John Ermine of the Yellowstone

by Frederic Remington

  CHAPTER XX

  THE END OF ALL THINGS

  The heart of the rider hung like a leaden weight in his body, as he castaccustomed glances at the old trail up the mountain to Crooked-Bear'scabin. He heard the dogs bark, and gave the wolf's call which was thehermit's countersign. The dogs grew menacing at his unfamiliar scent,but a word satisfied them. A dog forgets many things about a person in ayear, but never his voice. From out of a dark corner came the goblin ofthe desolate mountain, ready with his gun for the unwelcome, but togreet Ermine with what enthusiasm his silent forest ways had left him.For a long time they held each other's hands, while their faces lightedwith pleasure; even the warmth of kindliness kindling in the scout's ashe stood in the presence of one who did not seek him with the corner ofhis eyes.

  As they built the fire and boiled the water, the old man noted theimproved appearance of his protege--the new clothes and the perfectequipment were a starched reminder of the glories of the old world,which he had left in the years long gone. He plied his questions, andwas more confused to uncover Ermine's lack of enthusiasm concerning theevents which must have been tremendous, and with difficulty drew thebelated news of war and men and things from him. Then like the raisingof a curtain, which reveals the play, the hermit saw suddenly that itwas heavy and solemn--he was to see a tragedy, and this was not a play;it was real, it was his boy, and he did not want to see a tragedy.

  He feared to have it go on; he shut his eyes for a long time, and thenrose to his feet and put his hands on the young man's shoulders. Hesought the weak gleam of the eyes in the dusk of the cabin. "Tell me,boy, tell me all; you cannot hide it any more than a deer can hide histrail in the snow. I can read your thoughts."

  Ermine did not immediately reply, but the leaden heart turned slowlyinto a burning coal.

  "Crooked-Bear, I wanted a white girl for my wife, and I shot a soldier,who drew a revolver and said he would force me to give him her picturewhich I had in my pocket, and then I ran away, everybody shooting at me.They may even come here for me. They want to stand me up beside the longtable with all the officers sitting around it, and they want to take meout and hang me on a tree for the ravens and magpies to pick at. That iswhat your white people want to do to me, Crooked-Bear, and by God theyare going to have a chance to do it, for I am going back to kill the manand get the girl or die. Do you hear that, Crooked-Bear, do you hearthat?"

  The hermit's arms dropped to his side, and he could make no sound orsign. "Sit down, be quiet, boy; let us talk more of this thing. Be calm,and I can find a reason why you will not want to stain your hands withthis man's blood. When I sent you to the white men to do a man's work ina white man's way, I did not think you would lock horns with any buckyou met on the trail, like the dumb things that carry their reason forbeing on the point of their antlers--sit down." And the long arms of thehermit waved with a dropping motion.

  Ermine sat down, but by no means found his composure. Even in thedarkness his eyes gave an unnatural light, his muscles twitched, and hisfeet were not still. "I knew, Crooked-Bear, I knew you would talk thatway. It is the soft talk of the white men. She made a fool of me, and hewas going to put his foot on me as though John Ermine was a grasshopper,and every white man would say to me after that, 'Be quiet, Ermine, sitdown.' Bah! I will be quiet and I will sit down until they forget alittle, and then--" Ermine emitted the savage snarl of a lynx in a steeltrap. Slapping his knee, he continued: "The white men in the camp aretwo-sided; they pat you with a hand that is always ready to strike. Whenthe girl looked at me, it lighted a fire in my heart, and then she blewthe flame until I was burning up. She told me as well as any words cansay, 'Come on,' and when I offered her my hand she blatted like a fawnand ran away. As if that were not enough, this Butler walked into theroom and talked to me as though I were a dog and drew his gun;everything swam before my eyes, and they swim yet, Crooked-Bear. I tellyou I will kill him as surely as day follows night. These soldiers talkas white and soft as milk when it suits their plan, but old MajorSearles says that they stand pat in war, that they never give up thefight, that they must win if it takes years to do it. Very well, I shallnot forget that."

  "But, my boy, you must not see red in a private feud; that is onlyallowed against the enemies of the whole people. Your heart has gone toyour head; you can never win a white woman by spilling the blood of theother man who happens to love her also. That is not the way with them."

  "No, it is not the way with them; it is the way with their women to seta man on fire and then laugh at him, and it is the way with their men todraw a gun. What do they expect, Crooked-Bear? I ask you that!"

  "Who was the girl, Ermine?"

  The scout unwrapped the package from his bosom, and handed thephotograph to the old man, saying, "She is like that."

  The hermit regarded the picture and ventured, "An officer's daughter?"

  "Yes; daughter of Major Searles."

  "Who was the man you shot?"

  "A young pony soldier,--an officer; his name is Butler." And graduallyErmine was led to reveal events to the wise man, who was able to pieceout the plot with much knowledge not natural to the wilds of the RockyMountains. And it was a tragedy. He knew that the girl's unfortunateshot had penetrated deeper than Ermine's, and that the Law and theLawless were in a death grapple.

  They sought their bunks, and in the following days the prophet pouredmuch cold water on Ermine's determination, which only turned to steamand lost itself in the air. The love of the woman and the hate of theman had taken root in the bedrock of his human nature, and the pallid"should nots" and "must nots" of the prophet only rustled the leaves ofErmine's philosophy.

  "He has taken her from me; he has made me lose everything I worked forwith the white men; he has made me a human wolf, and I mean to go backand kill him. You say I may lose my life; ho! what is a dead man? A deadman and a buffalo chip look just alike to these mountains, to this sky,and to me, Crooked-Bear," came the lover's reply.

  And at other times: "I know, Crooked-Bear, that you wanted a girl tomarry you once, and because she would not, you have lived all your lifelike a gray bear up here in these rocks, and you will die here. I am notgoing to do that; I am going to make others drink with me this bitterdrink, which will sweeten it for me."

  Sadly the hermit saw this last interest on earth pass from him; saw Fatewave her victorious banners over him; saw the forces of nature worktheir will; and he sank under the burden of his thoughts. "I had hoped,"he said to himself, "to be able to restore this boy to his proper placeamong the white people, but I have failed. I do not understand why menshould be so afflicted in this world as Ermine and I have been, butdoubtless it is the working of a great law, and possibly of a good one.My long years as a hunter have taught me that the stopping of theheart-beat is no great thing--it is soon over; but the years of livingthat some men are made to undergo is a very trying matter. Brave andsane is he who keeps his faith. I fear for the boy."

  After a few weeks Ermine could no longer bear with the sullen savageryof his emotions, and he took his departure. Crooked-Bear sat by hiscabin door and saw him tie his blanket on his saddle; saw him mount andextend his hand, which he shook, and they parted without a word. Theyhad grown accustomed to this ending; there was nothing in words thatmattered now. The prophet's boy disappeared in the gloom of the woods,snapping bushes, and rolling stones, until there was no sound save thecrackling of the fire on the lonely hearth.

  As Ermine ambled over the yellow wastes, he thought of the differencebetween now and his going to the white man one year ago. Then he wasfull of hopes; but now no Crow Indian would dare be seen in hiscompany--not even Wolf-Voice could offer him the comfort of his recklesspresence. He was compelled to sneak into the Absaroke camp in the night,to trade for an extra pony with his relatives, and to be gone before themorning. The ghostly tepees, in the quiet of the night, seemed to dancearound him, coming up, and then retiring, while their smoke-flaps wavedtheir giant fingers, beckoning him to be gone. The dogs slunk from him,and
the ponies walked away. The curse of the white man was here in theshadows, and he could feel the Indians draw their robes more closelyover their heads as they dreamed. The winds from the mountains blew onhis back to help him along, and whispered ugly thoughts. All the good ofthe world had drawn away from Ermine, and it seemed that the sun did notcare to look at him, so long was he left to stumble through the dark.But Nature did not paint this part of her day any blacker than she hadErmine's heart; each footfall of his pony took him nearer to death, andhe whipped on impatiently to meet it. Hope had long since departed--hecould not steal the girl; he realized the impossibility of eludingpursuit; he only wanted to carry Butler with him away from her. All thepatient training of Crooked-Bear, all the humanizing influence of whiteassociation, all softening moods of the pensive face in the photograph,were blown from the fugitive as though carried on a wind; he was ashellfish-eating cave-dweller, with a Springfield, a knife, and arevolver. He had ceased to think in English, and muttered to himself inAbsaroke. As his pony stumbled at a ford in the river, he cut itsavagely with his whip,--the pony which was the last of hisfriends,--and it grunted piteously as it scrambled for its foothold.

  Day after day he crawled through the rugged hills far from the placeswhere men might be; for every one was his enemy, and any chance riflewould take away from him his vengeance. The tale of his undoing hadtravelled wide--he found that out in the Crow camp; Ba-cher-hish-a hadtold him that through her tears. He could trust no one; the scouts atTongue River might be apathetic in an attempt to capture him, but theycould not fail to report his presence if seen in the vicinity. Butlerwas probably in the middle of the log-town, which swarmed with soldiers,but it was there he must go, and he had one friend left, just one; it isalways the last friend such a one has,--the Night.

  Having arrived in the vicinity of the post, he prowled out on foot withhis only friend. It was early, for he must do his deed while yet thelights were lit. Any one moving about after "taps" would surely beinvestigated by the guard. The country was not yet tranquil enough topermit of laxity in the matter of sentry duty, and the soldiers counted"ten" very fast after they challenged. He had laid aside his big hat,and was wrapped in his blanket. Many Indians were about, and he was lessapt to be spoken to or noticed. He moved forward to the scout fire,which was outside of the guard-line, and stood for a time in somebrushwood, beyond the play of the flames. He was closely enveloped inhis blanket, and although Indians passed quite near him, he was notnoticed. Suddenly he heard a detail of wagons clanking up the road, andconjectured rightly that they would go into the post. He ran silentlytoward them, and stooping low, saw against the skyline that the cavalryguard had worked up in front, impatient to shave the time when theyshould reach their quarters.

  It was a wood train, and it clanked and ground and jingled to thequartermaster's corral, bearing one log on the last wagon which was JohnErmine and his fortunes. This log slid to the ground and walked swiftlyaway.

  * * * * *

  The time for "taps" was drawing near, and the post buzzed in the usualexpectation of that approaching time of quiet. A rifle-shot rang loudand clear up on the officers' row; it was near Major Searles's house,every one said as they ran. Women screamed, and Tongue River cantonmentlaid its legs to the ground as it gathered to the place. Officers camewith revolvers, and the guard with lanterns. Mrs. Searles and herdaughter were clasped in each other's arms, while Mary, the cook, puther apron over her head. Searles ran out with his gun; the shot had beenright under the window of his sitting-room. An Indian voice greetedhim, "Don' shoot; me killi him."

  "Who in h---- are you?" swore Searles, at a present.

  "Don' shoot, me Ahhaeta--all same Sharp-Nose--don' shoot--me killi him."

  "Killi who? Who have you killed? Talk up quick!"

  "Me killi him. You come--you see."

  By this time the crowd drew in with questions and eager to help. Asergeant arrived with a lantern, and the guard laid rude hands on theCrow scout, Sharp-Nose, who was well known. He was standing over theprostrate figure, and continued to reiterate, "Me killi him."

  The lantern quickly disclosed the man on the ground to be John Ermine,late scout and fugitive from justice, shot through the heart and dead,with his blanket and rifle on the ground beside him. As he lookedthrough the window, he had been stalked and killed by the fool whom hewould not allow to shake hands with Katherine Searles, and a few momentslater, when Sharp-Nose was brought into her presence, between twosoldiers, she recognized him when he said, "Mabeso, now you shakehands."

  "Yes, I will shake hands with you, Sharp-Nose," and half to herself, asshe eyed her malevolent friend, she muttered, "and he kept you toremember me by."

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