Told in the Hills

by Marah Ellis Ryan

  "Excellent," returned Hardy. "We've been too busy to get to the hills so far this year, but now we have a little breathing-spell, and if you would care to try your luck with game, I should take pleasure in showing you our hunting grounds."

  "That is certainly kind of you," said Mr. Stuart heartily, "and I will accept the offer most gratefully. The fact is, I've been rather used up with a professional life, and was in hopes a trip up through this country would set me on my feet again. Over there at Holland's they told me about you and your family, and—"

  "Yes," completed Hardy, "a man with his family and household goods up in these hills is a marked individual; but my wife and cousin do not rebel at the exile; they are both philosophers, in their way."

  "Yes?" and Stuart's agreement had the intonation of a man who hears, but ceases to grasp the sense of words. Some closer thought seemed present with him. He glanced at Hardy, a swift, quickly withdrawn scrutiny, and then said: "Do you know, Mr. Hardy, I should like to propose myself for membership in your household for a few weeks; would it be deemed an impertinence? I can't stay at Holland Centre with any comfort, and this place of yours seems to be a haven of rest. Could you give me space to live in for a while, without my being a nuisance to the establishment?"

  "Yes, and welcome," answered Hardy. "You don't seem to appreciate what a treat it is to have a visitor from civilization ride our way; and one from our old State is especially in demand. I was going to propose that you move your outfit up here and make the ranch your headquarters while in the country. A nuisance! No, sir."

  And thus was the simple ceremony concluded that introduced this stranger to the Hardys, to the general satisfaction of all concerned. Rachel was the only member who did not seem especially delighted.

  "Oh, yes, he is clever and entertaining," she agreed to Tillie, "and his manner is so charmingly insinuating that I may end by falling in love with him; but I am beginning with an unreasonable desire to say snappy things to him."

  "I should say it was unreasonable—a thorough gentleman, of fine family connections. He mentioned several Kentucky families that Hen might know what his standing was back home, and his profession is that of medicine—I noticed the M. D. on his card; and altogether I can not see what ground you have for objecting."

  "I am not objecting—bless the man! no," returned Rachel; "only, because a man has acquired a charming manner and possesses a handsome face is no reason for me devoting myself to admiration of him, like Aunty Luce. She is jubilant over having so fine a gentleman to wait on. You are discreetly elated over having so charming a person to entertain; even Miss Margaret (Miss Margaret was the baby)—everything feminine about the place has succumbed. And I suppose my reason for keeping on my own side of the fence is that I'm jealous. I am no longer first in the affections of anyone about the place. MacDougall is likely to swear allegiance at any time because his name is Stuart—and, above all, Charlie Stuart; even Jim is wavering in the balance, and shows a wonderful alacrity in anticipating the wishes of this tenderfoot. Is it any wonder I rebel?"

  "Well, for the comfort of the rest of us, do not begin a civil war," admonished Tillie, and was only reassured by a promise that there should be no active hostilities. "If you are more comfortable in war than in peace, go south and fight with the skirmishing Indians," suggested the little woman.

  "I will," said Rachel. "If you get any more civilized recruits up here to make the place tame and commonplace, I will seek service under the standard of the Arrow, or Genesee." And at the mention of the last name Tillie discreetly subsided.

  The girl found the raw recruit rapidly making himself a power in the social world of the ranch. There was something of charming grace in the man's personality; and that rare gift of a sympathetic nature that had also the faculty of expression, at once accorded him the trust of women and children.

  It may be that a degree of physical beauty influenced them also, for his fine, well-shaped head was very good to look at; the poise of the erect, tall figure bespoke serene self-confidence; the curves of his lips, slightly hidden by a mustache, gave a sweetness of expression to the lower part of his face; while the wide brows and fine eyes gave an intellectual cast to a personality that did not lack attractive points.

  "The lad has the old grace o' the Stuarts," MacDougall affirmed, sticking to his fancy of connecting the old blood-royal with the slip of the name grown on alien ground. "And it is much the same free-handed manner o' the old stock—free o' their smiles, an' winning o' hearts by the clasp o' the hand; but there's a bit about this one that is a rare puzzle to me. I think like enough it's the eyes, they're main handsome ones; but I'm always a-rackin' o' my brains to tell where I've seen them before."

  Rachel, to whom this speech was made, only laughed.

  "He has never been West until now, so you can not have seen them," she argued; but her tone made the old man regard her with attention.

  "What do ye mean by that, lass?"

  "Oh, nothing, only he says so;" and then she went into the house, leaving her guest sitting on the bench of the porch.

  "The Stuart," as the others had already dropped into calling him, after MacDougall, had been at the ranch about a week. The proposed hunt was yet to be; and in the meantime he rode through the parks, and saw all that was near-about the ranch. He talked stock raising with Hardy, medicinal herbs with Aunty Luce, babies with Tillie, and with Rachel numerous worldly topics of interest, that, however, never seemed to change the nature of their acquaintance; which remained much as it was the first day—on her side, arms burnished and ready for action; on his, the serene gentleness of manner, almost a caress, a changeless good-humor that spoke volumes for his disposition, and at times forced even her into a sort of admiration of him.

  The health-recruiting trip he had come on, he was evidently taking advantage of, for he almost lived out-of-doors, and looked wonderfully healthy and athletic for an invalid. In the house, he wrote a great deal. But the morning Rachel left MacDougall on the porch, the Stuart came sauntering up the path, the picture of careless content with himself and the world. "Where has Mr. Hardy gone?" he inquired, seating himself on the porch. "I've been looking for him out at the pens but the men have all disappeared."

  "Gone up the range for the yearlin's that strayed off the last week; but they'll no go far."

  "I wanted to ask Mr. Hardy about mail out here. How often is it brought to the ranch?"

  "Well," said the old man, between the puffs of his pipe, "that depends a bit on how often it is sent for; just whene'er they're a bit slack o' work, or if anybody o' them wants the trip made special; but Hardy will be sendin' Jimmy across for it, if it's any favor to you—be sure o' that."

  "Oh, for that matter—I seem to be the most useless commodity about the ranch—I could make the trip myself. Is Jim the usual mail-carrier?"

  "Well, I canna say; Andrews, a new man here, goes sometimes, but it's no rare thing for him to come home carrying more weight in whisky than in the letters, an' Hardy got a bit tired o' that."

  "But haven't you a regular mail-carrier for this part of the country?" persisted Stuart.

  MacDougall laughed shortly at the idea. "Who'd be paying the post?" he asked, "with but the Hardys an' myself, ye might say, barring the Kootenais; an' I have na heard that they know the use of a postage stamp."

  "But someone of their tribe does come to the Centre for mail," continued Stuart in half argument—"an Indian youth; have you never seen him?"

  "From the Kootenais? Well, I have not, then. It may be, of late, there are white men among them, but canna say; I see little o' any o' them this long time."

  "And know no other white people in this region?"

  "No, lad, not for a long time," said the old man, with a half sigh.

  The listener rose to his feet. "I think," he said, as if a prospect of new interest had suddenly been awakened in his mind—"I think I should like to make a trip up into the country of the Kootenais. It is not very far, I believe, and would be a n
ew experience. Yes, if I could get a guide, I would go."

  "Well," said MacDougall drily, "seeing I've lived next door to the Kootenais for some time, I might be able to take ye a trip that way myself."

  Rachel, writing inside the window, heard the conversation, and smiled to herself.

  "Strange that Kalitan should have slipped MacDougall's memory," she thought; "but then he may have been thinking only of the present, and the Stuart, of months back. So he does know some things of people in the Kootenai, for all his blind ignorance. And he would have learned more, if he had not been so clever and waited until the rest were gone, to question. I wonder what he is hunting for in this country; I don't believe it is four-footed game."

  * * *

  CHAPTER III.

  AT CROSS-PURPOSES.

  "Their tricks and craft ha' put me daft,

  They've taen me in, and a' that."

  "And so you got back unharmed from the midst of the hostiles?" asked Rachel in mock surprise, when, a week later, Hardy, Stuart, and MacDougall returned from their pilgrimage, bringing with them specimens of deer they had sighted on their return.

  "Hostiles is about the last name to apply to them, I should imagine," remarked Stuart; "they are as peaceable as sheep."

  "But they can fight, too," said MacDougall, "an' used to be reckoned hard customers to meet; but the Blackfeet ha' well-nigh been the finish o' them. The last o' their war-chiefs is an old, old man now, an' there's small chance that any other will ever walk in his moccasins."

  "I've been told something of the man's character," said Rachel, "but have forgotten his name—Bald Eagle?"

  "Grey Eagle. An' there's more character in him worth the tellin' of than you'll find in any Siwash in these parts. I doubt na Genesee told you tales o' him. He took a rare, strange liking to Genesee from the first—made him some presents, an' went through a bit o' ceremony by which they adopt a warrior."

  "Was this Genesee of another tribe?" asked Stuart, who was always attentive to any information of the natives.

  "Yes," said Rachel quickly, anticipating the others, "of a totally different tribe—one of the most extensive in America at present."

  "A youth? A half-breed?"

  "No," she replied; "an older man than you, and of pure blood. Hen, there is Miss Margaret pummeling the window for you to notice her. Davy MacDougall, did you bring me nothing at all as a relic of your trip? Well, I must say times are changing when you forget me for an entire week."

  Both the men looked a little amused at Rachel's truthful yet misleading replies, and thinking it just one of her freaks, did not interfere, though it was curious to them both that Stuart, living among them so many days, had not heard Genesee mentioned before. But no late news coming from the southern posts, had made the conversations of their troops flag somewhat; while Stuart, coming into their circle, brought new interests, new topics, that had for the while superseded the old, and Genesee's absence of a year had made them count him no longer as a neighbor. Then it may be that, ere this, Rachel had warded off attention from the subject. She scarcely could explain to herself why she did it—it was an instinctive impulse in the beginning; and sometimes she laughed at herself for the folly of it.

  "Never mind," she would reassure herself by saying, "even if I am wrong, I harm no one with the fancy; and I have just enough curiosity to make me wonder what that man's real business is in these wilds, for he is not nearly so careless as his manner, and not nearly so light-hearted as his laugh."

  "Well, did you find any white men among the Kootenais?" she asked him abruptly, the day of his return.

  His head, bent that Miss Margaret could amuse herself with it, as a toy of immense interest, raised suddenly. Much in the girl's tone and manner to him was at times suggestive; this was one of the times. His usually pale face was flushed from his position, and his rumpled hair gave him a totally different appearance as he turned on her a look half-compelling in its direct regard.

  "What made you ask that?" he demanded, in a tone that matched the eyes.

  She laughed; to see him throw off his guard of gracious suavity was victory enough for one day.

  "My feminine curiosity prompted the question," she replied easily. "Did you?"

  "No," he returned, after a rather steady look at her; "none that you could call men."

  "A specimen, then?"

  "Heaven help the race, if the one I saw was accepted as a specimen," he answered fervently; "a filthy, unkempt individual, living on the outskirts of the village, and much more degraded than any Indian I met; but he had a squaw wife."

  "Yes, the most of them have—wives or slaves."

  "Slaves?" he asked incredulously.

  "Actually slaves, though they do not bring the high prices we used to ask for those of darker skin in the South. Emancipation has not made much progress up here. It is too much an unknown corner as yet."

  "Is it those of inferior tribes that are bartered, or prisoners taken in battle?"

  "No, I believe not, necessarily," she replied, "though I suppose such a windfall would be welcomed; but if there happens to be any superfluous members in a family, it is a profitable way to dispose of them, among some of the Columbia Basin Indians, anyway. Davy MacDougall can give you more information than I, as most of my knowledge is second-hand. But I believe this tribe of the Kootenais is a grade above that sort of traffic—I mean bartering their own kindred."

  "How long have you been out here, Miss Rachel?" he asked, as abruptly as she had questioned him of the white men.

  "About a year—a little over."

  "And you like it?"

  "Yes; I like it."

  In response to several demands, he had enthroned Miss Margaret on his lap by this time; and even there she was not contented. His head seemed to have a special fascination for her babyship; and she had such an insinuating way of snuggling upward that she was soon close in his arms, her hands in easy reach of his hair, which she did not pull in infantile fashion, but dallied with, and patted caressingly. There was no mistaking the fact that Stuart was prime favorite here at all events; and the affection was not one-sided by any means—unless the man was a thorough actor. His touch, his voice even, acquired a caressing way when Miss Margaret was to be pleased or appeased. Rachel, speaking to Tillie of it, wondered if his attraction was to children in general or to this one in particular; and holding the baby so that her soft, pink cheek was against his own, he seemed ruminating over the girl's replies, and after a little—

  "Yes, you must, of course," he said thoughtfully; "else you could never make yourself seem so much a part of it as you do."

  During the interval of silence the girl's thoughts had been wandering. She had lost the slight thread of their former topic, and looked a little at sea.

  "A part of what?" she asked.

  "Why, the life here. You seem as if you had always belonged to it—a bit of local color in harmony with the scenes about us."

  "How flattering!—charmingly expressed!" murmered Miss Hardy derisively. "A bit of local color? Then, according to Mr. Stuart's impressions I may look forward to finding myself catalogued among greasy squaws and picturesque squaw men."

  "You seem to take a great deal of delight in turning all I say or do into ridicule," he observed. "You do it on the principle of the country that guys a 'tenderfoot'; and that is just one of the things that stamp you as belonging to the life here. I try to think of you as a Kentucky girl transplanted, but even the fancy eludes me. You impress one as belonging to this soil, and more than that, showing a disposition to freeze out new-comers."

  "I haven't frozen you out."

  "No—thanks to my temperament that refuses to congeal. I did not leave all my warmth in the South."

  "Meaning that I did?"

  "Meaning that you, for some reason, appear to have done so."

  "Dear me, what a subtle personage you make of me! Come here, Margaret; this analyst is likely to prejudice you against your only auntie."

  "Let
her be with me," he said softly, as the baby's big blue eyes turned toward Rachel, and then were screened by heavy, white lids; "she is almost asleep—little darling. Is she not a picture? See how she clings to my finger—so tightly;" and then he dropped his face until his lips touched the soft cheek. "It is a child to thank God for," he said lovingly.

  The girl looked at him, surprised at the thrill of feeling in his tones.

  "You spoke like a woman just then," she said, her own voice changed slightly; "like a—a mother—a parent."

  "Did I?" he asked, and arose with the child in his arms to deliver it to Aunty Luce. "Perhaps I felt so; is that weakness an added cause for trying to bar me out from the Kootenai hills?"

  But he walked away without giving her a chance to reply.

  She saw nothing more of him until evening, and then he was rather quiet, sitting beside Tillie and Miss Margaret, with occasional low-toned remarks to them, but not joining in the general conversation.

  "What a queer remark that was for a man to make!" thought Rachel, looking at him across the room;—"a young man especially"; and that started her to thinking of his age, about which people would have widely different opinions. To see him sometimes, laughing and joking with the rest, he looked a boy of twenty. To hear him talking of scientific researches in his own profession and others, of the politics of the day, or literature of the age, one would imagine him at least forty. But sitting quietly, his face in repose, yet looking tired, his eyes so full of life, yet steeped in reveries, the rare mouth relaxed, unsmiling, then he looked what he probably was, thought the girl—about thirty; but it was seldom that he looked like that.

  "Therefore," reasoned this feminine watcher, "it is seldom that we see him as he really is; query—why?"

  "Perhaps I felt as a parent feels!" How frank his words had been, and how unlike most men he was, to give utterance to that thought with so much feeling, and how caressing to the child! Rachel had to acknowledge that he was original in many ways, and the ways were generally charming. His affections were so warm, so frankly bestowed; yet that gracious, tender manner of his, even when compared with the bluntness of the men around him, never made him seem effeminate.