CHAPTER XVI
GENERAL DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF
Never since her first coming to the farm had Rosebud been forced to keepher goings and comings secret. But Wanaha had made it imperative now. Itwent sorely against the girl's inclination, for she hated deception of anykind; and she knew that what she meditated was a deception against thoseshe loved. Consequently she was angry; angry with Wanaha, angry with theIndians, but most of all with herself. Wanaha had asked for a secret visitto Nevil Steyne, who was cutting wood below the bridge.
But in spite of her anger, as she made the necessary detour forconcealment in one of those deep troughs amid the billows of grass-land,there was a sparkle of anticipation and excitement in her violet eyes.Before she was half-way to the woods that lined the river the last shadowof her brief anger had passed from her face. After all, she told herselfin weak excuse, what she was doing was only a very little matter, and,perhaps--who could tell?--she might learn something that would be usefulto Seth, who cared for nothing and nobody in the world but the Indians. Soshe rode on quite fearless, with no graver qualms than the very slightesttwinge of conscience.
As she rode she debated with herself the manner in which she was toconceal her destination from chance observers. Wilful and irresponsible asRosebud always appeared to be, there was yet something strongly reliant inher nature. She was, as so many girls are, a child in thought and deeduntil some great event, perchance some bereavement, some tragedy, or somegreat love, should come to rouse the dormant strength for good or illwhich lies hidden for years, sometimes for life, in nearly every daughterof Eve.
The result of her debate was a decision to head for the ford when once shewas out of view of the farm. She argued, if Nevil Steyne were cutting woodbelow the bridge, as Wanaha had told her, then by entering the woods atthe ford she could make her way through them until she came to him. Thusshe would not show herself near his hut, or near where he might be knownto be working.
So, in the waning daylight, she cantered over the scented grass without athought of the danger which Wanaha had hinted to her. She was defenceless,unarmed, yet utterly fearless. Her spirit was of the plains, fresh,bright, strong. Life to her was as the rosy light of dawn, full of promiseand hope. Her frail figure, just budding with that enchanting promise ofmagnificent womanhood, swaying to the light gait of her broncho, was asight to stir the pulse of any man. It was no wonder that the patient,serious Seth watched over her, shielding her with every faculty alert,every nerve straining, all his knowledge of that living volcano over whichthey lived brought into service.
Some such thoughts as these may have passed through Charlie Rankin's mindwhen he saw her as he passed on his way to the farm. For men are likethis. Married or single they always have an eye for feminine beauty, onlywhen they are married they generally keep their observations tothemselves--if they be wise.
The sun was almost upon the horizon when the girl reached the ford. Therift in the woods, which formed a wagon trail, was very narrow, and eventhough the sun had not yet set, the spot was dark and sombre by reason ofthe wall of pine trees which lined it upon each side.
Just for a second Rosebud experienced the dark moody influence of thegloomy pine canopy beneath which she was to plunge. Like all high-spiritedcreatures she had no love for any form of gloom. And there is nothing innature that can compare with the American pinewoods for gloom. Stately,magnificent, if you will, but funereal in their gloom.
Something of her surroundings now found reflection in the expression ofher fair face as she plunged down the solemn aisles of black, barren treetrunks, like columns supporting the superstructure of some Gothiccathedral.
Her broncho was forced to take his way carefully, and thus his gait wasreduced to little better than a walk. Further in, the tree-trunks gave wayoccasionally to patches of undergrowth. Then they became mixed with othergrowths. Maple and spruce held place and made her course more awkward, andfurther hindered her. The blue gums crowded so closely that frequently shewas driven to considerable detour. Gradually the maze began to confuseher. She started to reckon the whereabouts of the river, a process whichconfused her more. But she kept on, her whole attention concentrated,--somuch so that even her object was almost forgotten.
So engrossed was she that she failed to notice that her horse had suddenlybecome very alert. His large, low-bred ears, that weathercock of thehorseman, were pricked up, and he looked inquiringly from side to side ashe picked his way. Once he gave a short, suppressed whinny.
The girl's perplexity, however, was strong upon her. She did not hear it,or, if she did, it conveyed nothing to her. Her brows were puckered, andshe gazed only ahead. Had she paused she must have heard that which haddrawn her horse's attention. But she kept on, struggling with the mazeabout her, and so heard no sound of the breaking brush upon either side ofher.
She was more than half-way to the bridge, when, to her intense relief, shesaw daylight ahead through the overshadowing foliage. She pushed onurgently, and sighed her relief; it was a clearing. That opening meantmore to her than she would have admitted. To see the sky again, to breatheair that was fresh, free from the redolence of the forest underlay, wasall she desired.
The clearing was fringed with a low, thorny brush, which, as she came toit, caught her skirt, and forced her to draw rein, and stoop to releaseit.
While thus occupied her broncho threw up his head and gave a tremendousneigh. The sound startled her, as these things will startle the strongestwhen all is profoundly silent. But what followed was more startling still.Not one, but half a dozen echoes at least responded, and, with a thrill,the girl sat up. The next moment she had spurred her horse and charged,regardless of the thorns, into the midst of the clearing.
As she came a wave of horror swept over her. Simultaneous with her entry amounted Indian appeared from the opposite side. Others appeared, each froma different direction, silent, but with automatic precision. To her rightshe saw them; to her left; and behind her, too. A deliberate ring ofsilent sentries had formed themselves about her, almost in the twinklingof an eye.
The girl's first terror was almost overwhelming, and her impulse was toshriek aloud. But the shock of that ghostly appearance passed, not becausethe danger appeared to lessen, but because her nerves were healthy, andshe somehow possessed sympathy with the red men. Mechanically shenoticed, too, that they were blanketed, as in peace. They had donned nofeathers or paint. Nor could she see aught of any firearms. So her couragereturned, but she did not attempt to move or speak.
She was not long left in doubt. With crude, dramatic effect Little BlackFox suddenly appeared from the adjacent woods. He rode into the ring onhis black pony, sitting the sleek beast in that haughty manner which isgiven to the Indian alone, and which comes from the fact that he uses nosaddle, and sits with the natural pose of a lithe figure that is alwayscarried erect.
He wore no blanket. He was clad from head to foot resplendent in beadedbuckskin, his long black hair flowing beneath his crown of feathers andfalling upon his shoulders. His handsome face was unscarred by anybarbaric markings such as many of his warriors displayed. He was fresh andyoung; his eyes were flashing with deep emotion, and lit up his duskycountenance with a smile that had nothing gentle in it. He was every incha chief. Nor was there any mistaking the barbaric lover that looked out ofhis eyes.
Rosebud unconsciously drew herself up. There was no responsive smile uponher face. She knew there was mischief looming, and the woman in her wasstirred to the depths. Young as she was she realized that that ring ofsentries about her could mean but one thing. Now, when it was too late,she recalled Seth's many warnings, and bitterly repented her unutterablefolly in ever going near this wild, untried young chieftain.
She kept silent. But the seconds that passed as the man rode up weretrying. He rode to within six inches of her, and their horses stood headto tail. Then he spoke in his native Sioux tongue, which so lends itselfto the expression of ardent passion.
"The sun has no brightness like the eye
s of the paleface princess," hesaid, his proud face serious, and his eyes steady and flashing. There wasalmost a flush under the dusky skin of his cheeks. "The waters of thegreat lakes are deep, but the depth is as nothing to the blue of theprincess's eyes. She is queen of her race, as Little Black Fox is king ofhis race. The king would wed the queen, whose eyes make little thecloudless summer sky. He loves her, and is the earth beneath her feet. Heloves her, and all his race shall be her servants. He loves her, and allthat is his is hers. So there shall be everlasting peace with her peopleand his. His heart is swept with a passion which is like to the fiercestblizzard of the plain. But its blast is hot; hotter and swifter than thefiercest heats of earth. There is no peace for him without the whiteprincess. He is ever at war. The body fights with the brain, and his heartis torn. So he would wed the princess."
Even in her extremity something of the real passion of this wild youthfound a chord of sympathy in Rosebud's heart. His sincerity, his splendidpersonality, savage though he was, made her listen attentively. The womanin her was not insensible to his address, but the very truth of hispassion roused her fears again to the topmost pitch. There was nomistaking those horsemen surrounding her. She gave one little helplessglance around at them that surely would have melted the heart of any whiteman. But the impassive faces held out no hope to her. She was at thisman's mercy.
Now, oddly enough, when she might have been expected to cry out in herterror, her anger rose. That quick rising anger which Seth understood sowell and smiled at. And she spoke without a shadow of fear in her tone.Her use of the Sioux tongue was not perfect, and her words gained forcetherefrom.
"The princess cannot wed the chief," she said. "It is not according to thelaw of the palefaces. Go--go back to your tepees, and the squaws of yourrace. Leave me to go in peace. I have to go back to my people."
There was a moment's pause, during which a dog's yelp might have beenheard by any less occupied. The sound was such as is the yelp of afoxhound drawing a cover. The chief's face had changed its expression; hispassion was subservient to his native ferocity, and his face displayedit.
"I have asked," he said, "I, Little Black Fox, who am chief. I have saidcome to me. The paleface girl treats me like any dog. So. I have done.The spirit of Big Wolf, my father, enters my body. Like him, who took theprincess and held her for his son, I will take that for which I haveasked. There shall be no peace with your race."
He raised an arm to seize her by the waist. The girl saw his intention,and a wild fear dilated her eyes. But she did not lose her head. Shesuddenly spurred her broncho with a little vicious stab. The animal,already on his mettle, charged forward desperately, taking the pony of theIndian facing it in the chest and throwing it back upon its haunches. Butthe chief was round like lightning. He saw nothing, heeded nothing but thepossible escape of this white girl, and that he had no intention ofpermitting. Had he been less engrossed he would have seen a dog rush madlyinto the clearing, and, in the manner of a cattle dog, incontinently begina savage assault on the heels of the Indians' ponies. No humanintelligence could have conceived a more effective plan, for the braveswere thrown into utter confusion.
Little Black Fox came up with the fugitive, and, leaning over, caught thegirl in his strong young arms. He meant to lift her from the saddle, buthe held her thus only for a bare second. There was the sharp crack of arevolver, and Rosebud felt his grasp relax. He sat up on his horse andlooked about him fiercely, then he reeled and clutched his pony's mane,while Seth, shouting encouragement to the terrified girl, came at him fromout of the woods.
He came with such a cry of rage and fury that his voice was almostunrecognizable. His face, usually so calm, was flaming. His smokingrevolver was raised aloft and, as his horse charged into that of thewounded chief, it fell crashing on to the befeathered head, and the manwent down like a log.
"You gol durned black heathen!" Seth cried. Then his rage died out beforethe greater emergency. "Ride, Rosebud! The woods, and turn left. Ride likehell!"
It was all he had time for. He turned again in time to empty anotherchamber of his gun into the stomach of an Indian, who came at him with anupraised axe. Then, as the man rolled from his horse, he saw that the resthad discarded their blankets--their wearing of which had probably savedhim--and now meant battle to the death.
He fully realized that he had no chance of escape, but he meant to givethem all he could before the end came. One Indian raised a queer old rifleat him, but he let it drop before it was discharged. Another bullet hadfound its billet in the pit of the man's stomach.
General, who had taken himself off when Rosebud departed, now returned tothe scene. He came with his fierce, canine worrying just as the rest ofthe Indians charged their solitary adversary. His diversion helped tocheck their onslaught, but only for a second. They had abandoned theirfirearms in favor of their native weapons as they came.
Seth was powerless against such odds. There was no hope. His revolvercracked and more than one man fell, but they closed with him, and, as hislast barrel was emptied, he felt the flesh of his left shoulder rip underthe slashing blow of an axe. His horse reared and for the moment took himclear of the horde, and at the same instant, he heard the deep tones ofRube's voice shouting to him. The Indians heard it, too. They turned, andthe fire of revolvers from this new direction greeted them. They couldmurder one man, but reinforcements were different. It was enough. As Rubeand Charlie Rankin galloped into the clearing they broke and fled.
"Rosebud?" cried Rube in a voice of agonized suspense.
Seth had swung his horse round and led the way out of the clearing in thetrack the girl had taken.
"Come on!" he cried. And, in a moment, the battle ground was deserted byall but the wounded Indians.
The Watchers of the Plains: A Tale of the Western Prairies Page 16