CHAPTER VII
The stage station at White Lodge was a temporary center of publicinterest every afternoon at three o'clock when Charley Hicks drove thepassenger bus in from Quaking-Asp Grove. After a due inspection of thepassengers the crowd always shifted immediately to the post-office toawait the distribution of mail.
A well-dressed, refined-looking woman of middle age was among thepassengers on the second day after the hearing of Fire Bear and JimMcFann. She had little or nothing to say on the trip--perhaps for thereason that speech would have been difficult on account of themonopolizing of the conversation by the other passengers. These includedtwo women from White Lodge, one rancher from Antelope Mesa, and twodrummers who were going to call on White Lodge merchants. Theconversation was unusually brisk and ran almost exclusively on themurder.
Judge Garford's action in releasing Fire Bear on the agent's promise toproduce the prisoner in court was the cause of considerable criticism.The two women, the ranchman, and one of the drummers had voted that toomuch leniency was shown. The other drummer appealed to the stage-driverto support his contention that the court's action was novel, butentirely just.
"Well, all I can say is," remarked the driver, "that if that Injun showsup for trial, as per his agreement, without havin' to be sent for, it'sgoin' to be a hard lesson for the white race to swaller. You can imaginehow much court'd be held if all white suspects was to be let go on theirword that they'd show up for trial. Detectives 'd be chasin' fugitivesall over the universe. If that Injun shows up, I'll carry the hullreservation anywheres, without tickets, if they'll promise to pay me atthe end of the trip."
The driver noticed that the quiet lady in the back seat, though takingno part in the conversation, seemed to be a keenly interested listener.No part of the discussion of the murder escaped her, but she asked noquestions. On alighting at White Lodge, she asked the driver where shecould get a conveyance to take her to Willis Morgan's ranch.
The driver looked at her in such astonishment that she repeated herquestion.
"I'd 'a' plum forgot there was such a man in this part of the country,"said Charley, "if it hadn't 'a' been that sometime before this heremurder I carried a young woman--a stepdaughter of his'n--and she askedme the same question. I don't believe you can hire any one to take youout there, but I'll bet I can get you took by the same young feller thattook this girl to the ranch. He's the Indian agent, and I seen him inhis car when we turned this last corner."
Followed by his passenger the driver hurried back to the corner andhailed Walter Lowell, who was just preparing to return to the agency.
On having matters explained, Lowell expressed his willingness to carrythe lady passenger over to the ranch. Her suitcase was put in theautomobile, and soon they were on the outskirts of White Lodge.
"I ought to explain," said the agent's passenger, "that my name isScovill--Miss Sarah Scovill--and Mr. Morgan's stepdaughter has been inmy school for years."
"I know," said Lowell. "I've heard her talk about your school, and I'mglad you're going out to see her. She needs you."
Miss Scovill looked quickly at Lowell. She was one of those women whosebeauty is only accentuated by gray hair. Her brow and eyes wereserene--those of a dreamer. Her mouth and chin were delicately modeled,but firm. Their firmness explained, perhaps, why she was executive headof a school instead of merely a teacher. Not all her philosophy had beenwon from books. She had traveled and observed much of life at firsthand. That was why she could keep her counsel--why she had kept itduring all the talk on the stage, even though that talk had vitallyinterested her. She showed the effects of her long, hard trip, but wouldnot hear of stopping at the agency for supper.
"If you don't mind--if it is not altogether too much trouble to put youto--I must go on," she said. "I assure you it's very important, and itconcerns Helen Ervin, and I assume that you are her friend."
Lowell hastened his pace. It all meant that it would be long past thesupper hour when he returned to the agency, but there was an appeal inMiss Scovill's eyes and voice which was not to be resisted. Anyway, hewas not going to offer material resistance to something which wasconcerned with the well being of Helen Ervin.
They sped through the agency, past Talpers's store, and climbed the bighill just as the purples fell into their accustomed places in thehollows of the plain. As they bowled past the scene of the tragedy,Lowell pointed it out, with only a brief word. His passenger gave alittle gasp of pain and horror. He thought it was nothing more thanmight ordinarily be expected under such circumstances, but, on lookingat Miss Scovill, he was surprised to see her leaning back against theseat, almost fainting.
"By George!" said Lowell contritely, "I shouldn't have mentioned it toyou."
He slowed down the car, but Miss Scovill sat upright and recovered hermental poise, though with evident effort.
"I'm glad you did mention it," she said, looking back as if fascinated."Only, you see, I'd been hearing about the murder most of the day in thestage, and then this place is so big and wide and lonely! Please don'tthink I'm foolish."
"It's all because you're from the city and haven't proportioned thingsas yet," said Lowell. "Now all this loneliness seems kindly, to me. It'sonly crowds that seem cruel. I often envy trappers dying alone in suchplaces. Also I can understand why the Indians wanted nothing better indeath than to have their bodies hoisted high atop of a hill, withnothing to disturb."
As they rounded the top of the hill and the road came up behind themlike an inverted curtain, Miss Scovill gave one last backward look.Lowell saw that she was weeping quietly, but unrestrainedly. He drove onin silence until he pulled the automobile up in front of the Morganranch.
"You'll find Miss Ervin here," said Lowell, stepping out of the car."This is the Greek Letter Ranch."
If the prospect brought any new shock to Miss Scovill, she gave noindication of the fact. She answered Lowell steadily enough when heasked her when he should call for her on her return trip.
"My return trip will be right now," she said. "I've thought it allout--just what I'm to do, with your help. Please don't take my suitcasefrom the car. Just turn the car around, and be ready to take us backto-night--I mean Helen and myself. I intend to bring her right out andtake her away from this place."
Wonderingly Lowell turned the car as she directed. Miss Scovill knockedat the ranch-house door. It was opened by Wong, and Miss Scovill steppedinside. The door closed again. Lowell rolled a cigarette and smoked it,and then rolled another. He was about to step out of the car and knockat the ranch-house door when Helen and Miss Scovill came out, each withan arm about the other's waist.
Miss Scovill's face looked whiter than ever in the moonlight.
"Something has happened," she said--"something that makes it impossiblefor me to go back--for Helen to go back with me to-night. If you cancome and get me in the morning, I'll go back alone."
Lowell's amazement knew no bounds. Miss Scovill had made this longjourney from San Francisco to get Helen--evidently to wrest her at onceaway from this ranch of mystery--and now she was going back alone,leaving the girl among the very influences she had intended to combat.
"Please, Mr. Lowell, do as she says," interposed Helen, whose demeanorwas grave, but whose joy at this meeting with her teacher and fostermother shone in her eyes.
"Yes, yes--you'll have our thanks all through your life if you will takeme back to-morrow and say nothing of what you have seen or heard," saidMiss Scovill.
Lowell handed Miss Scovill's suitcase to the silent Wong, who hadslipped out behind the women.
"I'm only too glad to be of service to you in any way," he said. "I'llbe here in the morning early enough so you can catch the stage out ofWhite Lodge."
Much smoking on the way home did not clear up the mystery for Lowell.Nor did sitting up and weighing the matter long after his usual bedtimebring him any nearer to answering the questions: Why did Miss Scovillcome here determined to take Helen Ervin back to San Francisco with her?Why did Miss Scovill ch
ange her mind so completely after arriving atMorgan's ranch? Also why did said Miss Scovill betray such unusualagitation on passing the scene of the murder on the Dollar Sign road--amurder that she had been hearing discussed from all angles during theday?
This last question was intensified the next morning, when, with Helen inthe back seat with Miss Scovill, Lowell drove back to White Lodge. Whenthey passed the scene of the murder, Lowell took pains to notice thatMiss Scovill betrayed no signs of mental strain. Yet only a few hoursbefore she had been completely unnerved at passing by this same spot.
The women talked little on the trip to White Lodge. What talk there wasbetween them was on school matters--mostly reminiscences of Helen'sschool-days. Lowell could not help thinking that they feared to talk ofpresent matters--that something was weighing them down and crushing theminto silence. But they parted calmly enough at White Lodge. After thestage had gone with Miss Scovill, Helen slipped into the seat besideLowell and chatted somewhat as she had done during their first journeyover the road.
As for Lowell, he dismissed for the moment all thoughts of tragedy andmystery from his mind, and gave himself up to the enjoyment of the ride.They stopped at the agency, and Helen called on some of the friends shehad made on her first journey through. Lowell showed her about thegrounds, and she took keen interest in all that had been done to improvethe condition of the Indians.
"Of course the main object is to induce the Indian to work," saidLowell. "The agency is simply an experimental plant to show him theright methods. It was hard for the white man to leave the comfortablelife of the savage and take up work. The trouble is that we're expectingthe Indian to acquire in a generation the very things it took us ages toaccept. That's why I haven't been in too great a hurry to shut down ondances and religious ceremonies. The Indian has had to assimilate toomuch, as it is. It seems to me that if he makes progress slowly that isabout all that can be expected of him."
"It seems to me that saving the Indian from extermination, as all thiswork is helping to do, is among the greatest things in the world," saidHelen. "The sad thing to me is that these people seem so remote from allhelp. The world forgets so easily what it can't see."
"Yes, there are no newspapers out here to get up Christmas charitydrives, and there are few volunteer settlement workers to be called onfor help at any time. And there are no charity balls for the Indian. Itisn't that he wants charity so much as understanding."
"Understanding often comes quickest through charity," interposed Helen."It seems to me that no one could ask a better life-work than to helpthese people."
"There's more to them than the world has been willing to concede,"declared Lowell. "I never have subscribed to Parkman's theory that theIndian's mind moves in a beaten track and that his soul is dormant. Themore I work among them the more respect I have for their capabilities."
Further talk of Indian affairs consumed the remainder of the trip.Lowell was an enthusiast in his work, though he seldom talked of it,preferring to let results speak for themselves. But he had found a readyand sympathetic listener. Furthermore, he wished to take the girl's mindfrom the matters that evidently were proving such a weight. He succeededso well that not until they reached the ranch did her troubledexpression return.
"Tell me," said Lowell, as he helped her from the automobile, "is he--isMorgan better, and is he treating you all right?"
"Yes, to both questions," said she. Then, after a moment's hesitation,she added: "Come in. Perhaps it will be possible for you to see him."
Lowell stepped into the room that served as Morgan's study. One wall waslined with books, Greek predominating. Helen knocked at the door of theadjoining room, and there came the clear, sharp, cynical voice that hadaroused all the antagonism in Lowell's nature on his first visit.
"Come in, come in!" called the voice, as cold as ice crystals.
Helen entered, and closed the door. The voice could be heard, indifferent modulations, but always with profound cynicism as its basis.
Lowell, with a gesture of rage, stepped to the library table. He pickedup a volume of Shakespeare's tragedies, and noticed that all referencesto killing and to bloodshed in general had been blotted out. Passageafter passage was blackened with heavy lines in lead pencil. Inastonishment, Lowell picked up another volume and found that the samething had been done. Then the door opened and he heard the cutting voicesay:
"Tell the interesting young agent that I am indisposed. I have never hada social caller within my doors here, and I do not wish to start now."
Helen came out and closed the door.
"You heard?" she asked.
"Yes," replied Lowell. "It's all right. I'm only sorry if my coming hascaused you any additional pain or embarrassment. I won't ask you againwhat keeps you in an atmosphere like this, but any time you want toleave, command me on the instant."
"Please don't get our talk back where it was before," pleaded Helen, asthey stepped out on the porch and Lowell said good-bye. "I've enjoyedthe ride and the talk to-day because it all took me away from myself andfrom this place of horrors. But I can't leave here permanently, nomatter how much I might desire it."
"It's all going to be just as you say," Lowell replied. "Some day I'llsee through it all, perhaps, but right now I'm not trying very hard,because some way I feel that you don't want me to."
She shook hands with him gratefully, and Lowell drove slowly back to theagency, not forgetting his customary stop at the scene of the murder--astop that proved fruitless as usual.
When he entered the agency office, Lowell was greeted with an excitedhail from Ed Rogers.
"Here's news!" exclaimed the chief clerk. "Tom Redmond has telephonedover that Jim McFann has broken jail."
"How did he get away?"
"Jim had been hearing all this talk about lynching. It had been comingto him, bit by bit, in the jail, probably passed on by the otherprisoners, and it got him all worked up. It seems that the jailer's kid,a boy about sixteen years old, had been in the habit of bringing Jim'smeals. Also the kid had a habit of carrying Dad's keys around, just toshow off. Instead of grabbing his soup, Jim grabbed the kid by thethroat. Then he made the boy unlock the cell door and Jim slipped out,gagged the kid, and walked out of the jail. He jumped on a cowboy's ponyin front of the jail, and was gone half an hour before the kid, who hadbeen locked in Jim's cell, managed to attract attention. Tom Redmondwants you to get out the Indian police, because he's satisfied Jim hasskipped to the reservation and is hiding somewhere in the hills."
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