, and--Shucks! That long,
lanky, copper-face out back there, settin' flat on the ground, trying
to pitch jack-knives with a lot of other boys, white ones; he's the
chap that hung around our place so much--the chicken-stealer. I'm
going to speak to him."
"And I'm going to get him took up, just as soon as the Captain gets
back, for setting our house afire. It wouldn't have happened if I'd
been home; but you never could be trusted to look after things."
Abel thought it time to change the subject, and retreated, while
Mercy's attention became riveted upon the group before the house. The
faces of all three were very grave, and Wahneenah, who had come across
to nurse a sick child, paid no heed to its fretful calls for her. The
Indian horseman tarried but a brief time, then wheeled about and rode
westward over the prairie, avoiding the regular road and the mud
where the Smiths had suffered such annoyance.
Wahneenah returned to her charge, and the Sun Maid disappeared in the
direction of the Fort. Before Mercy could decide whether to follow or
not, the girl reappeared, and her old friend viewed her with
amazement. She had mounted the Snowbird, which looked no older than
when Mercy had watched her gallop away across the prairie, and had
slung the famous White Bow upon her saddle horn. About her floating
hair she had wound a fillet of white beads and feathers, and fastened
the White Necklace of Lahnowenah, the Giver, around her fair throat.
She sat her horse as only one trained to the saddle from infancy could
have done, and her commanding figure seemed perfect in every outline.
"To the land's sake! Ain't she splendid! I never saw such a sight.
Never. Never. Abel! Abel! A-b-e-l!!"
"Yes, yes; what? Mercy, Mercy Smith, hold your tongue! Don't you know
folks can't bawl in a settlement as they do in the backwoods? What
ails you? I'm coming as fast as a man in reason can. Hey? Kitty? Well,
why didn't you say so? Where? Out front? My--land! Well, well, well!
It ain't--it can't be--it is! Well, Kitty girl, you beat the Dutch!"
The young horsewoman rode up to the front door of her house, and
paused to let her old friends admire her to their satisfaction. But
their admiration aroused neither surprise nor vanity in her simple,
straightforward mind. Years before, the old clergyman had said to her,
upon their first meeting, that the Lord had been very good to her in
giving her a beauty so remarkable and impressive; and under his wise
instruction she had accepted the fact as she did all the others of her
life. Only she had striven to keep her soul always worthy of the
glorious form in which it was housed and to use all her gifts and
graces for good. So she stood a while, letting the honest couple
inspect and comment, and finally answering Abel's curiosity, in honest
modesty.
"Why am I so dressed up? Because I have a mission to perform, and I
need to make myself as beautiful as possible."
"Kit--ty Bris--coe! I've read in my red Bible that 'favor is deceitful
and beauty is vain.' I'm amazed at you. Livin' with a minister, too.
Well, _he_ can't preach to _me_. I'd despise to set under him."
Abel's eyes twinkled, but the gravity of the Sun Maid's face did not
lessen. She explained gently, yet with unshaken decision, that her
self-adornment was right, and gave her reasons.
"You will remember, dears, that I am a 'Daughter of the
Pottawatomies.' They believe that I have supernatural gifts, and that
I am a spirit living in a human form."
"And you let 'em, Kit, you let 'em?"
"I couldn't prevent it if I tried. And I do not try. That idea of
theirs is far too powerful a factor for good. Even Wahneenah, who
knows better and is to me as a real mother, even she treats me a
little more deferentially when I attire myself like this."
"Put on your war paint, eh?"
"No, indeed: my peace paint," laughed the girl. "The messenger you saw
talking with Wahneenah and me is from an encampment a dozen miles or
so to the westward. There are about five hundred Indians in the camp,
and they are getting restless. They are always restless, it seems to
me," and she sighed profoundly. "It is such a problem, isn't it? They
think they have right on their side, and the whites think _they_ have;
and there is so much that is good, so much that is evil, on both.
Well, the red people are planning treachery. The brave you saw is a
real friend to the pale-faces, and one of my closest confidants. He
came to warn me. His tribe, or the mixed tribes in the camp, are
getting ready for an attack upon us, or some other near-by settlement.
I must go out and stop it,--find out their grievance and right it if I
can. If not--Well, I must make peace. I may be gone for several days,
and I may be back before morning. You must make yourselves comfortable
somewhere. Ask Doctor Littlejohn. If he is too absorbed in his
studies, then talk with One, his eldest son. He is a fine fellow, and
knows everything about this village. Good-by."
"But, child alive! You ain't going alone, single-handed, to face five
hundred bloody Indians! You must be crazy!"
"Oh, no, I'm not. It is all right. I am not afraid. There isn't an
Indian living who would harm a hair of my head, if he knew me; and
almost all in Illinois do know me, either by sight or reputation. I am
very happy with them and shall have a pleasant visit; that is, after I
have dissuaded them from this proposed attack."
"Kit, you couldn't do it. 'Tain't in nature. A young girl, alone,
pretty as you are--You _sha'n't_ do it,--not with my consent; not
while I'm alive and can set a horse or handle a gun. No, sirree. If
you go, I go, and that's the long and short of it."
"No, dear Father Abel; you must not go; indeed you must not. It would
ruin everything. It makes me very sad to have these constant broils
and ill-feelings coming up between my white-faced and red-faced
friends; yet the Lord permits it, and I try to be patient. But I tell
you again, and you must believe it, that I am as safe out yonder in
that camp of savages as I am here, this minute, with you. I am the Sun
Maid, the Unafraid, the Daughter of Peace, the Snowflake. They have as
many names for me as I am years old, I fancy. Each name means some
noble thing they think they see in my character, and so I try to
live up to it. It's hard work, though, because I'm--well, I'm so
quick-tempered and full of faults. But I suppose if God didn't mean me
to do this work, be a sort of peacemaker, He wouldn't have made me
just as I am or put me in just this place. That's what the Doctor
says, and so I do the best I can. After all, it's a great honor, I
think, to be let to serve people in this way, and so--Good-by,
good-by!"
The Snowbird sprang forward at a word and, by experience trained to
shun the sloughs and mud-holes, skimmed lightly across the prairie and
out of sight. The Smiths stood and watched its disappearance, and the
erect white figure upon its back, till both became a speck in the
distance. Then, completely dumfounded by the incident, Abel sat down
near the door-step to reflect upon it, while the more energetic Mercy
departed for the Fort, declaring:
"I'll see what that all means, or I'll never say another word's long
as I live! The idee! _Men_--folks calling themselves _men_--and
wearing government breeches, as I suppose they do, letting a girl
like that go to destruction without a soul to stop her! But, my land!
she was a sight to see, and no mistake!"
Meanwhile that was happening down at the little wharf which set all
tongues a-chatter and fascinated all eyes.
"A fleet is coming in! A regular fleet of schooners, from the north
and the upper lakes!"
Those who had not gone hunting crowded to the shore, and even the
women caught their babies up and followed the men, Abel among the
others, roused from his anxious brooding over the Sun Maid's daring
and catching the excitement.
"Shucks! Something must be up down that direction. Beats all. Here
I've been only part of a day, and more things have gone on than would
at our clearing in a month of Sundays. I--I'm all of a fluster to kind
of keep my head level an' my judgment cool. 'Twouldn't never do to let
on to ma how stirred up I be. Dear me! Seems as if I wouldn't never
get there. I do hope they'll wait till I do."
After all, it was the quietest and drowsiest of little hamlets,
dropped down in the mud beside a great waterway; and the "fleet,"
which had roused so much interest, was but a modest one of a
half-dozen small schooners, laden with furs and peltries and manned by
the smallest of crews.
However, to Abel, and to many another, it was a memorable event; and
he made a pause at the Fort, which in itself was an object of great
interest to him, to inform Mercy of the spectacle she was losing.
"Come on, ma! It's a regular show down there. Real sailors and
ships--we hain't seen the like since we left the East and the coast of
old Massachusetts."
"Ships? My heart! I never expected to look upon another. Just to think
it!"
The foremost vessel came to shore and was made fast; and there upon
its deck stood a tall, dark-bearded man, who appeared what he
was--the commander of the fleet; and he gave his orders in a clear,
ringing voice that was instantly obeyed. His manner was grave, even
melancholy; and his interest in the safe landing seemed greater than
in any person among the expectant groups. He had tossed his hat aside
and waited bareheaded in the sunshine till all was ready, when he
stepped quietly ashore.
Then, indeed, he cast an inquiring glance around, in the possibility,
though not probability, of meeting a familiar face. All at once, his
dark eyes brightened and his bearing lost its indifference. Pushing
his way rapidly through the crowd, he approached Abel and Mercy and
extended his hands in greeting.
"Hail, old friends! Well met!"
"Hey? What? Ruther think you've got the better of me, stranger," said
the pioneer, awkwardly extending his own hardened palm.
"Probably the years since we met have made a greater change in me than
in you. You both look exactly as you did that last day I saw you at
the harvesting."
"Hey? Which? When? I can't place you, no how. I ain't acquainted with
ary sailor, so far forth as I remember."
"But Gaspar, Father Abel? Surely, you and Mercy remember Gaspar Keith,
whom you sheltered for so many years, and who treated you so badly at
the end?"
"Glory! It ain't! My soul, my soul! Why, Gaspar--_Gaspar!_ If it's
you, I'm an old man. Why, you was only a stripling, and now----"
"Now, I'm a man, too. That's all. We all have to grow up and mature. I
feel older than you look. And Mercy, the years have certainly used you
well. It is good, indeed, to see your faces here, where I looked for
strangers only."
"Them's us, lad. Them's us. _We're_ the strangers in these parts. Just
struck Chicago this very day. Got stuck in the mud, and had to be
fished out like a couple of clams. And who do you think done the
fishing? Though, if you hadn't spoke that odd way just now, I'd have
thought you would have known first off. Who do you suppose?"
"Oh, he'll never guess. A man is always so slow," interrupted Mercy,
eagerly. "Well, 'twas nobody but our own little Kit! The Sun Maid, and
looking more like a child of the sunshine even than when you run off
with her so long ago."
"The--Sun--Maid! _Kit-ty, my Kitty?_"
Gaspar's face had paled at the mention of the Sun Maid to such a
grayness beneath its brown that Mercy reached her hand to stay him
from falling; but at his second question her womanly intuition told
her something of the truth.
"Yes, Gaspar, boy. Your Kitty, and ours. We hadn't seen her till
to-day, neither; not since that harvestin'. But the longing got too
strong and, when we was burnt out, we came straight for her. Didn't
you know she was here yet? Or didn't you know she was still alive?"
"No. No, I didn't. That very next winter after I went away--and that
was the next day after we came here together--an Indian passed where I
was hunting with my master and told me she had died. He was one we had
known at Muck-otey-pokee--the White Pelican. He said a scourge of
smallpox had swept the Fort and this settlement and that my little
maid had passed out of the world forever. But you tell me--_she is
alive_? After all these years of sorrow for her, she is still alive?
I--it is hard to believe it."
Mercy laid her hand upon the strong shoulder that now trembled in
excitement.
"There, there, son; take it quiet. Yes, she's alive, and the most
beautiful woman the good Lord ever made. Never, even in the East,
where girls had time to grow good-looking, was there ever anybody like
her. I ain't used to it myself, yet. I can't realize it. She's that
well growed, and eddicated, and masterful. Why, child, the whole
community looks up to her as if she were a sort of queen. I've found
that out in just the few hours I've been here, and from just the few
I've met. Even Wahneeny--she's here, too; has been most all the time.
The Black Partridge, Indian chief, he that was her brother, that took
care of you two children when the massacre was, he didn't expect she'd
ever come again; but still, it appears, just on the chance of it, he
rode off up country somewhere, and he happened to strike her trail,
and that Osceolo's--the scamp--that had run off with Kitty's white
horse, and fetched 'em all back. The women in the Fort was tellin' me
the whole story just now. I hain't got a word out of Wahneeny, yet.
She's as close-mouthed as she ever was; but there's more to hear than
you could hark to in a day's ride, and--Where you going, Gaspar?"
"To find my Kitty."
"Well, you needn't. And I don't know as she's any more yours than she
is ours, seein' we really had the credit of raisin' her. For she's
took her life in her hand, and has gone alone, without ary man to
protect her, out across the prairie to face five hunderd Indians on
the war-path, and--Hold on! What you up to?"
The sailor, or hunter, whichever he might be, had started along the
footpath to the Fort, and halted, half angrily, at this interruption.
"Well? What? I'll see you by and by. I must find Kitty!"
"Right you are, lad. Find her, and fetch her back. And, say! Mercy
says your own old Tempest horse is in the stable at the Fort; that it
now belongs to the Sun Maid, and she's the only one who ever rides it.
The Captain gave it to her because she grieved so about you. I
wouldn't wonder if he'd travel nigh as fast as he used--when he run
away before. I never saw the beat of you two young ones! As fast as a
body catches up to you, off you run!"
Even amid the anxiety now renewed in Abel's mind regarding Kitty, the
humorous side of the situation appealed to him; but there was no
answering smile on Gaspar's face; only an anxiety and yearning beyond
the comprehension of either of these honest, simple souls.
"Well, go on, then. Run your beatingest, in a bee line, due west.
That's the way she took, and that's the trail you'll find her on, if
so be you find her at all."
Those at the Fort looked, wondered, but did not object, as this dark
_voyageur_ strode straight into the stables and to a box stall where
Tempest enjoyed a life of pampered indolence. They realized that this
was no stranger, but one to whom all things were familiar--even the
animal which answered so promptly to the cry:
"Tempest, old fellow!"
It was a voice he had never forgotten. The black gelding's handsome
head tossed in a thrill of delight, and the answering neigh to that
love call was good to hear. In a moment Gaspar had found a saddle,
slipped it into place, and, scarcely waiting to tighten its girth, had
leaped upon the animal's back.
"Forward, Tempest! Be true to your name!"
Those who saw the rush of the gallant creature through the open gates
of the stockade acknowledged that he would be.