XXX
THE CAPTURE OF THE MAN
The east was saffron and pale-blue as Crow and the agent drove out ofthe corral and up the road to the south. Two Horns was the driver. Crowalone was armed, and he wore but his official revolver. Maynard had beenpurposely left out of the expedition, for Curtis did not wish to seem toquestion in the slightest degree the obedience of his people. Hepreferred to go unarmed and without handcuffs or rope, as a friend andadviser, not as an officer of the law.
The morning was deliciously cool, with a gentle wind sliding down fromthe high peaks, which were already glowing with the morning's pink andyellow. From some of the tepees in Grayman's camp smoke was alreadyrising, and a few old women could be seen pottering about the cookinglodges, while the morning chorus of the dogs and coyotes thickened.There was an elemental charm in it all which helped the young soldier toshake off his depression.
Passing rapidly through the two villages, Two Horns turned to the leftand entered upon a road which climbed diagonally up the side of a long,low ridge. This involved plodding, and by the time they reached thesummit the sun met them full-fronted. In the smaller valley, which laybetween this ridge and the foot-hills, a rough trail led towards themountains. This way Two Horns took, driving rapidly and silently, andsoon entered the pines and pinons which form the lower fringe of thevast and splendid robe of green which covers the middle heights of theRocky Mountains.
After an hour of sharp driving, with scarcely a word or gesture, Crowturned and said: "Cut Finger there. Black Wolf, his tepee."
The trail here took a sharp curve to the left to avoid a piece of stonyground, and from a little transverse ridge Curtis could look down on asmall, temporary village, the band of Black Wolf, who had located hereto cut hay on the marsh.
"We must surprise him if we can," said Curtis to Crow. "We must notshoot. I will talk to him. If he cocks his gun kill him; but I don'tthink he will want to fight."
The lads could be heard singing their plaintive songs as they climbedthe hills for their ponies. Smoke was rising from each lodge, andchildren, dogs, and hens were outdoing each other in cheerful uproar asTwo Horns drove up to where Black Wolf stood, an old man with thin, grayhair, shielding his eyes with the scant shadow of his bony wrist.
"Ho, agent!" he cried. "Why do you come to see us so early?"
"Is Cut Finger here?"
"Yes; he is in there." He pointed to a tepee near.
"Be silent!" commanded Curtis, as he alighted swiftly, but withoutapparent haste or excitement. Crow instantly followed him, alert andresolute. As they entered the tepee Cut Finger, still half asleep onhis willow hammock, instinctively reached for his rifle, which laybeneath him on the ground, dangerous as a half-awakened rattlesnake.
Curtis put his foot on the weapon, and said, pleasantly: "Good-morning,Cut Finger; you sleep late."
The young man sat up and blinked stupidly, while Crow took the gun frombeneath the agent's foot.
Curtis signed to Black Wolf. "This boy has killed a herder and I havecome for him. You knew of his deed."
"I have heard of it," the old man replied, with a gesture.
"It is such men who bring trouble on the tribe," pursued Curtis. "Theymust be punished. Cut Finger must go with me down to the agency. He mustnot make more trouble."
The news of the agent's mission brought every soul hurrying to the tent,for Cut Finger had said, "I will fight the soldiers if they come."
Curtis heard them coming and said: "Crow, tell all these people outsidethat Cut Finger has done a bad thing and must be punished. That unlesssuch men are cast out by the Tetongs they will always be in trouble."
Crow lifted up his big, resounding voice and recounted what the agenthad said, and added: "You shall see we will take this man. I, Crow, havesaid it. It will be foolish for any one to resist."
The agent, sitting before Cut Finger, addressed him in signs. "I am yourfriend, I am sorry for you. I am sorry for any man who does wrong andsuffers punishment; but you have injured your people, you made the whiteman very angry; he came ready to shoot--you saw how I turned him away.I said: 'I will find the man who shot the herder. I will bring him--I donot want any one else to suffer.' Then you proclaimed yourself. Yousaid: 'I alone did this thing.' Then you went on the hill to fight--Icannot allow that. No more blood will be shed. I will not lie; I havecome to take you. You will be punished; you must go with me to the whiteman's strong-house."
A whimpering cry arose, a cry which ended in a sighing moan ofheart-piercing, uncontrollable agony, and Curtis, turning his face, sawthe wife of Cut Finger looking at him from her blanket on the oppositeside of the tepee. A shout of warning from Crow made him leap to hisfeet and turn.
Cut Finger confronted him, his eyes glowing with desperate resolution.
"_Sit down!_" commanded the Captain, using his fist in the sign, with apowerful gesture. The fugitive could not endure his chief's eyes; hesank back on his couch and sat trembling.
"If you touch the Little Father I will kill you," said Crow, gruffly, ashe stood with drawn revolver in his hand. "I, Crow, have said it!"
Black Wolf was looking on with lowering brow. "He says the white man wasdriving his sheep on our land."
"So he was," replied Curtis, "but it is bad for the Tetongs when a whiteman is killed. It is better to come and tell me. When a redman kills awhite man the white men say: 'Let us kill _all_ the Tetongs--spare noone.' Cut Finger said he was ready to die. Well, then, let him go withme, and I will make his punishment as light as I can. I am hisfriend--a friend to every Tetong. I will tell the war chief at PinonCity how it was, and he will say Cut Finger was not alone to blame--thewhite man was also to blame. Thus the punishment will not be so heavy.Cut Finger is a young man; he has many years to live if he will do as Itell him. He will come back to his tribe by-and-by and be a good man."
So, by putting forth all his skill in gesture he conveyed to CutFinger's mind a new idea--the idea of sacrificing himself for the goodof the tribe. He also convinced the members of Black Wolf's band thattheir peace and safety lay in giving him up to their agent, and so atlast the young desperado rose and followed his chief to the wagonwherein Two Horns still sat, impassive and unafraid.
As he put his hand on the carriage-seat a convulsive shudder swept overCut Finger. He folded his arms and, lifting his eyes to the hills, burstforth in a death-song, a chant so sad, so passionate, and so searching,that the agent's heart was wrenched. Answering sobs and wails broke fromthe women, and the young wife of the singer came and crouched at hisfeet, her little babe in her arms, and this was his song:
"I am going away. I go to my death. The white man has said it-- I am to die in a prison. I am young, but I must go-- I have a wife, but I must go To die among the white men In the dark. So says the soldier chief."
Curtis, looking into the eyes of Black Wolf, perceived that the old manwavered. The wailing of the women, the young man's song, had roused hisracial hatred--what to him was the killing of a "white robber"?
"Be quiet!" commanded Curtis, and the song ceased. "Get in, quick! Nomore singing."
The ending of the song left the prisoner in a mood of gloomy yet passiveexaltation. He took the place indicated and sat with bowed head, hishands limply crossed.
"Go on!" commanded Curtis, and Two Horns brought the whip down on thehorses. As they sprang forward a wail of agony burst from the lips ofthe bereaved young wife. At this cry Cut Finger again turned upon theagent with hands opened like the claws of a bear--his face contortedwith despair. Curtis seized him in a grip whose crunching power madeitself felt to the marrow of the Tetong's bones, and his eyes, piercingwith terrible determination, shrivelled the resolution of thehalf-crazed man. He sank back into his seat, a hopeless lump of swayingflesh, his face a tragic mask, and uttered no further word till thesound of a galloping horse made them all turn to see who followed.
"My wife!" the prisoner said. "She carries my baby."
This was indeed true. The sad
little wife was galloping after, riding astrong bay pony, the reins flapping loose, while across the pommel ofher saddle she held her small pappoose, whose faint wailing told of hisdiscomfort and terror.
"Wait--me take pappoose," the prisoner said, in English, with a note ofcommand.
Curtis was deeply touched. He ordered Two Horns to halt, and Crow gotout and took the babe and handed it to Cut Finger, who received itcarefully in his long arms. No woman could have been tenderer.
As they drove on, a big lump rose in the soldier's throat. It seemed atreacherous and sinful thing to hand this man over to a savage throng ofwhite men, perhaps to be lynched on the road. "I will not do it," hesaid; "I will take him to Pinon City myself. He shall have trial as ifhe were white. I will yield him to the law, but not to vengeance."
Cut Finger thereafter spoke no word, did not even look back, thoughCurtis detected him turning his head whenever the sound of the gallopinghorse grew faint or died away for a few moments. The baby ceased towail, and on the rough ground, when the wagon jarred, the father heldthe little one high as in a sling.
Upon entering the camp of Crawling Elk they found all the people massed,waiting, listening, and their presence excited the prisoner greatly, andhe began again to sing his death-chant, which now seemed infinitely moretouching by reason of the small creature he cradled so lovingly in hisarms.
"Be silent!" commanded Curtis. "You must not sing. Drive fast, TwoHorns!"
Answering wails and fragments of chanting broke from the women; one ortwo cried out, "Take him from the agent!" But the men shook their headsand sadly watched them pass. "He has done a foolish thing; he must nowsuffer for it," said Crawling Elk.
As they drew up before the door of the parsonage Curtis sprang out andsaid to Cut Finger:
"Give me the baby; he shall be well cared for."
The father gave up the child passively, and Curtis called to Jennie:
"Here is a babe that is tired and hungry--be good to it."
"Where is the mother?" asked Jennie, as she tenderly received the littlebrown boy.
"She is coming," he said, and the mother galloped up in a few momentsand fairly tumbled off her horse. "See!" Curtis said to her and to thefather, "My sister will give the baby milk, and its mother shall also befed. You need not fear; both will be taken care of. We are yourfriends."
Cut Finger watched Jennie as she carefully carried the baby into thehouse, and as he turned away, a look of apathetic misery, more movingthan any cry, settled on his face.
Maynard, who had been standing in the door, said, in a tone ofastonishment, "Did that wild Injun carry his papoose all the way down?"
"Yes, and was as tender of it as a woman, too."
"Well, I'll be hanged! There's a whole lot for me to learn about Injunsyet. Want a guard?"
"Yes; I think it safer. There is a good deal of sympathy for this poorchap."
"I don't blame 'em very much," said Maynard. "Take him right down to ourguard-house, and I'll have Payne detail a squad of men to take care ofhim."
"I intend taking him to Pinon myself. I can't find it in my heart togive him over into the hands of these whites--they'd lynch him, sure."
"I believe it," replied Maynard, with conviction.
As they passed the agency gate, Winters and the county attorney steppedout as if they expected to receive the prisoner; but the savage grin onthe sheriff's face died out as Curtis nodded coldly and drove past.
"That fellow is a wolf. Did you have any trouble?" asked Maynard.
"Not a bit. We surprised him in bed, as I planned to do."
"Nice thing, your leaving me out in this way!"
"Have the Brisbanes gone?"
"Yes. Got away about eight o'clock. Lawson went with them, though he'scoming back to see you clear of this war. He's a crackerjack, is Lawson;but the old man has you marked for slaughter."
It was good to be able to turn his prisoner over to the blue-coats andfeel that he would not be taken away except properly and in order.Lynching does not flourish under the eyes of a commander like Maynard.As Curtis led his man into the guard-house and motioned him to a seat,he said, in signs:
"You are safe now from the cattlemen. I am your friend, remember that. Imyself will take you to the white chief's big village. I will not letthe war chief have you. I will turn you over to the wise man--the manwho will judge your case. I will let your wife and your little son gowith you. So you see I am still your Little Father. I am very sorry youhave shot this man, but you must be punished. I cannot prevent that."
As he met the sheriff he said, quietly, "I have decided to accompany youto Pinon City."
The sheriff was not greatly surprised.
"Oh, very well. But I don't see the need of it."
"I do!" replied Curtis, and his tone silenced opposition.
Going immediately to the house, Curtis flung himself down in his chairand submitted to Jennie's anxious care. She brought him some coffee andbiscuit, and stood with her hand on his shoulder while he ate. "Well,they're gone--Lawson and all. I never saw a greater change in any onethan in that girl. Do you remember how she was last fall? I neversupposed I should come to love her. I hated her for the treatmentof you then, but--I think she has a different feeling towards usnow--not excepting you. I think--she was crying because shewas--going--away--from--you."
He looked up at her and smiled incredulously. "Your loyalty to me, sis,is more than I deserve!"
Curtis seized a moment to cross the square to Elsie's studio, eager tosee whether she had regarded his wishes or not. It was an absurd thingto ask of her, and yet he did not regret having done so. It would serveas a sort of test of her regard, her sympathy. Now as he stood at thedoor he hesitated--if it should be bare!
He turned the knob and entered. The effect of the first impression wasexalting, satisfying. All was in order, and the air was deliciously cooland fragrant, infilled with some rare and delicate odor. Each articlewas in its place--she had taken nothing but the finished pictures andsome sketches which she specially needed. Scraps of canvas covered withsplashes of color were pinned about on the walls, the easel stood in thecentre of the room, and her palette and brushes were on the table. Theyoung soldier closed the door behind him and took a seat in deepemotion. At that moment he realized to the full his need of her, and hisirreparable loss. All he had suffered before was forgotten--swallowed upin the empty, hungry ache of his heart. The curtains and draperies werealmost as much a part of her as her dress, and he could not have touchedthem at the moment, so intimately personal did they seem.
It appeared that he had not fully understood himself, after all. Thisempty temple, where she had lived and worked, these reminders of herbeautiful self, were not to be a solace and a comfort, after all, but atorture. He felt broken and unmanned, and the aching in his throat grewto an intolerable pain, and with a reaction to disdain of himself herose and went out, closing and locking the door.