by Ralph Connor
CHAPTER IX
GWEN
It was not many days after my arrival in the Foothill country that Ibegan to hear of Gwen. They all had stories of her. The details were notmany, but the impression was vivid. She lived remote from that centre ofcivilization known as Swan Creek in the postal guide, but locally asOld Latour's, far up among the hills near the Devil's Lake, and from herfather's ranch she never ventured. But some of the men had had glimpsesof her and had come to definite opinions regarding her.
"What is she like?" I asked Bill one day, trying to pin him down tosomething like a descriptive account of her.
"Like! She's a terrer," he said, with slow emphasis, "a holy terrer."
"But what is she like? What does she look like?" I asked impatiently.
"Look like?" He considered a moment, looked slowly round as if searchingfor a simile, then answered: "I dunno."
"Don't know? What do you mean? Haven't you seen her?"
"Yeh! But she ain't like nothin'."
Bill was quite decided upon this point.
I tried again.
"Well, what sort of hair has she got? She's got hair, I suppose?"
"Hayer! Well, a few!" said Bill, with some choice combinations ofprofanity in repudiation of my suggestion. "Yards of it! Red!"
"Git out!" contradicted Hi. "Red! Tain't no more red than mine!"
Bill regarded Hi's hair critically.
"What color do you put onto your old brush?" he asked cautiously.
"'Tain't no difference. 'Tain't red, anyhow."
"Red! Well, not quite exactly," and Bill went off into a low, long,choking chuckle, ejaculating now and then, "Red! Jee-mi-ny Ann! Red!"
"No, Hi," he went on, recovering himself with the same abruptness as heused with his bronco, and looking at his friend with a face even morethan usually solemn, "your hayer ain't red, Hi; don't let any of yourrelatives persuade you to that. 'Tain't red!" and he threatened to gooff again, but pulled himself up with dangerous suddenness. "It may beblue, cerulyum blue or even purple, but red--!" He paused violently,looking at his friend as if he found him a new and interesting objectof study upon which he could not trust himself to speak. Nor could he beinduced to proceed with the description he had begun.
But Hi, paying no attention to Bill's oration, took up the subject withenthusiasm.
"She kin ride--she's a reg'lar buster to ride, ain't she, Bill?" Billnodded. "She kin bunch cattle an' cut out an' yank a steer up to anycowboy on the range."
"Why, how big is she?"
"Big? Why, she's just a kid! 'Tain't the bigness of her, it's the nerve.She's got the coldest kind of nerve you ever seen. Hain't she, Bill?"And again Bill nodded.
"'Member the day she dropped that steer, Bill?" went on Hi.
"What was that?" I asked, eager for a yarn.
"Oh, nuthin'," said Bill.
"Nuthin'!" retorted Hi. "Pretty big nuthin'!"
"What was it?" I urged.
"Oh, Bill here did some funny work at old Meredith's round-up, but hedon't speak of it. He's shy, you see," and Hi grinned.
"Well, there ain't no occasion for your proceedin' onto that tact," saidBill disgustedly, and Hi loyally refrained, so I have never yet got therights of the story. But from what I did hear I gathered that Bill, atthe risk of his life, had pulled The Duke from under the hoofs of a madsteer, and that little Gwen had, in the coolest possible manner, "sailedin on her bronco" and, by putting two bullets into the steer's head, hadsaved them both from great danger, perhaps from death, for the rest ofthe cattle were crowding near. Of course Bill could never be persuadedto speak of the incident. A true western man will never hesitate to tellyou what he can do, but of what he has done he does not readily speak.
The only other item that Hi contributed to the sketch of Gwen was thather temper could blaze if the occasion demanded.
"'Member young Hill, Bill?"
Bill "'membered."
"Didn't she cut into him sudden? Sarved him right, too."
"What did she do?"
"Cut him across the face with her quirt in good style."
"What for?"
"Knockin' about her Indian Joe."
Joe was, as I came to learn, Ponka's son and Gwen's most devoted slave.
"Oh, she ain't no refrigerator."
"Yes," assented Bill. "She's a leetle swift." Then, as if fearing hehad been apologizing for her, he added, with the air of one settling thequestion: "But she's good stock! She suits me!"
The Duke helped me to another side of her character.
"She is a remarkable child," he said, one day. "Wild and shy asa coyote, but fearless, quite; and with a heart full of passions.Meredith, the Old Timer, you know, has kept her up there among thehills. She sees no one but himself and Ponka's Blackfeet relations, whotreat her like a goddess and help to spoil her utterly. She knows theirlingo and their ways--goes off with them for a week at a time."
"What! With the Blackfeet?"
"Ponka and Joe, of course, go along; but even without them she is assafe as if surrounded by the Coldstream Guards, but she has given themup for some time now."
"And at home?" I asked. "Has she any education? Can she read or write?"
"Not she. She can make her own dresses, moccasins and leggings. She cancook and wash--that is, when she feels in the mood. And she knowsall about the birds and beasts and flowers and that sort of thing,but--education! Why, she is hardly civilized!"
"What a shame!" I said. "How old is she?"
"Oh, a mere child; fourteen or fifteen, I imagine; but a woman in manythings."
"And what does her father say to all this? Can he control her?"
"Control!" said The Duke, in utter astonishment. "Why, bless your soul,nothing in heaven or earth could control HER. Wait till you see herstand with her proud little head thrown back, giving orders to Joe, andyou will never again connect the idea of control with Gwen. She mightbe a princess for the pride of her. I've seen some, too, in my day, butnone to touch her for sheer, imperial pride, little Lucifer that sheis."
"And how does her father stand her nonsense?" I asked, for I confess Iwas not much taken with the picture The Duke had drawn.
"Her father simply follows behind her and adores, as do all things thatcome near her, down, or up, perhaps, to her two dogs--Wolf and Loo--foreither of which she would readily die if need be. Still," he added,after a pause, "it IS a shame, as you say. She ought to know somethingof the refinements of civilization, to which, after all, she belongs,and from which none of us can hope to escape." The Duke was silent fora few moments, and then added, with some hesitation: "Then, too, she isquite a pagan; never saw a prayer-book, you know."
And so it came about, chiefly through The Duke's influence, I imagine,that I was engaged by the Old Timer to go up to his ranch every week andteach his daughter something of the elementaries of a lady's education.
My introduction was ominous of the many things I was to suffer of thatsame young maiden before I had finished my course with her. The OldTimer had given careful directions as to the trail that would lead me tothe canyon where he was to meet me. Up the Swan went the trail, windingever downward into deeper and narrower coulees and up to higher opensunlit slopes, till suddenly it settled into a valley which began withgreat width and narrowed to a canyon whose rocky sides were dressed outwith shrubs and trailing vines and wet with trickling rivulets from thenumerous springs that oozed and gushed from the black, glistening rocks.This canyon was an eerie place of which ghostly tales were told fromthe old Blackfeet times. And to this day no Blackfoot will dare to passthrough this black-walled, oozy, glistening canyon after the moon haspassed the western lip. But in the warm light of broad day the canyonwas a good enough place; cool and sweet, and I lingered through, waitingfor the Old Timer, who failed to appear till the shadows began to darkenits western black sides.
Out of the mouth of the canyon the trail climbed to a wide stretch ofprairie that swept up over soft hills to the left and down to the brightgleaming
waters of the Devil's Lake on the right. In the sunlight thelake lay like a gem radiant with many colors, the far side black in theshadow of the crowding pines, then in the middle deep, blue and purple,and nearer, many shades of emerald that ran quite to the white, sandybeach. Right in front stood the ranch buildings, upon a slight risingground and surrounded by a sturdy palisade of upright pointed poles.This was the castle of the princess. I rode up to the open gate, thenturned and stood to look down upon the marvellous lake shining andshimmering with its many radiant colors. Suddenly there was an awfulroar, my pony shot round upon his hind legs after his beastly cayusemanner, deposited me sitting upon the ground and fled down the trail,pursued by two huge dogs that brushed past me as I fell. I was arousedfrom my amazement by a peal of laughter, shrill but full of music.Turning, I saw my pupil, as I guessed, standing at the head of a mostbeautiful pinto (spotted) pony with a heavy cattle quirt in her hand. Iscrambled to my feet and said, somewhat angrily, I fear:
"What are you laughing at? Why don't you call back your dogs? They willchase my pony beyond all reach."
She lifted her little head, shook back her masses of brown-red hair,looked at me as if I were quite beneath contempt and said: "No, theywill kill him."
"Then," said I, for I was very angry, "I will kill them," pulling at therevolver in my belt.
"Then," she said, and for the first time I noticed her eyes blue-black,with gray rims, "I will kill you," and she whipped out an ugly-lookingrevolver. From her face I had no doubt that she would not hesitate to doas she had said. I changed my tactics, for I was anxious about my pony,and said, with my best smile:
"Can't you call them back? Won't they obey you?"
Her face changed in a moment.
"Is it your pony? Do you love him very much?"
"Dearly!" I said, persuading myself of a sudden affection for the crankylittle brute.
She sprang upon her pinto and set off down the trail. The pony was nowcoursing up and down the slopes, doubling like a hare, instinctivelyavoiding the canyon where he would be cornered. He was mad with terrorat the huge brutes that were silently but with awful and sure swiftnessrunning him down.
The girl on the pinto whistled shrilly, and called to her dogs: "Down,Wolf! Back, Loo!" but, running low, with long, stretched bodies, theyheeded not, but sped on, ever gaining upon the pony that now circledtoward the pinto. As they drew near in their circling, the girl urgedher pinto to meet them, loosening her lariat as she went. As the ponyneared the pinto he slackened his speed; immediately the nearer doggathered herself in two short jumps and sprang for the pony's throat.But, even as she sprang, the lariat whirled round the girl's headand fell swift and sure about the dog's neck, and next moment she laychoking upon the prairie. Her mate paused, looked back, and gave up thechase. But dire vengeance overtook them, for, like one possessed, thegirl fell upon them with her quirt and beat them one after the othertill, in pity for the brutes, I interposed.
"They shall do as I say or I shall kill them! I shall kill them!" shecried, raging and stamping.
"Better shoot them," I suggested, pulling out my pistol.
Immediately she flung herself upon the one that moaned and whined at herfeet, crying:
"If you dare! If you dare!" Then she burst into passionate sobbing."You bad Loo! You bad, dear old Loo! But you WERE bad--you KNOW youwere bad!" and so she went on with her arms about Loo's neck till Loo,whining and quivering with love and delight, threatened to go quitemad, and Wolf, standing majestically near, broke into short howls ofimpatience for his turn of caressing. They made a strange group, thosethree wild things, equally fierce and passionate in hate and in love.
Suddenly the girl remembered me, and standing up she said, half ashamed:
"They always obey ME. They are MINE, but they kill any strange thingthat comes in through the gate. They are allowed to."
"It is a pleasant whim."
"What?"
"I mean, isn't that dangerous to strangers?"
"Oh, no one ever comes alone, except The Duke. And they keep off thewolves."
"The Duke comes, does he?"
"Yes!" and her eyes lit up. "He is my friend. He calls me his'princess,' and he teaches me to talk and tells me stories--oh,wonderful stories!"
I looked in wonder at her face, so gentle, so girlish, and tried tothink back to the picture of the girl who a few moments before had socoolly threatened to shoot me and had so furiously beaten her dogs.
I kept her talking of The Duke as we walked back to the gate, watchingher face the while. It was not beautiful; it was too thin, and the mouthwas too large. But the teeth were good, and the eyes, blue-black withgray rims, looked straight at you; true eyes and brave, whether in loveor in war. Her hair was her glory. Red it was, in spite of Hi's denial,but of such marvellous, indescribable shade that in certain lights, asshe rode over the prairie, it streamed behind her like a purple banner.A most confusing and bewildering color, but quite in keeping with thenature of the owner.
She gave her pinto to Joe and, standing at the door, welcomed me witha dignity and graciousness that made me think that The Duke was not farwrong when he named her "Princess."
The door opened upon the main or living room. It was a long, apartment,with low ceiling and walls of hewn logs chinked and plastered and allbeautifully whitewashed and clean. The tables, chairs and benches wereall home-made. On the floor were magnificent skins of wolf, bear, muskox and mountain goat. The walls were decorated with heads and horns ofdeer and mountain sheep, eagles' wings and a beautiful breast of a loon,which Gwen had shot and of which she was very proud. At one end of theroom a huge stone fireplace stood radiant in its summer decorations offerns and grasses and wild-flowers. At the other end a door openedinto another room, smaller and richly furnished with relics of formergrandeur.
Everything was clean and well kept. Every nook, shelf and corner wasdecked with flowers and ferns from the canyon.
A strange house it was, full of curious contrasts, but it fitted thisquaint child that welcomed me with such gracious courtesy.