by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER II. GOOD INDIAN
There is a saying--and if it is not purely Western, it is at leastpurely American--that the only good Indian is a dead Indian. In the veryteeth of that, and in spite of the fact that he was neither very good,nor an Indian--nor in any sense "dead"--men called Grant Imsen "GoodIndian" to his face; and if he resented the title, his resentment wasnever made manifest--perhaps because he had grown up with the name, herather liked it when he was a little fellow, and with custom had come totake it as a matter of course.
Because his paternal ancestry went back, and back to no one knowswhere among the race of blue eyes and fair skin, the Indians repudiatedrelationship with him, and called him white man--though they also spokeof him unthinkingly as "Good Injun."
Because old Wolfbelly himself would grudgingly admit under pressurethat the mother of Grant had been the half-caste daughter of Wolfbelly'ssister, white men remembered the taint when they were angry, and calledhim Injun. And because he stood thus between the two races of men, hisexact social status a subject always open to argument, not even the factthat he was looked upon by the Harts as one of the family, with his ownbed always ready for him in a corner of the big room set apart for theboys, and with a certain place at the table which was called his--noteven his assured position there could keep him from sometimes feelingquite alone, and perhaps a trifle bitter over his loneliness.
Phoebe Hart had mothered him from the time when his father had sickenedand died in her house, leaving Grant there with twelve years behind him,in his hands a dirty canvas bag of gold coin so heavy he could scarcelift it, which stood for the mining claim the old man had just sold, andthe command to invest every one of the gold coins in schooling.
Old John Imsen was steeped in knowledge of the open; nothing of thegreat outdoors had ever slipped past him and remained mysterious. Putwhen he sold his last claim--others he had which promised little and sodid not count--he had signed his name with an X. Another had written theword John before that X, and the word Imsen after; above, a word whichhe explained was "his," and below the word "mark." John Imsen had stareddown suspiciously at the words, and he had not felt quite easy in hismind until the bag of gold coins was actually in his keeping. Also, hehad been ashamed of that X. It was a simple thing to make with a pen,and yet he had only succeeded in making it look like two crooked sticksthrown down carelessly, one upon the other. His face had gone darkly redwith the shame of it, and he had stood scowling down at the paper.
"That boy uh mine's goin' to do better 'n that, by God!" he had sworn,and the words had sounded like a vow.
When, two months after that, he had faced--incredulously, as is the waywith strong men--the fact that for him life was over, with nothingleft to him save an hour or so of labored breath and a few mutteredsentences, he did not forget that vow. He called Phoebe close to thebed, placed the bag of gold in Grant's trembling hands, and staredintently from one face to the other.
"Mis' Hart, he ain't got--anybody--my folks--I lost track of 'em yearsago. You see to it--git some learnin' in his head. When a man knowsbooks--it's--like bein' heeled--good gun--plenty uh ca't'idges--ina fight. When I got that gold--it was like fightin' with my barehands--against a gatlin' gun. They coulda cheated me--whole thing--onpaper--I wouldn't know--luck--just luck they didn't. So you take it--andgit the boy schoolin'. Costs money--I know that--git him all it'llbuy. Send him--where they keep--the best. Don't yuh let up--n'er lethim--whilst they's a dollar left. Put it all--into his head--then hecan't lose it, and he can--make it earn more. An'--I guess I needn'task yuh--be good to him. He ain't got anybody--not a soul--Injuns don'tcount. You see to it--don't let up till--it's all gone."
Phoebe had taken him literally. And Grant, if he had little tastefor the task, had learned books and other things not mentioned inthe curriculums of the schools she sent him to--and when the bag wasreported by Phoebe to be empty, he had returned with inward relief tothe desultory life of the Hart ranch and its immediate vicinity.
His father would probably have been amazed to see how little differencethat schooling made in the boy. The money had lasted long enough to takehim through a preparatory school and into the second year of a college;and the only result apparent was speech a shade less slipshod than thatof his fellows, and a vocabulary which permitted him to indulge in anamazing number of epithets and in colorful vituperation when the fancyseized him.
He rode, hot and thirsty and tired, from Sage Hill one day and foundHartley empty of interest, hot as the trail he had just now leftthankfully behind him, and so absolutely sleepy that it seemed likely tosink into the sage-clothed earth under the weight of its own dullness.Even the whisky was so warm it burned like fire, and the beer he triedleft upon his outraged palate the unhappy memory of insipid warmth andgreat bitterness.
He plumped the heavy glass down upon the grimy counter in the dusty farcorner of the little store and stared sourly at Pete Hamilton, who wasapathetically opening hatboxes for the inspection of an Indian in a redblanket and frowsy braids.
"How much?" The braided one fingered indecisively the broad brim of agray sombrero.
"Nine dollars." Pete leaned heavily against the shelves behind him andsighed with the weariness of mere living.
"Huh! All same buy one good hoss." The braided one dropped the hat,hitched his blanket over his shoulder in stoical disregard of the heat,and turned away.
Pete replaced the cover, seemed about to place the box upon the shelfbehind him, and then evidently decided that it was not worth the effort.He sighed again.
"It is almighty hot," he mumbled languidly. "Want another drink, GoodInjun?"
"I do not. Hot toddy never did appeal to me, my friend. If you weren'ttoo lazy to give orders, Pete, you'd have cold beer for a day like this.You'd give Saunders something to do beside lie in the shade and tellwhat kind of a man he used to be before his lungs went to the bad. Puthim to work. Make him pack this stuff down cellar where it isn't twohundred in the shade. Why don't you?"
"We was going to get ice t'day, but they didn't throw it off when thetrain went through."
"That's comforting--to a man with a thirst like the great Sahara. Ice!Pete, do you know what I'd like to do to a man that mentions ice after adrink like that?"
Pete neither knew nor wanted to know, and he told Grant so. "If you'regoing down to the ranch," he added, by way of changing the subject,"there's some mail you might as well take along."
"Sure, I'm going--for a drink out of that spring, if nothing else.You've lost a good customer to-day, Pete. I rode up here prepared to getsinfully jagged--and here I've got to go on a still hunt for water witha chill to it--or maybe buttermilk. Pete, do you know what I think ofyou and your joint?"
"I told you I don't wanta know. Some folks ain't never satisfied. Afellow that's rode thirty or forty miles to get here, on a day likethis, had oughta be glad to get anything that looks like beer."
"Is that so?" Grant walked purposefully down to the front of the store,where Pete was fumbling behind the rampart of crude pigeonholes whichwas the post-office. "Let me inform you, then, that--"
There was a swish of skirts upon the rough platform outside, and a youngwoman entered with the manner of feeling perfectly at home there.She was rather tall, rather strong and capable looking, and she wasbareheaded, and carried a door key suspended from a smooth-worn bit ofwood.
"Don't get into a perspiration making up the mail, Pete," she advisedcalmly, quite ignoring both Grant and the Indian. "Fifteen is an hourlate--as usual. Jockey Bates always seems to be under the impressionhe's an undertaker's assistant, and is headed for the graveyard when hetakes fifteen out. He'll get the can, first he knows--and he'll put ina month or two wondering why. I could make better time than he doesmyself." By then she was leaning with both elbows upon the counterbeside the post-office, bored beyond words with life as it must belived--to judge from her tone and her attitude.
"For Heaven's sake, Pete," she went on languidly, "can't you scare up anovel, or chocolates, or gu
m, or--ANYTHING to kill time? I'd even enjoychewing gum right now--it would give my jaws something to think of,anyway."
Pete, grinning indulgently, came out of retirement behind thepigeonholes, and looked inquiringly around the store.
"I've got cards," he suggested. "What's the matter with a game ofsolitary? I've known men to put in hull winters alone, up in themountains, jest eating and sleeping and playin' solitary."
The young woman made a grimace of disgust. "I've come from three solidhours of it. What I really do want is something to read. Haven't youeven got an almanac?"
"Saunders is readin' 'The Brokenhearted Bride'--you can have it soon'she's through. He says it's a peach."
"Fifteen is bringing up a bunch of magazines. I'll have reading inplenty two hours from now; but my heavens above, those two hours!" Shestruck both fists despairingly upon the counter.
"I've got gumdrops, and fancy mixed--"
"Forget it, then. A five-pound box of chocolates is due--on fifteen."She sighed heavily. "I wish you weren't so old, and hadn't quite so manychins, Pete," she complained. "I'd inveigle you into a flirtation. Yousee how desperate I am for something to do!"
Pete smiled unhappily. He was sensitive about all those chins, and thegeneral bulk which accompanied them.
"Let me make you acquainted with my friend, Good In--er--Mr. Imsen."Pete considered that he was behaving with great discernment and tact."This is Miss Georgie Howard, the new operator." He twinkled his littleeyes at her maliciously. "Say, he ain't got but one chin, and he's onlytwenty-three years old." He felt that the inference was too plain to beignored.
She turned her head slowly and looked Grant over with an air ofdisparagement, while she nodded negligently as an acknowledgment tothe introduction. "Pete thinks he's awfully witty," she remarked. "It'sreally pathetic."
Pete bristled--as much as a fat man could bristle on so hot a day."Well, you said you wanted to flirt, and so I took it for granted you'dlike--"
Good Indian looked straight past the girl, and scowled at Pete.
"Pete, you're an idiot ordinarily, but when you try to be smart you'reabsolutely insufferable. You're mentally incapable of recognizing theline of demarcation between legitimate persiflage and objectionablefamiliarity. An ignoramus of your particular class ought to confinehis repartee to unqualified affirmation or the negative monosyllable."Whereupon he pulled his hat more firmly upon his head, hunched hisshoulders in disgust, remembered his manners, and bowed to Miss GeorgieHoward, and stalked out, as straight of back as the Indian whose blankethe brushed, and who may have been, for all he knew, a blood relative ofhis.
"I guess that ought to hold you for a while, Pete," Miss Georgieapproved under her breath, and stared after Grant curiously. "'You'rementally incapable of recognizing the line of demarcation betweenlegitimate persiflage and objectionable familiarity.' I'll bet two bitsyou don't know what that means, Pete; but it hits you off exactly. Whois this Mr. Imsen?"
She got no reply to that. Indeed, she did not wait for a reply. Outside,things were happening--and, since Miss Georgie was dying of dullness,she hailed the disturbance as a Heaven-sent blessing, and ran to seewhat was going on.
Briefly, Grant had inadvertently stepped on a sleeping dog's paw--a dogof the mongrel breed which infests Indian camps, and which had attacheditself to the blanketed buck inside. The dog awoke with a yelp, sawthat it was a stranger who had perpetrated the outrage, and straightwayfastened its teeth in the leg of Grant's trousers. Grant kicked itloose, and when it came at him again, he swore vengeance and mounted hishorse in haste.
He did not say a word. He even smiled while he uncoiled his rope,widened the loop, and, while the dog was circling warily and watchingfor another chance at him, dropped the loop neatly over its frontquarters, and drew it tight.
Saunders, a weak-lunged, bandy-legged individual, who was officially ageneral chore man for Pete, but who did little except lie in the shade,reading novels or gossiping, awoke then, and, having a reputation fortender-heartedness, waved his arms and called aloud in the name ofpeace.
"Turn him loose, I tell yuh! A helpless critter like that--you oughta beashamed--abusin' dumb animals that can't fight back!"
"Oh, can't he?" Grant laughed grimly.
"You turn that dog loose!" Saunders became vehement, and paid thepenalty of a paroxysm of coughing.
"You go to the devil. If you were an able-bodied man, I'd get you,too--just to have a pair of you. Yelping, snapping curs, both of you."He played the dog as a fisherman plays a trout.
"That dog, him Viney dog. Viney heap likum. You no killum, Good Injun."The Indian, his arms folded in his blanket, stood upon the porchwatching calmly the fun. "Viney all time heap mad, you killum," he addedindifferently.
"Sure it isn't old Hagar's?"
"No b'long-um Hagar--b'long-um Viney. Viney heap likum."
Grant hesitated, circling erratically with his victim close to thesteps. "All right, no killum--teachum lesson, though. Viney heap buenosquaw--heap likum Viney. No likum dog, though. Dog all time come alongme." He glanced up, passed over the fact that Miss Georgie Howard waswatching him and clapping her hands enthusiastically at the spectacle,and settled an unfriendly stare upon Saunders.
"You shut up your yowling. You'll burst a blood vessel and go to heaven,first thing you know. I've never contemplated hiring you as my guardianangel, you blatting buck sheep. Go off and lie down somewhere." Heturned in the saddle and looked down at the dog, clawing and fightingthe rope which held him fast just back of the shoulder--blades. "Comealong, doggie--NICE doggie!" he grinned, and touched his horse with thespurs. With one leap, it was off at a sharp gallop, up over the hill andthrough the sagebrush to where he knew the Indian camp must be.
Old Wolfbelly had but that morning brought his thirty or forty followersto camp in the hollow where was a spring of clear water--the hollowwhich had for long been known locally as "the Indian Camp," because ofWolfbelly's predilection for the spot. Without warning save for the beatof hoofs in the sandy soil, Grant charged over the brow of the hill andinto camp, scattering dogs, papooses, and squaws alike as he rode.
Shrill clamor filled the sultry air. Sleeping bucks awoke, scowling atthe uproar; and the horse of Good Indian, hating always the smell andthe litter of an Indian camp, pitched furiously into the very wikiup ofold Hagar, who hated the rider of old. In the first breathing spell heloosed the dog, which skulked, limping, into the first sheltered spothe found, and laid him down to lick his outraged person and whimper tohimself at the memory of his plight. Grant pulled his horse to a restivestand before a group of screeching squaws, and laughed outright at thepanic of them.
"Hello! Viney! I brought back your dog," he drawled. "He tried to biteme--heap kay bueno* dog. Mebbyso you killum. Me no hurtum--all timehim Hartley, all time him try hard bite me. Sleeping Turtle tell me himViney dog. He likum Viney, me no kill Viney dog. You all time mebbysoeat that dog--sabe? No keep--Kay bueno. All time try for bite. Youcookum, no can bite. Sabe?"
*AUTHOR'S NOTE.--The Indians of southern Idaho spoke a somewhat mixeddialect. Bueno (wayno), their word for 'good,' undoubtedly being takenfrom the Spanish language. I believe the word "kay" to be Indian.It means "no", and thus the "Kay bueno" so often used by them meansliterally "no good," and is a term of reproach On the other hand, "heapbueno" is "very good," their enthusiasm being manifested merely bydrawing out the word "heap." In speaking English they appear to have noother way of expressing, in a single phrase, their like or dislike of anobject or person.
Without waiting to see whether Viney approved of his method ofdisciplining her dog, or intended to take his advice regarding itsdisposal, he wheeled and started off in the direction of the trail whichled down the bluff to the Hart ranch. When he reached the first steepdescent, however, he remembered that Pete had spoken of some mail forthe Harts, and turned back to get it.
Once more in Hartley, he found that the belated train was making uptime, and would be there within an hour; and, since it carried mail f
romthe West, it seemed hardly worthwhile to ride away before its arrival.Also, Pete intimated that there was a good chance of prevailing upon thedining-car conductor to throw off a chunk of ice. Grant, therefore, ledhis horse around into the shade, and made himself comfortable while hewaited.