CHAPTER XXII
ROSEBUD'S ANSWER
It was a dazzling morning nearly five weeks after the dispatching of MaSampson's letter to Rosebud. The heralds of spring, the warm, southernbreezes, which brought trailing flights of geese and wild duck wingingnorthward, and turned the pallor of the snow to a dirty drab hue, like asoiled white dress, had already swept across the plains. The sunlight wasfiercely blinding. Even the plainsman is wary at this time of the year,for the perils of snow-blindness are as real to him as to the"tenderfoot."
There had been no reply from Rosebud. Two more letters from her reachedthe farm, but they had been written before the letter, which Rube helpedto compose, had been received. Since then no word had come from the girl.Ma was satisfied, and accepted her silence with equanimity, but forappearances' sake assumed an attitude of complaint. Rube said nothing; hehad no subtlety in these matters. Seth was quite in the dark. He nevercomplained, but he was distressed at this sudden and unaccountabledesertion.
Seth's wound and broken shoulder had healed. He had been up a week, butthis was his first day out of the house. Now he stood staring out withshaded eyes in the direction of the Reservations. During the past week hehad received visits from many of the neighboring settlers. Parker,particularly, had been his frequent companion. He had learned all that itwas possible for him to learn by hearsay of the things which mostinterested him; but, even so, he felt that he had much time to make up,much to learn that could come only from his own observation.
Now, on this his first day out in the open, he found himself feeling veryweak, a thin, pale shadow of his former self. Curiously enough he hadlittle inclination for anything. He simply stood gazing upon the scenebefore him, drinking in deep draughts of the pure, bracing, spring air.Though his thoughts should have been with those matters which concernedthe welfare of the homestead, they were thousands of miles away, somewherein a London of his own imagination, among people he had never seen,looking on at a life and pleasures of which he had no knowledge of, andthrough it all he was struggling to understand how it was Rosebud had cometo forget them all so utterly, and so suddenly.
He tried to make allowances, to point out to himself the obligations ofthe girl's new life. He excused her at every point; yet, when it was alldone, when he had proved to himself the utter impossibility of her keepingup a weekly correspondence, he was dissatisfied, disappointed. There wassomething behind it all, some reason which he could not fathom.
In the midst of these reflections he was joined by Rube. The old man wassmoking his after-breakfast pipe.
"She's openin'," he said, indicating the brown patches of earth alreadyshowing through the snow. Seth nodded.
They were standing just outside the great stockade which had beencompleted during Seth's long illness. There were only the gates waiting tobe hung upon their vast iron hinges.
After the old man's opening remark a long silence fell. Seth's thoughtsran on unchecked in spite of the other's presence. Rube smoked and watchedthe lean figure beside him out of the corners of his eyes. He wasspeculating, too, but his thought was of their own immediate surroundings.Now that Seth was about again he felt that it would be good to talk withhim. He knew there was much to consider. Though perhaps he lackedsomething of the younger man's keen Indian knowledge he lacked nothing inexperience, and experience told him that the winter, after what had gonebefore, had been, but for the one significant incident of Seth's wound,very, very quiet--too quiet.
"Say, boy," the old man went on, some minutes later, "guess you ain'tyarned a heap 'bout your shootin' racket?"
Seth was suddenly brought back to his surroundings. His eyes thoughtfullysettled on the distant line of woodland that marked the river and theReservation. He answered readily enough.
"That shootin' don't affect nothin'--nothin' but me," he said withmeaning.
"I thought Little----"
Seth shook his head. He took Rube's meaning at once.
"That's to come, I guess," he said gravely.
Rube suddenly looked away down the trail in the direction of BeaconCrossing. His quick ears had caught an unusual sound. It was a "Coo-ee,"but so thin and faint that it came to him like the cry of some small bird.Seth heard it, too, and he turned and gazed over the rotting sleigh trackwhich spring was fast rendering impassable. There was nothing in sight.Just the gray expanse of melting snow, dismal, uninteresting even in theflooding sunlight.
Rube turned back to the gateway of the stockade. His pipe was finished andhe had work to do. Seth was evidently in no mood for talk.
"I'd git around and breathe good air fer awhiles," he said kindly, "y'ain't goin' to git strong of a sudden, Seth."
"Guess I'll ride this afternoon. Hello!"
The cry reached them again, louder, still high-pitched and shrill, butnearer. Away down the trail a figure in black furs was moving towardthem.
Both men watched the object with the keenest interest. It was a merespeck on the gray horizon, but it was plainly human, and evidently wishfulto draw their attention.
"Some'un wantin' us?" said Rube in a puzzled tone.
"Seems." Seth was intent upon the figure.
Another "Coo-ee" rang out, and Rube responded with his deep gutturalvoice. And, in answer, the bundle of furs raised two arms and waved thembeckoningly.
Rube moved along the trail. Without knowing quite why, but roused to acertain curiosity, he was going to meet the newcomer. Seth followed him.
Seth's gait was slower than the older man's, and he soon dropped behind.Suddenly he saw Rube stop and turn, beckoning him on. When he came up theold man pointed down the road.
"It's a woman," he said, and there was a curious look in his eyes.
The muffled figure was more than a hundred and fifty yards away, but stilllaboriously stumbling along the snow-bound trail toward them.
Before Seth could find a reply another "Coo-ee" reached them, followedquickly by some words that were blurred by the distance. Seth started. Thevoice had a curiously familiar sound. He glanced at Rube, and the oldman's face wore a look of grinning incredulity.
"Sounds like----" Seth began to speak but broke off.
"Gee! Come on!" cried Rube, in a boisterous tone. "It's Rosebud!"
The two men hastened forward. Rube's announcement seemed incredible. Howcould it be Rosebud--and on foot? The surface of the trail gave way undertheir feet at almost every step. But they were undeterred. Slush or ice,deep snow or floundering in water holes, it made no difference. It was arace for that muffled figure, and Rube was an easy winner. When Seth cameup he found the bundle of furs in the bear-like embrace of the older man.It was Rosebud!
Questions raced through Seth's brain as he looked on, panting with theexertion his enfeebled frame had been put to. How? Why? What was themeaning of it all? But his questions remained unspoken. Nor was he left indoubt long. Rosebud laughing, her wonderful eyes dancing with aninexpressible delight, released herself and turned to Seth. Immediatelyher face fell as she looked on the shadow of a man standing before her.
"Why, Seth," she cried, in a tone of great pity and alarm that deceivedeven Rube, "what's the matter that you look so ill?" She turned swiftlyand flashed a meaning look into Rube's eyes. "What is it? Quick! Oh, youtwo sillies, tell me! Seth, you've been ill, and you never told me!"
Slow of wit, utterly devoid of subterfuge as Rube was, for once he graspedthe situation.
"Why, gal, it's jest nothin'. Seth's been mighty sick, but he's rightenough now, ain't you, Seth, boy?"
"Sure."
Seth had nothing to add, but he held out his hand, and the girl seized itin both of hers, while her eyes darkened to an expression which these menfailed to interpret, but which Ma Sampson could have read aright. Sethcleared his throat, and his dark eyes gazed beyond the girl and down thetrail.
"How'd you come, Rosie?" he asked practically. "You ain't traipsed fromBeacon?"
Suddenly the girl's laugh rang out. It was the old irresponsible laughthat had always been the joy of
these men's hearts, and it brought aresponsive smile to their faces now.
"Oh, I forgot," she cried. "The delight of seeing you two dears put it outof my silly head. Why, we drove out from Beacon, and the wagon's stuck ina hollow away back, and my cousin, I call her 'aunt,' and her maid, andall the luggage are mired on the road, calling down I don't know whatterrible curses upon the country and its people, and our teamster inparticular. So I just left them to it and came right on to get help.Auntie was horrified at my going, you know. Said I'd get rheumatic feverand pneumonia, and threatened to take me back home if I went, and I toldher she couldn't unless I got help to move the wagon, and so here I am."
Rube's great face had never ceased to beam, and now, as the girl pausedfor breath, he turned for home.
"Guess I'll jest get the team out. Gee!" And he went off at a great gait.
Seth looked gravely at the girl's laughing face.
"Guess you'd best come on home. Mebbe your feet _are_ wet."
Thus, after months of parting, despite the changed conditions of thegirl's life, the old order was resumed. Rosebud accepted Seth's dominationas though it was his perfect right. Without one word or thought of protestshe walked at his side. In silence he helped her over the broken trail tothe home she had so long known and still claimed. Once only was thatsilence broken. It was when the girl beheld the fortified appearance ofthe farm. She put her question in a low, slightly awed tone.
"What's all this for, Seth?" she asked. She knew, but she felt that shemust ask.
"Them logs?" The man responded indifferently.
"Yes, that stockade."
"Oh, jest nothin'. Y' see we need a bit o' fence-like."
Rosebud looked at him from out of the corners of her eyes as she trudgedat his side.
"I'm glad I came, Seth. I'm just in time. Poor auntie!"
The next moment her arms were around Ma Sampson's neck, hugging the oldwoman, who had heard of the girl's arrival from Rube and had come out tomeet her.
"La sakes, come right in at once, Rosie, gal!" she exclaimed, when shewas permitted a chance of speech. And laughing and chattering in the verywildest delight, Rosebud led the way and romped into the house.
In the dear familiar kitchen, after the girl had gazed at the varioussimple furnishings she had so long known and loved, she poured out hertale, the reason of her coming, with a blissful disregard for truth. Matook her cue and listened to the wonderful fabrication the girl piled upfor her astonished ears, and more particularly Seth's. Apparently the onething that had not entered into her madcap considerations was Seth'sillness.
Just as her story came to an end, and the sound of wheels outside warnedthem of the arrival of the wagon, Rosebud turned upon Seth with somethingof her old wilful impetuosity.
"And now, Seth," she said, her eyes dancing with audacity and mischief,"you're a sick man and all that, so there's every excuse for you, but youhaven't said you're glad to see me."
Seth smiled thoughtfully as he gazed on the fair, trim-figured womanchallenging him. He noted with a man's pleasure the perfectly fittingtailor-made traveling costume, the beautifully arranged hair, thedelightful Parisian hat. He looked into the animated face, the only thingabout her that seemed to be as of old. Though he saw that her outwardappearance was changed, even improved, he knew that that was all. It wasthe same Rosebud, the same old spirit, honest, fearless, warm-hearted,loving, that looked out of her wondrous eyes, and he felt his pulses stirand something like a lump rose in his throat as he answered her.
"Wal, little gal, I guess you don't need me to tell you. Pleased! thatdon't cut no meanin'. Yet I'm kind o' sorry too. Y' see ther'sthings----"
Ma interrupted him.
"He's right, Rosebud dear, it's a bad time."
The girl's reply came with a laugh full of careless mischief andconfidence.
"Poor auntie!" Then she became suddenly serious. "They're outside," shewent on. "Let us go and bring her in."
A moment later Ma found herself greeting Rosebud's second cousin andchaperone. Mrs. Rickards was an elderly lady, stout, florid, andfashionably dressed, who had never been further afield in her life thanthe Europe of society.
Her greeting was an effort. She was struggling to conceal a natural angerand resentment against the inconvenience of their journey from BeaconCrossing, and the final undignified catastrophe of the wagon sticking fastin the slush and mud on the trail, and against Rosebud in particular,under a polite attempt at cordiality. She would probably have succeeded inrecovering her natural good-humored composure but for the girl herself,who, in the midst of the good creature's expostulations, put the finaltouch to her mischief. Mrs. Rickards had turned solicitously upon hercharge with an admonitory finger raised in her direction.
"And as for Rosie,--she insists on being called Rosebud still, Mrs.Sampson--after her tramp through all that dreadful snow and slush she mustbe utterly done up," she said kindly.
"Done up, auntie? Tired?" the girl said, with a little scornful laugh."Don't you believe it. Why the fun's only just beginning, isn't it, Seth?Do you know, auntie dear, the Indians are getting troublesome; they'regoing out on the war-path. Aren't they, Seth? And we're just in time toget scalped."
But Seth had no responsive smile for the girl's sally. His face was graveenough as he turned to the horrified woman.
"Ma'am," he said, in that slow drawling fashion which gave so much gravityand dignity to his speech, "I'll take it kindly if you won't gamble a heapon this little gal's nonsense. I've known her some few years, an' I guessshe's nigh the worst savage in these parts--which, I guess, says a deal."
Seth's rebuke lost nothing of its sharpness by reason of the gentle mannerin which it was spoken. Rosebud felt its full force keenly. She flushed tothe roots of her hair and her eyes were bright with resentment. She poutedher displeasure and, without a word, abruptly left the room.
Ma and Mrs. Rickards--the latter's composure quite restored by Seth'sreassurance--looked after her. Both smiled.
Seth remained grave. The girl's mischief had brought home to him the fullresponsibility which devolved upon Rube and himself.
Truly it was the old Rosebud who had returned to White River Farm.