The Watchers of the Plains: A Tale of the Western Prairies

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER X

  SETH ATTEMPTS TO WRITE A LETTER

  It is not usually a remarkable event in one's life, the writing of aletter. In these days of telephone, however, it soon will be. In Seth'scase it nearly was so, but for a different reason. Seth could write, evenas he could read. But he was not handy at either. He abominated writing,and preferred to read only that which Nature held out for his perusal.However, after some days of deep consideration, he had decided to write aletter. And, with characteristic thoroughness, he intended it to be verylong, and very explicit.

  After supper one evening, when Rube had gone out for his evening smoke,and that final prowl round necessary to see that all was prepared for themorrow's work, and the stock comfortable for the night, and Ma Sampson andRosebud were busy washing up, and, in their department, also seeing thingsstraight for the night, Seth betook himself to the parlor, that haven ofmodest comfort and horsehair, patchwork rugs and many ornaments, earthenfloor and low ceiling, and prepared for his task. He had no desire toadvertise the fact of that letter, so he selected this particular momentwhen the others were occupied elsewhere.

  His ink and paper were on the table before him, and his pen was poisedwhile he considered. Then the slow, heavy footfall of old Rube soundedapproaching through the kitchen. The scribe waited to hear him passup-stairs, or settle himself in an armchair in the kitchen. But the heavytread came on, and presently the old man's vast bulk blocked the doorway.

  "Ah! Writin'?"

  The deep tone was little better than a grunt.

  Seth nodded, and gazed out of the window. The parlor window looked out inthe direction of the Reservation. If he intended to convey a hint it wasnot taken. Old Rube had expected Seth to join him outside for their usualsmoke. That after-supper prowl had been their habit for years. He wantedto talk to him.

  "I was yarnin' with Jimmy Parker s'afternoon," said Rube.

  Seth looked round.

  The old man edged heavily round the table till he came to the high-backed,rigid armchair that had always been his seat in this room.

  "He says the crops there are good," he went on, indicating the Reservationwith a nod of his head toward the window.

  "It'll be a good year all round, I guess," Seth admitted.

  "Yes, I dare say it will be," was the answer.

  Rube was intently packing his pipe, and the other waited. Rube's deep-seteyes had lost their customary twinkle. The deliberation with which he waspacking his pipe had in it a suggestion of abstraction. Filling a pipe isa process that wonderfully indicates the state of a man's mind.

  "Jimmy's worried some. 'Bout the harvest, I guess," Rube said presently,adjusting his pipe in the corner of his mouth, and testing the draw of it.But his eyes were not raised to his companion's face.

  "Injuns ain't workin' well?"

  "Mebbe."

  "They're a queer lot."

  "Ye-es. I was kind o' figgerin'. We're mostly through hayin'."

  "I've got another slough to cut."

  "That's so. Down at the Red Willow bluff." The old man nodded.

  "Yes," assented Seth. Then, "Wal?"

  "After that, guess ther's mostly slack time till harvest. I thought,mebbe, we could jest haul that lumber from Beacon Crossing. And cut thelogs. Parker give me the 'permit.' Seems to me we might do wuss."

  "For the stockade?" suggested Seth.

  "Yes."

  "I've thought of that, too." The two men looked into each other's eyes.And the old man nodded.

  "Guess the gals wouldn't want to know," he said, rising and preparing todepart.

  "No--I don't think they would."

  The hardy old pioneer towered mightily as he moved toward the door. Inspite of his years he displayed none of the uneasiness which his wordsmight have suggested. Nothing that frontier life could show him would benew. At least, nothing that he could imagine. But then his imagination waslimited. Facts were facts with him; he could not gild them. Seth waspractical, too; but he also had imagination, which made him the clevererman of the two in the frontiersman's craft.

  At the door Rube looked round.

  "Guess you was goin' to write some?"

  He passed out with a deep gurgle, as though the fact of Seth's writing wassomething to afford amusement.

  Seth turned to the paper and dipped his pen in the ink. Then he wiped itclean on his coat sleeve and dipped it again. After that he headed hispaper with much precision. Then he paused, for he heard a light footstepcross the passage between the parlor and the kitchen. He sighed in reliefas it started up-stairs. But his relief was short-lived. He knew that itwas Rosebud. He heard her stop. Then he heard her descend again. The nextmoment she appeared in the doorway.

  "What, Seth writing?" she exclaimed, her laughing eyes trying to lookseriously surprised. "I knew you were here by the smell of the smoke."

  "Guess it was Rube's." Seth's face relaxed for a moment, then it returnedto its usual gravity.

  "Then it must have been that pipe you gave him the other night," shereturned quick as thought.

  Seth shook his head.

  "Here it is," he said, and drew a pipe from his pocket. "He 'lowed hehadn't no nigger blood in him."

  "Too strong?"

  "Wal--he said he had scruples."

  Rosebud laughed, and came and perched herself on the edge of Seth's table.He leant back in his chair and smiled up at her. Resignation was his onlyrefuge. Besides--

  "So you're writing, Seth," the girl said, and her eyes had become reallyserious. They were deep, deep now, the violet of them was almost black inthe evening light. "I wonder----"

  Seth shook his head.

  "Nobody yet," he said.

  "You mean I'm to go away?" Rosebud smiled, but made no attempt to move.

  "Guess I ain't in no hurry."

  "Well, I'm glad of that. And you're not grumpy with me either, are you?No?" as Seth shook his head. "That's all right, then, because I want totalk to you."

  "That's how I figgered."

  "You're always figuring, Seth. You figure so much in your own quiet waythat I sometimes fancy you haven't time to look at things which don'tneed calculating upon. I suppose living near Indians all your life makesyou look very much ahead. I wonder--what you see there. You and Rube."

  "Guess you're side-tracked," Seth replied uneasily, and turning hisattention to the blank paper before him.

  The girl's face took on a little smile. Her eyes shone again as shecontemplated the dark head of the man who was now unconscious of her gaze.There was a tender look in them. The old madcap in her was taming. Asomething looked out of her eyes now which certainly would not have beenthere had the man chanced to look up. But he didn't. The whiteness of thepaper seemed to absorb all his keenest interest.

  "I rather think you always fancy I'm side-tracked, Seth," the girl said atlast. "You don't think I have a serious thought in my foolish head."

  Seth looked up now and smiled.

  "Guess you've always been a child to me," he said. "An' kiddies ain'tbustin' with brain--generly. However, I don't reckon you're foolish. 'Cep'when you git around that Reservation," he added thoughtfully.

  There was a brief silence. The man avoided the violet eyes. He seemedafraid to look at them. Rosebud's presence somehow made things hard forhim. Seth was a man whom long years of a life fraught with danger hadtaught that careful thought must be backed up by steady determination.There must be no wavering in any purpose. And this girl's presence madehim rebel against that purpose he had in his mind now.

  "That has always been a trouble between us, hasn't it?" Rosebud said atlast. And her quiet manner drew her companion's quick attention. "But itshan't be any more."

  The man looked up now; this many-sided girl could still astonish him.

  "You're quittin' the Reservation?" he said.

  "Yes,--except the sewing and Sunday classes at the Mission," Rosebudreplied slowly. "But it's not on your account I'm doing it," she addedhastily, with a gleam of the old mischief in her eyes. "I
t'sbecause--Seth, why do the Indians hate you? Why does Little Black Fox hateyou?"

  The man's inquiring eyes searched the bright earnest face looking downupon him. His only reply was a shake of the head.

  "I know," she went on. "It's on my account. You killed Little Black Fox'sfather to save me."

  "Not _to_ save you," Seth said. He was a stickler for facts. "_And_ savedyou."

  "Oh, bother! Seth, you are stupid! It's on that account he hates you. And,Seth, if I promise not to go to the Reservation without some one, will youpromise me not to go there without me? You see it's safer if there aretwo."

  Seth smiled at the naive simplicity of the suggestion. He did not detectthe guile at first. But it dawned on him presently and he smiled more. Shehad said she was not going to visit the Reservation again.

  "Who put these crazy notions into your head, Rosebud?" he asked.

  "No one."

  The girl's answer came very short. She didn't like being laughed at. Andshe thought he was laughing at her now.

  "Some one's said something," Seth persisted. "You see Little Black Fox hashated me for six years. There is no more danger for me now than there waswhen I shot Big Wolf. With you it's kind o' different. You see--you'regrown----"

  "I see." Rosebud's resentment had passed. She understood her companion'smeaning. She had understood that she was "grown" before. Presently shewent on. "I've learned a lot in the last few days," she said quietly,gazing a little wistfully out of the window. "But nobody has actually toldme anything. You see," with a shadowy smile, "I notice things near athand. I don't calculate ahead. I often talk to Little Black Fox. He iseasy to read. Much easier than you are, Seth," she finished up, with awise little nod.

  "An' you've figgered out my danger?" Seth surveyed the trim figurereposing with such unconscious grace upon the table. He could have feastedhis eyes upon it, but returned to a contemplation of his note-paper.

  "Yes. Will you promise me, Seth--dear old Seth?"

  The man shook his head. The wheedling tone was hard to resist.

  "I can't do that," he said. "You see, Rosebud, ther's many things take methere which must be done. Guess I git around after you at times. Thatcould be altered, eh?"

  "I don't think you're kind, Seth!" The girl pouted her disappointment, butthere was some other feeling underlying her manner. The man looked up withinfinite kindness in his eyes, but he gave no sign of any other feeling.

  "Little Rosebud," he said, "if ther's a creetur in this world I've anotion to be kind to, I guess she ain't more'n a mile from me now. But, asI said, ther's things that take me to the Reservation. Rube ken tell you.So----"

  The man broke off, and dipped his pen in the ink. Rosebud watched him,and, for once in her wilful life, forgot that she had been refusedsomething, and consequently to be angry. She looked at the head bendingover the paper as the man inscribed, "Dear sirs," and that something whichhad peeped out of her eyes earlier in their interview was again to be seenthere.

  She reached out a hand as she slid from the table and smoothed the head ofdark hair with it.

  "All right, Seth," she said gently. "We'll have no promises, but take careof yourself, because you are my own old--'Daddy.'"

  At the door she turned.

  "You can write your letter now," she said, with a light laugh. The nextmoment she was gone.