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

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XVIII

  SETH'S DUTY ACCOMPLISHED

  "It's a great country. It astonishes me at every turn, madam; but it's toostirring for me. One gets used to things, I know, but this," with a waveof the arm in the direction of the Reservations, "these hair-raisingIndians! Bless me, and you live so close to them!"

  The crisp-faced, gray-headed little lawyer smiled in a sharp, angularmanner in Ma Sampson's direction. The farmwife, arrayed in her bestmission-going clothes, was ensconced in her husband's large parlor chair,which was sizes too big for her, and smiled back at him through herglasses.

  Mr. Charles Irvine, the junior partner of the firm of solicitors, Rodgers,Son, and Irvine, of London, had made his final statement with regard toRosebud, and had now given himself up to leisure.

  There had been no difficulty. Seth's letter had stated all the facts ofwhich he had command. It had been handed on to these solicitors. And whathe had told them had been sufficient to bring one of the partners out toinvestigate. Nor had it taken this practical student of human nature longto realize the honesty of these folk, just as it had needed but one glanceof comparison between Rosebud and the portrait of Marjorie Raynor, takena few weeks before her disappearance, and which he had brought with him,to do the rest. The likeness was magical. The girl had scarcely changed atall, and it was difficult to believe that six years had elapsed since thetaking of that portrait. After a long discussion with Seth the lawyer madehis final statement to the assembled family.

  "You quite understand that this case must go through the courts," he saidgravely. "There is considerable property involved. For you, young lady, along and tedious process. However, the matter will be easier than if therewere others fighting for the estate. There are no others, because the willis entirely in your favor, in case of your mother's death. You have somecousins, and an aunt or two, all prepared to welcome you cordially; theyare in no way your opponents; they will be useful in the matter ofidentification. The only other relative is this lost uncle. In taking youback to England I assume sole responsibility. I am convinced myself,therefore I unhesitatingly undertake to escort you, and, if you care toaccept our hospitality, will hand you over to the charge of Mrs. Irvineand my daughters. And should the case go against you, a contingency whichI do not anticipate for one moment, I will see that you return to yourhappy home here in perfect safety. I hope I state my case clearly, Mr.Sampson, and you, Mr. Seth. I," and the little man tapped the bosom of hisshirt, "will personally guarantee Miss--er--Marjorie Raynor's safety andcomfort."

  Mr. Irvine beamed in his angular fashion upon Rosebud, in a way thatemphatically said, "There, by that I acknowledge your identity."

  But this man who felt sure, that, at much discomfort to himself, he wasbringing joy into a poor household, was grievously disappointed, for oneand all received his assurances as though each were a matter for grief.Seth remained silent, and Rube had no comment to offer. Rosebud forgoteven to thank him.

  Ma alone rose to the occasion, and she only by a great effort. But whenthe rest had, on various pretexts, drifted out of the parlor, she managedto give the man of law a better understanding of things. She gave him aninsight into their home-life, and hinted at the grief this parting wouldbe to them all, even to Rosebud. And he, keen man of business that he was,encouraged her to talk until she had told him all, even down to theprevious night's work on the banks of the White River. Like many women whotrust rather to the heart than to the head, Ma had thus done for Rosebudwhat no purely business procedure could have done. She had enlisted thiscool-headed but kindly lawyer's sympathies. And that goes far when averdict has to be obtained.

  In response to the lawyer's horrified realization of the dangerousadjacency of the Reservations, Ma laughed in her gentle, assured manner.

  "Maybe it seems queer to you, Mr. Irvine, but it isn't to us. We are usedto it. As my Rube always says, says he, 'When our time comes ther' ain'tno kickin' goin' to be done. Meanwhiles we'll keep a smart eye, an' ther'sallus someun lookin' on to see fair play.'"

  The old woman's reply gave this man, who had never before visited anyplace wilder than a European capital, food for reflection. This was hisfirst glimpse of pioneer life, and he warmed toward the spirit, thefortitude which actuated these people. But he made a mental resolve thatthe sooner Miss Raynor was removed from the danger zone the better.

  There was little work done on the farm that day. When Seth had finishedwith the lawyer he abruptly took himself away and spent most of the dayamong the troops. For one thing, he could not stay in the home which wasso soon to lose Rosebud. It was one matter for him to carry out the dutyhe conceived to be his, and another to stand by and receive in silence theself-inflicted chastisement it brought with it. So, with that quiet spiritof activity which was his by nature, and which served him well now, hetook his share in the work of the troops, for which his knowledge andexperience so fitted him. The most experienced officers were ready tolisten to him, for Seth was as well known in those disturbed regions asany of the more popular scouts who have found their names heading columnsin the American daily press.

  After supper he and Rube devoted themselves to the chores of the farm, andit was while he was occupied in the barn, and Rube was attending to themilch cows in another building, that he received an unexpected visit. Hewas working slowly, his wounded shoulder handicapping him sorely, for hefound difficulty in bedding down the horses with only one available hand.Hearing a light footstep coming down the passage between the double row ofstalls, he purposely continued his work.

  Rosebud, for it was she, paused at the foot of the stall in which he wasworking. He glanced round and greeted her casually. The girl stood there asecond, then she turned away, and, procuring a fork, proceeded to bed downthe stall next to him.

  Seth protested at once. Rosebud had never been allowed to do anything likethis. His objection came almost roughly, but the girl ignored it and wenton working.

  "Say, gal, quit right there," he said, in an authoritative manner.

  Rosebud laughed. But the old spirit was no longer the same. Thelight-hearted mirth had gone. Indeed, Rosebud was a child no longer. Shewas a woman, and it would have surprised these folk to know howserious-minded the last two days had made her.

  "Even a prisoner going to be hanged is allowed to amuse himself as hepleases during his last hours, Seth," she responded, pitching out thebedding from under the manger with wonderful dexterity.

  Seth flushed, and his eyes were anxious. No physical danger could havebrought such an expression to them. It was almost as if he doubted whetherwhat he had done was right. It was the doubt which at times assails thestrongest, the most decided. He seemed to be seeking a suitable response,but his habit of silence handicapped him. At last he said--

  "But he's goin' to be hanged."

  "And so am I." Rosebud fired her retort with all the force of hersuppressed passion. Then she laughed again in that hollow fashion, and thestraw flew from her fork. "At least I am going out of the world--my world,the world I love, the only world I know. And for what?"

  Seth labored steadily. His tongue was terribly slow.

  "Ther's your friends, and--the dollars."

  "Friends--dollars?" she replied scornfully, while the horse she wasbedding moved fearfully away from her fork. "You are always thinking of mydollars. What do I want with dollars? And I am not going to friends. Ihave no father and mother but Pa and Ma. I have no friends but those whohave cared for me these last six years. Why has this little man come outhere to disturb me? Because he knows that if the dollars are mine he willmake money out of me. He knows that, and for a consideration he will bemy friend. Oh, I hate him and the dollars!"

  The tide of the girl's passion overwhelmed Seth, and he hardly knew whatto say. He passed into another stall and Rosebud did the same. The man wasbeginning to realize the unsuspected depths of this girl's character, andthat, perhaps, after all, there might have been another mode of treatmentthan his line of duty as he had conceived it. He found an answer at
last.

  "Say, if I'd located this thing and had done nothin'----" he began. Andshe caught him up at once.

  "I'd have thanked you," she said.

  But Seth saw the unreasonableness of her reply.

  "Now, Rosebud," he said gently, "you're talkin' foolish. An' you know it.What I did was only right by you. I'd 'a' been a skunk to have acteddifferent. I lit on the trail o' your folk, don't matter how, an' I had tosee you righted, come what might. Now it's done. An' I don't see wher' thehangin' comes in. Guess you ken come an' see Ma later, when things getquiet agin. I don't take it she hates you a heap."

  He spoke almost cheerfully, trying hard to disguise what he really felt.He knew that with this girl's going all the light would pass out of hislife. He dared not speak in any other way or his resolve would melt beforethe tide of feeling which he was struggling to repress. He would havegiven something to find excuse to leave the barn, but he made no effort todo so.

  When Rosebud answered him her manner had changed. Seth thought that it wasdue to the reasonableness of his own arguments, but then his knowledge ofwomen was trifling. The girl had read something underlying the man's wordswhich he had not intended to be there, and had no knowledge of havingexpressed. Where a woman's affections are concerned a man is a simplestudy, especially if he permits himself to enter into debate. Seth'sstrength at all times lay in his silence. He was too honest for his speechnot to betray him.

  "Yes, I know, Seth, you are right and I am wrong," she said, and her tonewas half laughing and half crying, and wholly penitent. "That's just it, Iam always wrong. I have done nothing but bring you trouble. I am no helpto you at all. Even this fresh trouble with the Indians is my doing. Andnone of you ever blame me. And--and I don't want to go away. Oh, Seth, youdon't know how I want to stay! And you're packing me off like a naughtychild. I am not even asked if I want to go." She finished up with thatquick change to resentment so characteristic of her.

  The touch of resentment saved Seth. He found it possible to answer her,which he did with an assumption of calmness he in no way felt. It was apathetic little face that looked up into his. The girl's anger hadbrought a flush to her cheeks, but her beautiful eyes were as tearful asan April sky.

  "Guess we've all got to do a heap o' things we don't like, Rosie; a mightybig heap. An' seems to me the less we like 'em the more sure it is they'reright for us to do. Some folks calls it 'duty.'"

  "And you think it's my duty to go?"

  Seth nodded.

  "My duty, the same as it was your duty always to help me out when I gotinto some scrape?"

  Without a thought Seth nodded again, and was at once answered by thathollow little laugh which he found so jarring.

  "I hate duty! But, since I have had your splendid example before me forsix years, it has forced on me the necessity of trying to be like you."The girl's sarcasm was harsh, but Seth ignored it.

  As she went on her mood changed again. "I was thinking while that old manwas talking so much," she said slowly, "how I shall miss Pa, and Ma, andold General. And I can't bear the idea of leaving even the horses andcattle, and the grain fields. I don't know whatever the little papooses atthe Mission will do without me. I wonder if all the people who do theirduty feel like that about things? They can't really, or they wouldn't wantto do it, and would just be natural and--and human sometimes. Think of it,Seth, I'm going to leave all this beautiful sunshine for the fog of Londonjust for the sake of duty. I begin to feel quite good. Then, you see,when I'm rich I shall have so much to do with my money--so manyduties--that I shall have no time to think of White River Farm at all. Andif I do happen to squeeze in a thought, perhaps just before I go to sleepat night, it'll be such a comfort to think everybody here is doing theirduty. You see nothing else matters, does it?"

  Seth took refuge in silence. The girl's words pained him, but he knew thatit was only her grief at leaving, and he told himself that her bitternesswould soon pass. The pleasure of traveling, of seeing new places, theexcitement of her new position would change all that. Receiving no replyRosebud went on, and her bitterness merged into an assumed brightnesswhich quite deceived her companion.

  "Yes," she continued, "after all it won't be so dreadful, will it? I canbuy lots of nice things, and I shall have servants. And I can go all overthe world. No more washing up. And there'll be parties and dances. And Mr.Irvine said something about estates. I suppose I'll have a countryhouse--like people in books. Yes, and I'll marry some one with a title,and wear diamonds. Do you think somebody with a title would marry me,Seth?"

  "Maybe, if you asked him."

  "Oh!"

  "Wal, you see it's only fine ladies gits asked by fellers as has titles."

  The dense Seth felt easier in his mind at the girl's tone, and in hisclumsy fashion was trying to join in the spirit of the thing.

  "Thank you, I'll not ask any one to marry me."

  Seth realized his mistake.

  "Course not. I was jest foolin'."

  "I know." Rosebud was smiling, and a dash of mischief was in her eyes asshe went on--

  "It would be awful if a girl had to ask some one to marry her, wouldn'tit?"

  "Sure."

  Seth moved out into the passage; the last horse was bedded down, and theystood together leaning on their forks.

  "The man would be a silly, wouldn't he?"

  "A reg'lar hobo."

  "What's a 'hobo,' Seth?"

  "Why, jest a feller who ain't got no 'savee.'"

  "'Savee' means 'sense,' doesn't it?" Rosebud's eyes were innocentlyinquiring, and they gazed blandly up into the man's face.

  "Wal, not exac'ly. It's when a feller don't git a notion right, an' mussesthings up some." They were walking toward the barn door now. Seth wasabout to go up to the loft to throw down hay. "Same as when I got seein'after the Injuns when I ought to've stayed right here an' seen you didn'tgo sneakin' off by y'self down by the river," he added slyly, with one ofhis rare smiles.

  The girl laughed and clapped her hands.

  "Oh, Seth!" she cried, as she moved out to return to the house, "thenyou're a regular 'hobo.' What a joke!"

  And she ran off, leaving the man mystified.

  Rosebud and the lawyer left the following morning. Never had such goodfortune caused so much grief. It was a tearful parting; Ma and Rosebudwept copiously, and Rube, too, was visibly affected. Seth avoidedeverybody as much as possible. He drove the conveyance into BeaconCrossing, but, as they were using the lawyer's hired "democrat," heoccupied the driving-seat with the man who had brought the lawyer out tothe farm. Thus it was he spoke little to Rosebud on the journey.

  Later, at the depot, he found many things to occupy him and only time tosay "good-bye" at the last moment, with the lawyer looking on.

  The girl was on the platform at the end of the sleeping-car when Sethstepped up to make his farewell.

  "Good-bye, little Rosebud," he said, in his quiet, slow manner. His eyeswere wonderfully soft. "Maybe you'll write some?"

  The girl nodded. Her violet eyes were suspiciously bright as she lookedfrankly up into his face.

  "I hope we shall both be happy. We've done our duty, haven't we?" sheasked, with a wistful little smile.

  "Sure," replied Seth, with an ineffective attempt at lightness.

  The girl still held his hand and almost imperceptibly drew nearer to him.Her face was lifted to him in a manner that few would have mistaken. ButSeth gently withdrew his hand, and, as the train began to move, climbeddown and dropped upon the low platform.

  Rosebud turned away with a laugh, though her eyes filled with tears. Shewaved a handkerchief, and Seth's tall, slim figure was the last she beheldof Beacon Crossing. And when the train was sufficiently far away shekissed her hand in the direction of the solitary figure still doing sentryat the extremity of the platform. Then she went into the car and gave fullvent to the tears she had struggled so long to repress.