Kiddie the Scout

by Leighton, Robert

  Kiddie shook his head.

  "Gee!" exclaimed Rube. "Ain't you figurin' ter take it on, then—this boss chieftainship that they've offered you?"

  "Not I," said Kiddie, very decisively.

  "Made up your mind against it?"

  "Yes. I'd made up my mind before Short Nose began to speak. I'd guessed what was coming."

  "Um!" murmured Rube. "Dunno whether t' be glad or sorry. Why didn't you tell 'em, Kiddie?"

  "Because they wouldn't have liked it if I'd said No right at once. Much better to let them suppose that I'm hesitatin', wonderin' over it, weighin' the proposition in a balance. Why, Rube, you didn't think for a moment that I would take it on, did you?"

  Rube shrugged his shoulders.

  "You might have done what Broken Feather's tryin' to do," said Rube. "You might have made yourself as great a chief as Red Cloud or Sitting Bull. Besides, it's a biggish thing ter be a Injun chief. Next door t' bein' a king."

  Kiddie smiled.

  "I might have been an Injun chief years an' years ago," he remarked. "But my ambitions don't lie in that direction. See?"

  "Of course," Rube nodded. "I was forgettin' that you're a English nobleman, with a seat in the House of Lords. I'm allus forgettin' that. But what d'you mean t' do, Kiddie—now, I mean? Ain't you goin' ter stop here just for a week or two, an' see what it feels like t' be a Injun chief?"

  "No." Kiddie turned to his blankets. He was very tired. "No," he repeated. "I'm goin' to stay until you're well enough to be moved. Then we shall find the canoe and our outfit, and go right back home to Sweetwater Bridge."

  "Trip comin' to an abrupt conclusion, eh?" queried Rube.

  "That's about the size of it," nodded Kiddie. "The fine weather won't hold out much longer, and I guess there's a whole heap of letters waitin' for me to answer 'em."

  "Well, anyhow, we've seen an' done a good deal, an' had a few adventures," Rube concluded, holding himself so that Kiddie might apply a fresh pad of lint and a new bandage to his wounded cheek.

  Kiddie left the head-dress and other garments where Simon Sprott had placed them. But in the early morning Rube Carter awoke to see him wearing the doeskin robe and moccasins, and in the act of covering his head with the great war bonnet.

  "What, changed your mind?" cried Rube. "Goin' ter be a chief after all?"

  Kiddie did not answer. He had got the two long feathered streamers of the head-dress twisted behind his back, and was trying to disentangle without injuring them.

  "Get dressed and go outside to watch the ceremony," he ordered. "There's a couch of buffalo robes near the door, and you won't need to limp very far."

  When Rube went out, he found the open space in front of the principal lodges crowded with warriors and braves. They were all on foot, but half a dozen of them held as many chosen war horses, which were to be presented to the new chief. The war-chiefs and medicine men were seated by the totem pole in a half-circle, facing the crowd.

  Suddenly they rose to their feet, and bowed as Kiddie strode forth from his lodge, looking extremely tall and dignified and handsome in his picturesque Indian dress.

  Murmurs of admiration ran through the throng of waiting braves. Drums were beaten and minstrels gang a weird, crooning chant as he advanced.

  Rube's gaze was fastened upon Kiddie. He would not have understood, even if he had listened to what Simon Sprott said to the Crows. He supposed that it was merely a public declaration of the election of Little Cayuse as successor to Falling Water. For at the close of Simon's speech there was a prolonged hubbub of acclamation.

  Kiddie then strode forward, with his left hand clasping the staff of office, the morning sunlight shining on his face and on the pure white plumes of his magnificent head-dress. He spoke to the Crows in their own tongue, in a clear, loud voice.

  He spoke to the Crows in their own tongue.

  "Warriors, braves," he said, "Little Cayuse is proud that the Crows have asked him to be their war chief. The Crows are a mighty nation, rich in horses and in buffalo robes. They love peace, but they do not fear war. It is a great thing to be their chief, to make their laws, to lead them in battle. Little Cayuse is glad that they think him worthy to take the place of Falling Water. He has searched his heart for his answer. His thoughts have been long; but he has reached the end of them. They have been deep; but he has seen through them as through clear water. He has decided. His medicine has told him that it is not for Little Cayuse to be the chief of the Crow nation. He is not a Crow Indian. He is not of their blood. His medicine is not their medicine, or his totem their totem. He is a stranger among them. As a stranger he came. As a stranger he will go away. I have spoken."

  Then slowly he removed his war bonnet, put aside his staff, and began to untie the thongs of his doeskin shirt.

  "Ah!" cried Simon Sprott, stepping forward, and speaking in English. "I guessed it would be that way. But hold hard. Don't take off your robes. They're yours, and you're still a chief. There's no going back on it. You've been elected. Naturally you don't feel like living the rest of your days amongst a tribe of Redskins. I don't wonder at it. There's a way out, however. The Crows are disappointed. Their hearts 'll be heavy for many a long day. But they'll understand. And if you don't see your way to doing what they want, you'll at least consent to being what you might call an honorary chief. Eh? How'll that suit?"

  Kiddie willingly agreed to this arrangement, and accordingly he again wore the feathered head-dress and duly acted his part in the ceremonies connected with his initiation.

  CHAPTER XX

  FOUL PLAY

  "Now, as you're here, Kiddie, an' we're all so comfortable, an' so interested in all you've got ter tell us 'bout this yer campin' trip, what d'yer say ter stoppin' the night along of us?"

  Kiddie looked across at Gideon Birkenshaw.

  "Dunno, Gid," he answered lightly. "Only I was hankerin' to go down an' have a look at the cabin."

  "Cabin's all right," objected Gideon. "Cabin won't run away. What's the good of goin' down thar, a cold dark night like this? Better by far wait till mornin', an' see it by daylight. Rooms haven't bin dusted, beds haven't bin aired, fires ain't lighted. Supper 'll be ready soon, an', say, thar's a great pile o' letters lyin' waitin' for you on the window ledge back of you."

  Kiddie turned and glanced at the formidable pile, but he did not move to open any of the letters.

  "Oh, all right, Gid," he said, flinging a leg over the arm of the easy-chair in which he was sitting. "I'll stay. Of course I'll stay."

  He had brought the canoe ashore in the creek at Grizzly Notch, instead of at his own landing-place nearer the cabin. Rube's injured leg was still painful, and he had to be helped up the steep trail to Birkenshaw's camp. So Kiddie had not yet visited his wood-land retreat.

  There was a large party of them at supper. In addition to Abe Harum, Tom Lippincott and Jake Paterson, Sheriff Blagg had dropped in on his way home down the trail from Three Crossings, where he had been to look at a bunch of horses. During the meal Kiddie was very quiet. It was Rube Carter who did most of the talking, and who told them of the battle of Poison Spider Creek and of Kiddie's election as chief of the Crows.

  "I ain't any surprised at Kiddie's refusin' ter take on the chief business," commented Gideon.

  "Not but what he'd make a tip-top Injun chief," added Isa Blagg. "But I'm figurin' as the time's gone by for a lay-out of that sort. Thar ain't liable t' be any more Injun wars an' mutinies, an' thar's no need fer another Sitting Bull. Buffalo huntin's played out, too. Buffaloes are 'most all killed off. All that's left for the Redskin is to turn his mind to agriculture, an' thar's heaps of men c'n teach 'em husbandry better'n Kiddie could."

  "That's so, Isa; that's so," agreed Kiddie.

  "Say, Sheriff," interposed Rube; "have you gotten any news ter tell us about that Sanson T. Wrangler business that brought you t' our camp t' get Kiddie's advice?"

  "No." The sheriff shook his head. "No, it all turned out just as Kiddie said, in every p
articular."

  "And Nick Undrell had nothin' whatever to do with it?" questioned Kiddie.

  "No, Nick was innercent that time," returned Isa. "Nick's been keepin' on the straight trail since that occasion when you'd a talk with him, I'm told, however, that he's broken out again—gamblin', drinkin', an' cavortin' around with the old gang."

  "Which reminds me," said Abe Harum. "Nick Undrell's bin seen prowlin' around this yer camp a good deal lately—since you've bin away on your trip, Kiddie. I'm kind o' suspicious that he ain't spying around for no good. Seems he's bin making friends with that big dog, too."

  "With Sheila?" Kiddie started upright in his seat. "By the way, where is she? I haven't seen or heard her since we came back. I wonder she hasn't discovered that we're here. Where is she?"

  "Oh, the hound's all right," Abe Harum assured him. "Guess she's asleep in her kennel. Pass that tobacco jar, Rube."

  Kiddie had a profound faith in his deerhound's sagacity, and he was more than a little disappointed that she had not yet discovered his presence in the camp.

  He did not again refer to her absence that night, assuming that the hound could hardly have scented him passing in the canoe, or heard him landing so far away from the cabin as Grizzly Notch. But when he went to bed he began to wonder anew. He stood at the open window, listening, hoping to hear her bark. Hearing no sound but the whispering of the wind in the trees, he got his feet on a chair and leant out. He whistled, a long shrill whistle.

  Rube Carter was already asleep in the same room. The whistle awoke him.

  "What you whistlin' that way for?" Rube asked in alarm. "Shanty ain't afire, is it?"

  "I'm whistling for Sheila," Kiddie told him. "Lie quiet while I listen if she answers."

  "She won't hear you all this way off," said Rube. "Wind's against you."

  "So it is," laughed Kiddie, stepping down from the chair. "Never mind! I shall see her in the morning. Sorry I disturbed you. Good night."

  During their camping trip Kiddie and Rube had accustomed themselves to early rising, and on the following morning they were out and about before the rest of the household.

  Kiddie looked at some of his letters, and then took his towel and went down to the creek for his morning swim, leaving Rube to help to get the breakfast ready. Kiddie returned looking astonishingly fresh and clean.

  At the end of the meal he sat very silent, watching his companions taking out their pipes. He seemed to be particularly interested in Abe Harum, who was feeling in one pocket after another.

  "Lost your pipe, Abe?" Kiddie inquired, thrusting a hand into his own side pocket.

  "No," Abe answered. "I got it in my hand. I was feelin' for my matches."

  "Oh, then," returned Kiddie, withdrawing his hand and producing a briar, "this ain't yours that I found?"

  Abe looked at the pipe and shook his head.

  "That ain't mine," he said. "Where'd you pick it up, Kiddie?"

  "In the spare canoe, when I went down to have a bathe. I supposed you'd left it there."

  "Ain't used that canoe since you've bin away," said Abe. "Nobody's used it, only Isa, when he went out on the lake t' look for you that time. Mebbe it's Isa's."

  But the sheriff also shook his head.

  "'Tain't mine," he said, glancing at the pipe, which Kiddie had pushed along the table.

  Rube Carter took hold of it and began to clear the stale tobacco out of the bowl with the point of his pocket knife.

  Kiddie watched Abe Harum striking a match. It was a safety, with a brown head.

  "What sort of lucifers are yours, Isa?" Kiddie inquired.

  Isa Blagg handed him his box, which was partly open, showing about a dozen matches with pink heads.

  "Ah," Kiddie nodded. "Where'd you get 'em?"

  "Bought 'em in Brierley's saloon in Laramie," said Isa. "Why?"

  "Nothing," replied Kiddie, "only they're the same sort as a broken one I found in the canoe. Chap as left that pipe must have tried to light it in a high wind. There was quite half a dozen dead lucifers lyin' around."

  "An' it don't appear as he lighted his pipe after all," added Rube Carter. "It's as dry as a bone, just as if it hadn't been smoked for months and months."

  Abe Harum leant over and took a pinch of the tobacco ashes, smelling it.

  "Thick twist," he said, "strong enough to pull your head off."

  Kiddie had taken three dead matches from his pocket and laid them on the edge of the table in front of Rube.

  "See anythin' peculiar 'bout those lucifers, Rube?" he asked.

  "Guess I see the same as you do, Kiddie," was Rube's reply. "They're dirty, an' the charcoal's wore off their tips. Looks as if they'd been carried in some chap's pocket."

  Kiddie stood up.

  "Now let's get along t' the cabin," he said. "Will you come, Sheriff?"

  Isa and Rube both accompanied him. They went down to Grizzly Notch, where the still loaded canoe had been left overnight. While Rube was loosening the painter, Kiddie went aside to the spare canoe, and searched about on the bank. Presently he stood still, and called Rube to his side.

  "Take stock of that footprint," he began, pointing to the moist ground. "Horseshoe heel, a toecap, an' two rows of hob-nails; one nail missin'. D'ye know anythin'?"

  Rube shook his head.

  "None of our men wears boots like that," he declared. "But I've a idea I've seen the same impression before—somewhere. Lemme think."

  Later, when the three of them were landing at the little pier, close to Kiddie's cabin, Rube said quietly—

  "I remember now, Kiddie, 'bout that footprint—or the boot that made it. Nick Undrell wears boots nailed an' clamped like that. An' didn't Abe tell us as Nick had bin seen prowlin' round here? Guess it was Nick's pipe you found in the canoe. What you whistlin' for?"

  "The dog," returned Kiddie. "I want to see Sheila. Go an' fetch her, Rube."

  As Kiddie reached the cabin, he saw that the door was not locked. It was an inch or two ajar. He pushed it open farther, and strode within. He sniffed. There was a smell of tobacco smoke in the air. The living-room was in confusion, the furniture out of place. He ran into the farther room. Here the confusion was greater. A window-pane was broken, and the window itself was open.

  For the next few minutes he went about opening cupboards and drawers. Then he heard footsteps on the veranda, and he went back to the front door.

  "Don't come in, Isa! Stay where you are, Rube," he cried. "I've been robbed! Some one's broken in and gone off with all my jewellery, my gold watch, my best revolvers, my cash-box with hundreds of pounds in it. Where's the hound, Rube? Haven't you brought her? Didn't you find her?"

  "I—I found her, Kiddie," Rube stammered, "but I couldn't bring her. She's dead! Shot dead."

  CHAPTER XXI

  THE CLUE OF YELLOW WORSTED

  "Sheila—shot dead!" cried Kiddie, staring blankly in front of him.

  Rube Carter nodded his head gravely. He saw that Kiddie was deeply moved.

  "Come an' have a look at her," he said. "I've not touched her. Say, it ain't any wonder she never answered your whistle last night. Must sure have happened 'fore we come ashore, else we should have heard the shot."

  He led the way in among the trees beyond the outhouses. But before he had gone very far he came to an abrupt halt, and pointed.

  "The far side of that clump of sage grass," he indicated. "I'm figurin' as the man that shot her stood about here. She was runnin' towards him. His bullet went in at her chest."

  "Scout around an' see if you c'n find any footprints," said Kiddie, going forward to examine the dead hound.

  Rube and Isa Blagg both searched, but there was no likelihood of their finding any bootmarks on the grass. Rube went back to the path leading up from the landing-place. There had been heavy rain on the previous afternoon, and the ground was still moist enough to show the faint impressions of his own and Kiddie's moccasins, and yet more distinctly the marks of Isa Blagg's heavy boots.

  At
sight of these he turned sharply round.

  "Show me the soles of your boots, Sheriff," he asked; "both of 'em? Ah," he added, on seeing them, "you've got horseshoe heels an' toecaps, too; but only one row of hob-nails. I'm lookin' for the marks of boots with two rows, an' with a nail missin' from the inside row of the left boot. You'd best not walk about more'n you c'n help."

  "Rube," said Kiddie, now coming up. "We landed from the canoe last evenin' at a quarter to seven. At what time would Abe Harum be down here?"

  "'Bout four o'clock, I guess," Rube answered. "That's his usual time for lockin' up the stables an' givin' Sheila her feed. Abe told us he left the hound in her kennel. But, of course, she c'd get out if she wanted. She'd soon be out if she heard a stranger prowlin' around."

  "As no doubt she did," agreed Kiddie.

  "Heard him gettin' outer the canoe," Rube conjectured.

  "You believe he came along in the canoe, then?" Kiddie interrogated.

  "Well," returned Rube, "what about the tobacco pipe an' the footprint? You haven't spotted any more footprints like that one, have you, Kiddie?"

  "Only one," Kiddie answered, "close beside the dog."

  "H'm!" nodded Rube; "went up to her ter make sure she was dead, eh?"

  "And, havin' got the watchdog outer his path," interposed the sheriff, "he went round t' th' side of your cabin, an' broke in by the winder."

  "The easiest way," explained Kiddie; "you see the front door was locked, and I had the key. But it's sure he came out by the front door, leavin' it ajar."

  "Seems t' have made a big scoop," said the sheriff. "Must have known where you kept all that money an' jewellery. What was it all worth, Kiddie?"

  "I don't know yet," returned Kiddie. "I haven't had time to see just what he's taken an' what he has left. It's the dog that I'm troubled about most."

  "Well, the first thing to do is ter get on the scoundrel's track," advised Isa Blagg. "An' he's liable to have left some traces round about that broken winder. Let's get there right now an' have a search."