CHAPTER III.
WHAT IS A SQUAW MAN?
"Rache, I want you to stop it." The voice had an insinuating tone, as ifit would express "will you stop it?"
The speaker was a chubby, matronly figure, enthroned on a hassock ofspruce boughs, while the girl stretched beside her was drawing thefragrant spikes of green, bit by bit, over closed eyes and smiling; onlythe mouth and chin could be seen under the green veil, but the cornersof the mouth were widening ever so little. Smiles should engendercontent; they are supposed to be a voucher of sweet thoughts, but attimes they have a tendency to bring out all that is irritable in humannature, and the chubby little woman noted that growing smile with risingimpatience.
"I am not jesting," she continued, as if there might be a doubt on thatquestion; "and I wish you would stop it."
"You haven't given it a name yet. Say, Clara, that sounds like aninvitation to drink, doesn't it?--a western invitation."
But her fault-finder was not going to let her escape the subject likethat.
"I am not sure it has a name," she said curtly. "No one seems to knowwhether it is Genesee Jack or Jack Genesee, or whether both are notaliases--in fact, the most equivocal sort of companion for a young girlover these hills."
"What a tempest you raise about nothing, Clara," said the girlgood-humoredly; "one would think that I was in hourly danger of beingkidnaped by Mr. Genesee Jack--the name is picturesque in sound, andsuits him, don't you think so? But I am sure the poor man is quiteharmless, and stands much more in awe of me than I do of him."
"I believe you," assented her cousin tartly. "I never knew you to standin awe of anything masculine, from your babyhood. You are a born flirt,for all your straightforward, independent ways. Oh, I know you."
"So I hear you say," answered Miss Hardy, peering through the screen ofcedar sprays, her eyes shining a little wickedly from their shadows."You have a hard time of it with me, haven't you, dear? By the way,Clara, who prompted you to this lecture--Hen?"
"No, Hen did not; neither he nor Alec seem to have eyes or ears foranything but deer and caribou; they are constantly airing theirnew-found knowledge of the country. I had to beg Alec to come to sleeplast night, or I believe they would have gossiped until morning. The oneredeeming point in your Genesee Jack is that he doesn't talk."
"He isn't my Genesee Jack," returned the girl; "but he does talk, andtalk well, I think. You do not know him, that is all, and you neverwill, with those starchy manners of yours. Not talk!--why, he has taughtme a lot of Chinook, and told me all about a miner's life and ahunter's. Not talk!--I've only known him a little over a week, and hehas told me his life for ten years back."
"Yes, with no little encouragement from you, I'll wager."
"Well, my bump of curiosity was enlarged somewhat as to his life,"acknowledged the girl. "You see he has such an unusual personality,unusually interesting, I mean. I never knew any man like him in theEast. Why, he only needs a helmet instead of the sombrero, and armorinstead of the hunting suit, and he would make an ideal Launcelot."
"Good gracious, Rache! do stop raving over the man, or I shall certainlyhave Hen discharge him and take you back to civilization at once."
"But perhaps I won't go back--what then; and perhaps Hen could not beable to see your reason for getting rid of a good guide," said the girlcoolly, knowing she had the upper hand of the controversy; "and as tothe raving, you know I never said a word about him until you began tofind fault with everything, from the cut of his clothes to the name hegives, and then--well, a fellow must stand up for his friends, youknow."
"Of course a fellow must," agreed someone back of them, and the youngranchman from the East came down under the branches from the camp-firejust kindled; "that is a manly decision, Rache, and does you credit. Butwhat's the argument?"
"Oh, Clara thinks I am taking root too quickly in the soil of loosecustoms out here," explained the girl, covering the question, yettelling nothing.
"She doesn't approve of our savage mode of life, does she?" he queried,sympathetically; "and she hasn't seen but a suggestion of its horrorsyet. Too bad Jim Kale did not come; she could have made the acquaintanceof a specimen that would no doubt be of interest to her--a squaw manwith all his native charms intact."
"Hen," said the girl, rising on her elbow, "I wish you would tell mejust what you mean by a 'squaw man'; is it a man who buys squaws, orsells them, or eats them, or--well, what does he do?"
"He marries them--sometimes," was the laconic reply, as if willing todrop the question. But Miss Rache, when interested, was not to be thrustaside until satisfied.
"Is that all?" she persisted; "is he a sort of Mormon, then--an IndianMormon? And how many do they marry?"
"I never knew them to marry more than one," hazarded Mr. Hardy. "But, totell the truth, I know very little about their customs; I understandthey are generally a worthless class of men, and the term 'squaw man' isa stigma, in a way--the most of them are rather ashamed of it, Ibelieve."
"I don't see why," began Rache.
"No, I don't suppose you do," broke in her cousin Hardy with arelative's freedom, "and it is not necessary that you should; justconfine your curiosity to other phases of Missoula County that are openfor inspection, and drop the squaw men."
"I haven't picked up any of them yet," returned the girl, rising to herfeet, "but I will the first chance I get; and I give you fair warning,you might as well tell me all I want to know, for I will find out."
"I'll wager she will," sighed Clara, as the girl walked away to wheretheir traps and sachels were stacked under a birch tree, and while sheturned things topsy-turvy looking for something, she nodded her headsagaciously over her shoulder at the two left behind; "to be sure shewill--she is one of the girls who are always stumbling on just the sortof knowledge that should be kept from them; and this question of yourhorrid social system out here--well, she will know all about it if shehas to interview Ivans or your guide to find out; and I suppose it is analtogether objectionable topic?"
The intonation of the last words showed quite as much curiosity as thegirl had declared, only it was more carefully veiled.
"Oh, I don't know as it is," returned her brother; "exceptunder--well--circumstances. But, some way, a white man is mightilyashamed to have it known that he has a squaw wife. Ivans told me thatmany of them would as soon be shot as to have it known back East wherethey came from."
"Yes," remarked a gentleman who joined them during this speech, andwhose brand-new hunting suit bespoke the "got-up-regardless" tourist;"it is strange, don't you think so? Why, back East we would hear of sucha marriage and think it most romantic; but out here--well, it seems hardto convince a Westerner that there is any romance about an Indian."
"And I don't wonder, Alec, do you?" asked Mrs. Houghton, turning to herhusband as if sure of sympathy from him; "all the squaws we have seenare horribly slouchy, dirty creatures. I have yet to see the Indianmaiden of romance."
"In their original state they may have possessed all the picturesquedignities and chivalrous character ascribed to them," answered Mr.Houghton, doubtfully; "but if so, their contact with the white race hascaused a vast degeneration."
"Which it undoubtedly has," returned Hardy, decidedly. "Mixing of racesalways has that effect, and in the Indian country it takes a mostdecided turn. The Siwash or Indian men of this territory may be athieving, whisky-drinking lot, but the chances are that nine-tenths ofthe white men who marry among them become more worthless and degradedthan the Indian."
"There are, I suppose, exceptions," remarked Houghton.
"Well, there may be," answered Hardy, "but they are not taken intoconsideration, and that is why a man dislikes to be classed among them.There is something of the same feeling about it that there is back homeabout a white man marrying a negro."
"Then why do they do it, if they are ashamed of it?" queried Mrs.Houghton with logical directness.
"Well, I suppose because there are no white women here for them tomarry," answered her bro
ther, "and Indians or half-breeds are always tobe found."
"If ministers are not," added Houghton.
"Exactly!"
"Oh, good gracious!" ejaculated the little matron in a tone of disgust;"no wonder they are ashamed--even the would-be honest ones are likely toincur suspicion, because, as you say, the exceptions are too few forconsideration. A truly delightful spot you have chosen; the moralatmosphere would be a good field for a missionary, I should say--yet youwould come here."
"Yes, and I am going to stay, too," said Hardy, in answer to thissisterly tirade. "We see or know but little of those poor devils ortheir useless lives--only we know by hearing that such a state of thingsexists. But as for quitting the country because of that--well, no, Icould not be bought back to the East after knowing this gloriousclimate. Why, Tillie and I have picked out a tree to be buried under--amagnificent fellow that grows on the plateau above our house--just highenough to view the Four-mile Park from. She is as much in love with thefreedom of these hills as I am."
"Poor child!" said his sister, commiseratingly; "to think of her beingexiled in that park, twenty miles from a white woman!--didn't you say itwas twenty?"
"Yes," and her brother leaned his back against the tree and smiled downat her; "it's twenty and a half, and the white woman whom you see at theend of the trip keeps a tavern--runs it herself, and sells the whiskythat crosses the bar with an insinuating manner that is all her own.I've heard that she can sling an ugly fist in a scrimmage. She is agreat favorite with the boys; the pet name they have for her is HollandJin."
"Ugh! Horrible! And she--she allows them to call her so?"
"Certainly; you see it is a trade-mark for the house; her real name isJane Holland."
"Holland Jin!" repeated his sister with a shudder. "Tillie, come here!Have you heard this? Hen has been telling me of your neighbor, HollandJin. How do you expect to live always in this out-of-the-way place?"
Out from under the branches where their camp had just been located cameTillie, a charmingly plain little wife of less than a year--just herchildishly curved red lips and her soft dark eyes to give attractivenessto her tanned face.
"Yes, I have heard of her," she said in a slow, half-shy way; "she can'tbe very--very--nice; but one of the stockmen said she was good-heartedif anyone was sick or needed help, so she can't be quite bad."
"You dear little soul," said her sister-in-law fondly; "you would have agood word to say for anyone; but you must allow it will be awfullydismal out here without any lady friends."
"You are here, and Rache."
"Yes, but when Rache and I have gone back to civilization?"
The dark eyes glanced at the speaker and then at the tall youngranchman. "Hen will be here always."
"Oh, you insinuating little Quaker!" laughed the older woman; "one wouldthink you were married yesterday and the honeymoon only begun, would younot, Alec? I wonder if these Chinook winds have a tendency to softeningof the brain--have they, Hen? If so, you and Tillie are in a dangerouscountry. What was it you shot this time, Alec--a pole-cat or aflying-squirrel? Yes, I'll go and see for myself."
And she followed her husband across the open space of the plateau towhere Ivans was cutting slices of venison from the latest addition totheir larder; while Hardy stood smiling down, half amusedly, at theflushed face of the little wife.
"Are you afraid of softening of the brain?" he asked in a tone ofconcern. She shook her head, but did not look up. She was easily teased,as much so about her husband as if he was still a wooer. And to haveshown her fondness in his sister's eyes! What sister could ever yet seethe reason for a sister-in-law's blind adoration?
"Are you going to look on yourself as a martyr after the rest have leftyou here in solitary confinement with me as a jailer?"
Another shake of the head, and the drooped eyes were raised for oneswift glance.
"Because I was thinking," continued her tormentor--"I was thinking thatif the exile, as Clara calls it, would be too severe on you, I might, ifit was for your own good--I might send you back with the rest toKentucky."
Then there was a raising of the head quick enough and a tempestuousflight across the space that separated them, and a flood ofremonstrances that ended in happy laughter, a close clasp of arms,and--yes, in spite of the girl who was standing not very far away--akiss; and Hardy circled his wife's shoulders with his long arms, and,with a glance of laughing defiance at his cousin, drew her closer andfollowed in the wake of the Houghtons.
The girl had deliberately stood watching that little scene with acurious smile in her eyes, a semi-cynical gaze at the lingering fondnessof voice and touch. There was no envy in her face, only a sort ofgood-natured disbelief. Her cousin Clara always averred that Rachel wastoo masculine in spirit to ever understand the little tendernesses thatburnish other women's lives.
Told in the Hills: A Novel Page 4