by B. M. Bower
"I guess you better send word to the doctor he needn't come," the pumpman put his head in at the office door to say, just as the freight waspulling away from the water-tank. "Saunders died a few minutes ago.Pete says you better notify the coroner--and I reckon the sheriff, too.Pretty tough to be shot down like that in broad daylight."
"I think I'd rather be shot in daylight than in the dark," Miss Georgiesnapped unreasonably because her nerves were all a-jangle, and sent themessages as requested.
Saunders was neither a popular nor a prominent citizen, and there wasnone to mourn beside him. Peter Hamilton, as his employer and a manwhose emotions were easily stirred, was shocked a shade lighter as tohis complexion and a tone lower as to his voice perhaps, and was heardto remark frequently that it was "a turrible thing," but the chiefemotion which the tragedy roused was curiosity, and that flutteringexcitement which attends death in any form.
A dozen Indians hung about the store, the squaws peering inquisitivelyin at the uncurtained window of the lean-to--where the bed held a longimmovable burden with a rumpled sheet over it--and the bucks listeningstolidly to the futile gossip on the store porch.
Pete Hamilton, anxious that the passing of his unprofitable servantshould be marked by decorum if not by grief, mentally classed the eventwith election day, in that he refused to sell any liquor until thesheriff and coroner arrived. He also, after his first bewilderment hadpassed, conceived the idea that Saunders had committed suicide, andexplained to everyone who would listen just why he believed it. Saunderswas sickly, for one thing. For another, Saunders never seemed to getany good out of living. He had read everything he could get his handson--and though Pete did not say that Saunders chose to die when thestock of paper novels was exhausted, he left that impression upon hisauditors.
The sheriff and the coroner came at nine. All the Hart boys, includingDonny, were there before noon, and the group of Indians remained all daywherever the store cast its shadow. Squaws and bucks passed and repassedupon the footpath between Hartley and their camp, chattering togetherof the big event until they came under the eye of strange white men,whereupon they were stricken deaf and dumb, as is the way of ournation's wards.
When the sheriff inspected the stable and its vicinity, looking forclews, not a blanket was in sight, though a dozen eyes watched everymovement suspiciously. When at the inquest that afternoon, he laid uponthe table a battered old revolver of cheap workmanship and long past itsprime, and testified that he had found it ten feet from the stable-door,in a due line southeast from the hay-corral, and that one shot had beenfired from it, there were Indians in plenty to glance furtively at theweapon and give no sign.
The coroner showed the bullet which he had extracted from the body ofSaunders, and fitted it into the empty cartridge which had been underthe hammer in the revolver, and thereby proved to the satisfaction ofeveryone that the gun was intimately connected with the death of theman. So the jury arrived speedily, and without further fussing overevidence, at the verdict of suicide.
Good Indian drew a long breath, put on his hat, and went over to tellMiss Georgie. The Hart boys lingered for a few minutes at the store, andthen rode on to the ranch without him, and the Indians stole away overthe hill to their camp. The coroner and the sheriff accepted Pete'sinvitation into the back part of the store, refreshed themselves afterthe ordeal, and caught the next train for Shoshone. So closed theincident of Saunders' passing, so far as the law was concerned.
"Well," Miss Georgie summed up the situation, "Baumberger hasn't madeany sign of taking up the matter. I don't believe, now, that he will.I wired the news to the papers in Shoshone, so he must know. I thinkperhaps he's glad to get Saunders out of the way--for he certainly musthave known enough to put Baumberger behind the bars.
"But I don't see," she said, in a puzzled way, "how that gun came ontothe scene. I looked all around the stable this morning, and I couldswear there wasn't any gun."
"Well, he did pick it up--fortunately," Good Indian returned grimly."I'm glad the thing was settled so easily."
She looked up at him sharply for a moment, opened her lips to ask aquestion, and then thought better of it.
"Oh, here's your handkerchief," she said quietly, taking it from thebottom of her wastebasket. "As you say, the thing is settled. I'm goingto turn you out now. The four-thirty-five is due pretty soon--and I haveoodles of work."
He looked at her strangely, and went away, wondering why Miss Georgiehated so to have him in the office lately.
On the next day, at ten o'clock, they buried Saunders on a certainlittle knoll among the sagebrush; buried him without much ceremony, itis true, but with more respect than he had received when he was aliveand shambling sneakily among them. Good Indian was there, saying littleand listening attentively to the comments made upon the subject, andwhen the last bit of yellow gravel had been spatted into place he rodedown through the Indian camp on his way home, thankful that everyoneseemed to accept the verdict of suicide as being final, and anxious thatRachel should know it. He felt rather queer about Rachel; sorry for her,in an impersonal way; curious over her attitude toward life in generaland toward himself in particular, and ready to do her a good turnbecause of her interest.
But Rachel, when he reached the camp, was not visible. Peppajee Jim wassitting peacefully in the shade of his wikiup when Grant rode up, and hemerely grunted in reply to a question or two. Good Indian resolved tobe patient. He dismounted, and squatted upon his heels beside Peppajee,offered him tobacco, and dipped a shiny, new nickel toward a bright-eyedpapoose in scanty raiment, who stopped to regard him inquisitively.
"I just saw them bury Saunders," Good Indian remarked, by way of openinga conversation. "You believe he shot himself?"
Peppajee took his little stone pipe from his lips, blew a thin wreath ofsmoke, and replaced the stem between his teeth, stared stolidly straightahead of him, and said nothing.
"All the white men say that," Good Indian persisted, after he had waiteda minute. Peppajee did not seem to hear.
"Sheriff say that, too. Sheriff found the gun."
"Mebbyso sheriff mans heap damfool. Mebbyso heap smart. No sabe."
Good Indian studied him silently. Reticence was not a generalcharacteristic of Peppajee; it seemed to indicate a thoroughunderstanding of the whole affair. He wondered if Rachel had told heruncle the truth.
"Where's Rachel?" he asked suddenly, the words following involuntarilyhis thought.
Peppajee sucked hard upon his pipe, took it away from his mouth, andknocked out the ashes upon a pole of the wikiup frame.
"Yo' no speakum Rachel no more," he said gravely. "Yo' ketchum 'Vadnah;no ketchum otha squaw. Bad medicine come. Heap much troubles come. Me nolikeum. My heart heap bad."
"I'm Rachel's friend, Peppajee." Good Indian spoke softly so that othersmight not hear. "I sabe what Rachel do. Rachel good girl. I don't wantto bring trouble. I want to help."
Peppajee snorted.
"Yo' make heap bad heart for Rachel," he said sourly. "Yo' like for befriend, yo' no come no more, mebbyso. No speakum. Bimeby mebbyso no havebad heart no more. Kay bueno. Yo' white mans. Rachel mebbyso thinkum alltime yo' Indian. Mebbyso thinkum be yo' squaw. Kay bueno. Yo' all timewhite mans. No speakum Rachel no more, yo' be friend.
"Yo' speakum, me like to kill yo', mebbyso." He spoke calmly, but nonethe less his words carried conviction of his sincerity.
Within the wikiup Good Indian heard a smothered sob. He listened, heardit again, and looked challengingly at Peppajee. But Peppajee gaveno sign that he either heard the sound or saw the challenge in GoodIndian's eyes.
"I Rachel's friend," he said, speaking distinctly with his face halfturned toward the wall of deerskin. "I want to tell Rachel what thesheriff said. I want to thank Rachel, and tell her I'm her friend. Idon't want to bring trouble." He stopped and listened, but there was nosound within.
Peppajee eyed him comprehendingly, but there was no yielding in hisbrown, wrinkled face.
"Yo' Rachel's f
rien', yo' pikeway," he insisted doggedly.
From under the wall of the wikiup close to Good Indian on the sidefarthest from Peppajee, a small, leafless branch of sage was thrust out,and waggled cautiously, scraping gently his hand. Good Indian's fingersclosed upon it instinctively, and felt it slowly withdrawn until hishand was pressed against the hide wall. Then soft fingers touched hisown, fluttered there timidly, and left in his palm a bit of paper,tightly folded. Good Indian closed his hand upon it, and stood up.
"All right, I go," he said calmly to Peppajee, and mounted.
Peppajee looked at him stolidly, and said nothing.
"One thing I would like to know." Good Indian spoke again. "You don'tcare any more about the men taking Peaceful's ranch. Before they came,you watch all the time, you heap care. Why you no care any more? Why youno help?"
Peppajee's mouth straightened in a grin of pure irony.
"All time Baumberga try for ketchum ranch, me try for stoppum," heretorted. "Yo' no b'lievum, Peacefu' no b'lievum. Me tellum yo' cloudsign, tellum yo' smoke sign, tellum yo' hear much bad talk for ketchumranch. Yo' all time think for ketchum 'Vadnah squaw. No think forstoppum mens. Yo' all time let mens come, ketchum ranch. Yo' say fightumin co't. Cloud sign say me do notting. Yo' lettum come. Yo' mebbysomakum go. Me no care."
"I see. Well, maybe you're right." He tightened the reins, and rodeaway, the tight little wad of paper still hidden in his palm. When hewas quite out of sight from the camp and jogging leisurely down the hottrail, he unfolded it carefully and looked at it long.
His face was grave and thoughtful when at last he tore it into tiny bitsand gave it to the hot, desert wind. It was a pitiful little message,printed laboriously upon a scrap of brown wrapping--paper. It saidsimply:
"God by i lov yo."