CHAPTER XXIII
LOVE'S PROGRESS
It was the night of Rosebud's arrival. Seth and Rube were just leaving thebarn. The long day's work was done. Seth had been out all the afternoonriding. Although his ride was nominally in pursuit of health and strength,he had by no means been idle. Now he was bodily weary, and at the door ofthe barn he sat down on the corn-bin. Rube, pausing to prepare his pipe,saw, by the flickering light of the stable lantern, that his companion'sface was ghastly pale.
"Feelin' kind o' mean?" he suggested with gruff sympathy.
"Meaner'n a yaller dawg."
There was anxiety in the older man's deep-set eyes as he noted the flickerof a smile which accompanied the reply.
"There ain't nothin' fresh?" Rube pursued, as the other remained silent.
"Wal, no, 'cep' Rosebud's got back."
"How?"
Seth shrugged.
"Guess it means a heap," he said, and paused. Then a faint flush slowlyspread over his thin, drawn face. "Nothin' could 'a' happened along nowwuss than Rosie's gettin' around," he went on with intense feeling."Can't you see, Rube?" He reached out and laid an emphatic hand on hiscompanion's arm. "Can't you see what's goin' to come? Ther's troublecomin' sure. Trouble for us all. Trouble for that gal. The news is aroundthe Reservation now. It'll reach Black Fox 'fore to-morrow mornin', an'then----Pshaw! Rube, I love that gal. She's more to me than even you an'Ma; she's more to me than life. I can't never marry her, seein' how thingsare, but that don't cut no figger. But I'm goin' to see after her whateverhappens. Ther' ain't no help comin'. Them few soldier-fellers don't amountto a heap o' beans. The Injuns 'll chaw 'em up if they notion it. An' I'mlike a dead man, Rube--jest a hulk. God, Rube, if harm comes to that poregal----Pshaw!"
Seth's outburst was so unusual that Rube stared in silent amazement. Itseemed as if his bodily weakness had utterly broken down the sternself-repression usually his. It was as though with the weakening of musclehad come a collapse of his wonderful self-reliance, and against his willhe was driven to seek support.
Rube removed his pipe from his mouth. His slow moving brain was hard atwork. His sympathy was not easy for him to express.
"Guess it ain't easy, Seth, boy," he said judicially, at last. "Themthings never come easy if a man's a man. I've felt the same in the olddays, 'fore Ma an' me got hitched. Y' see the Injuns wus wuss themdays--a sight. Guess I jest sat tight."
Though so gently spoken, the old man's words had instant effect. AlreadySeth was ashamed of his weakness. He knew, no one better, the strenuouslife of single-hearted courage this old man had lived.
"I'm kind o' sorry I spoke, Rube. But I ain't jest thinkin' o' myself."
"I know, boy. You're jest worritin' 'cause you're sick. I know you. Youan' me are goin' to set tight. Your eye 'll be on the gal; guess I'llfigger on Ma. These sort o' troubles jest come and go. I've seen 'embefore. So've you. It's the gal that makes the diff'rence fer you. Say,lad," Rube laid a kindly hand on the sick man's drooping shoulders, andhis manner became lighter, and there was a twinkle in his deep-set eyes,"when I'd located that I wanted Ma fer wife I jest up an' sez so. I 'lowsthe job wa'n't easy. I'd a heap sooner 'a' let daylight into the carkisesof a dozen Injuns. Y' see wimmin's li'ble to fool you some. When theyknows you're fixed on 'em they jest makes you hate yourself fer afoolhead. It's in the natur' of 'em. They're most like young fillies 'forethey're broke--I sez it wi'out disrespec'. Y' see a wummin ain't got aroarin' time of it in this world. An' jest about when a man gets fixed on'em is their real fancy time, an' they ain't slow to take all ther' iscomin'. An' I sez they're dead right. An' jest when you're bustin' totell 'em how you're feelin'--an' ain't got the savee--they're jestbustin' to hear that same. An' that's how I got figgerin' after awhiles,an' so I ups an' has it out squar'. Y' see," he finished, with an air ofpride which brought a smile to Seth's face, "I kind o' swep' Ma off herfeet."
The younger man had no reply to make. His mind went back to Ma's versionof Rube's courtship. Rube, thoroughly enjoying his task of rousing theother's drooping spirits, went on, carried away by his own enthusiasm.
"Say, why has Rosie come back, boy, I'd like to know."
"She said as she couldn't endure a city no longer. She wanted the plains,the Injuns, Ma, you, an' the farm."
"Pshaw--boy! Plains! Farm! Injuns! Ha, ha! Say, Seth, you ain't smart, notwuth a cent. She come back 'cos she's jest bustin' to hear what youdarsen't tell her. She's come back 'cos she's a wummin, an' couldn't stayaway when you wus sick an' wounded to death. I know. I ain't bin marriedfer five an' twenty year an' more wi'out gittin' to the bottom o' femalenatur'--I----"
"But she didn't know I was sick, Rube."
"Eh?"
Rube stood aghast at what he had said. Seth's remark had, in his own wayof thinking, "struck him all of a heap." He realized in a flash where hisblundering had led him. He had run past himself in his enthusiasm, andgiven Ma's little scheme away, and, for the moment, the enormity of hisoffence robbed him of the power of speech. However, he pulled himselftogether with an effort.
"Guess I wus chawin' more'n I could swaller," he said ruefully. "Ma allusdid say my head wus mostly mutton, an' I kind o' figger she has a power o'wisdom. An' it wus a dead secret--'tween her an' me. Say, Seth, boy, youwon't give me away? Y' see Ma's mighty easy, but she's got a way wi' her,Ma has."
The old man's distress was painfully comical. The perspiration stood outon his rugged forehead in large beads, and his kindly eyes were full of agreat trouble. Seth's next remark came in the form of an uncompromisingquestion.
"Then Ma wrote an' told her?"
"Why, yes, if it comes to that I guess she must have."
Seth rose wearily from his seat, and ranged his lean figure beside the oldman's bulk. "All right, dad," he said, in his quiet, sober way. "I'm gladyou've told me. But it don't alter nothin', I guess. Meanwhile I'll gitround, an' quit whinin'."
The arrival of Rosebud's cousin and her maid somewhat disorganized theSampsons' simple household. Rosebud's love of mischief was traceable inthis incongruous descent upon the farm. Her own coming was a matter whichno obstacle would have stayed. Ma's letter had nearly broken her heart,and her anxiety was absolutely pitiable until the actual start had beenmade.
That Seth was ill--wounded--and she had not known from the first, haddistracted her, and her mind was made up before she had finished readingthe letter. Her obligations to her new life were set aside without asecond thought. What if there were invitations to social functionsaccepted? What if her cousin's household were thrown into confusion by hergoing? These things were nothing to her; Seth might be dying, and herheart ached, and something very like terror urged her to hasten.
She had long since learned that Seth, and Seth alone, was all her world.Then the old mischievous leaning possessed her, and she resolved,willy-nilly, that Mrs. Rickards, whose love she had long since won, as shewon everybody's with whom she came into contact, should accompany her.
This old lady, used only to the very acme of comfort, had welcomed theidea of visiting Rosebud's home in the wilds. Moreover, until the finalstage of the journey, she thoroughly enjoyed herself. It was not untiltraveling from Beacon Crossing, and the camping out at the half-way house,that the roughness of the country was brought home to her. Then came thefinal miring of the wagon, and she reviled the whole proceeding.
But the ultimate arrival at the farm, and the meeting with its homelyfolk, soon restored her equanimity. She at once warmed to Ma, whose gentlepractical disposition displayed such a wealth of true womanliness as tobe quite irresistible, and, in the confidence of her bedchamber, which sheshared with Rosebud, she imparted her favorable impressions. She assuredthe girl she no longer wondered that she, Rosebud, with everything thatmoney could purchase, still longed to return to the shelter of the lovewhich these rough frontier-folk so surely lavished upon her.
"But, my dear," she added, as a warning proviso, and with a touch ofworldliness which her own life in England had made almost pa
rt of hernature, "though Mrs. Sampson is so deliciously simple and good, and Mr.Sampson is such an exquisite rough diamond, this Seth, whose trouble hasbrought us out here, with such undignified haste, is not the man to makethe fuss about that you have been doing all the journey. He's a fine man,or will be when he recovers from his illness, I have no doubt; but, afterall, I feel it my duty by your dead father to warn you that I think youare much too concerned about him for a girl in your position."
"What on earth do you mean, auntie?" Rosebud exclaimed, pausing in theprocess of brushing out her obstinately curling hair. "What position haveI but that which these dear people have helped me to--that Seth, himself,has made for me? I owe all I have, or am at this moment, to Seth. He savedme from a fate too terrible to contemplate. He has saved my life, notonce, but half a dozen times; he found me my father's fortune, or thefortune which father has left for me when I marry. You are more unkindthan ever I thought you could be. You wait, auntie, you may yet learnto--to appreciate Seth as I do. You see I know--you don't. You're good,and wise, and all that; but you don't know--Seth."
"And it's very evident that you think you do, dear," Mrs. Rickards said,wearily rolling over and snuggling down amidst the snowy sheets of thesoft feather-bed.
"There is no question of thinking," Rosebud smiled mischievously into thelooking-glass in the direction of her relative. "And if Seth were to askme I would marry him to-morrow--there. Yes, and I'd make him get a speciallicense to avoid unnecessary delay."
Of a sudden Mrs. Rickards started up in bed. For one moment she severelyeyed the girl's laughing face. Then her anger died out, and she droppedback on the pillow.
"For the moment I thought you meant it," she said.
"And so I do," was the girl's swift retort. "But there," as a horrifiedexclamation came from the bed, "he won't ask me, auntie," the girl wenton, with a dash of angry impatience in her voice, "so you needn't worry.Seth has a sense of honor which I call quixotic, and one that mightreasonably shame the impecunious fortune-hunters I've met since I havelived in England. No, I'm afraid if I were to marry Seth it wouldn't behis doing."
"This Seth said you were a savage--and he's right."
With this parting shot Mrs. Rickards turned over, and, a moment later, wascomfortably asleep, as her heavy breathing indicated. Rosebud remained along time at the dressing-table, but her hair didn't trouble her. Her headwas bowed on her arms, and she was quietly weeping. Nor could she haveexplained her tears. They were the result of a blending of both joy andsorrow. Joy at returning to the farm and at finding Seth on the highroadto recovery; and sorrow--who shall attempt to probe the depths of thismaiden's heart?
The day following Rosebud's return was a momentous one. True to herimpulsive character the girl, unknown to anybody, saddled her own mare androde off on a visit to Wanaha. Seth was away from the farm, or he wouldprobably have stopped her. Rube knew nothing of her going, and Ma had hertime too much occupied with Mrs. Rickards and her maid to attend toanything but her household duties. So Rosebud was left to her own devices,which, as might have been expected, led her to do the one thing leastdesirable.
Wanaha was overjoyed at the girl's return. The good Indian woman hadexperienced a very real sense of loss, when, without even a farewell,Rosebud suddenly departed from their midst. Added to this Wanaha had hada pretty bad time with her husband after the affair in the river woods.Abnormally shrewd where all others were concerned, she was utterly blindin her husband's favor. His temper suddenly soured with Rosebud's going,and the loyal wife suffered in consequence. Yet she failed to appreciatethe significance of the change.
There was no suspicion in her mind of the manner in which she had foiledhis plans, or even of the nature of them. The attempt to kidnap the whitegirl she put down to the enterprise of her brother's fierce, lawlessnature, and as having nothing whatever to do with her husband. In fact shestill believed it was of that very danger which Nevil had wanted to warnRosebud.
Now, when the girl suddenly burst in upon her, Wanaha was overjoyed, forshe thought she had surely left the prairie world forever. They spent thebest part of the morning together. Then Nevil came in for his dinner. Whenhe beheld the girl, fair and deliciously fresh in her old prairie habit,sitting on the bed in the hut, a wave of devilish joy swept over him. Healready knew that she had returned to the farm--how, it would have beenimpossible to say--but that she should still come to his shack seemedincredible.
Evidently Seth had held his tongue. Though he wondered a little uneasilyat the reason, he was quick to see his advantage and the possibilitiesopening before him. He had passed from the stage when he was content toavail himself of chance opportunities. Now he would seek them--he wouldmake opportunities.
"And so you have come back to us again," he said, after greeting the girl,while Wanaha smiled with her deep black eyes upon them from the tablebeyond the stove.
"Couldn't stay away," the girl responded lightly. "The prairie's in mybones."
Rosebud had never liked Nevil. To her there was something fish-like inthose pale eyes and overshot jaw, but just now everybody connected withthe old life was welcome. They chatted for a while, and presently, asWanaha began to put the food on the table, the girl rose to depart.
"It's time I was getting home," she said reluctantly. "I'm not sure thatthey know where I am, so I mustn't stay away too long--after the scrape Igot into months ago. I should like to go across to the Reservation, butI've already promised not to go there alone. Seth warned me against it,and after what has passed I know he's right. But I would like to see MissParker, and dear old Mr. Hargreaves. However, I must wait."
Nevil crossed over to the table. He looked serious, but his blue eyesshone.
"Seth's quite right. You mustn't go alone. Little Black Fox is aboutagain, you know. And--and the people are very restless just now."
"That's what he said. And I nearly frightened auntie to death telling hershe'd get scalped, and nonsense like that."
Nevil laughed in response.
"If you'd like to go----" he began doubtfully.
"It doesn't matter."
"I only meant I've got to go across directly after dinner. I couldaccompany you. No one will interfere with you while I am there."
Nevil turned to his food with apparent indifference. Wanaha stoodpatiently by. Rosebud was tempted. She wanted to see the Reservation againwith that strange longing which all people of impulse have for revisitingthe scenes of old associations. Always she was possessed by that curiousfascination for the Indian country which was something stronger than mereassociation, something that had to do with the long illness she had passedthrough nearly seven years ago.
Nevil waited. He knew by the delay of her answer that she would accept hisinvitation, and he wanted her to go over to the Reservation.
"Are you sure I shan't be in the way? Sure I'm not troubling you?"
Nevil smiled.
"By no means. Just let me have my dinner, and I'll be ready. I've half adozen cords of wood to haul into Beacon, and I have to go and borrowponies for the work. The roads are so bad just now that my own poniescouldn't do it by themselves."
Rosebud's scruples thus being quieted she returned to her seat on thebed, and they talked on while the man ate his dinner. She watched thealmost slavish devotion of Wanaha with interest and sympathy, but herfeelings were all for the tall, beautiful woman. For the man she had norespect. She tolerated him because of her friend only.
An hour later they were on the Reservation. And they had come by way ofthe ford. Rosebud was all interest, and everything else was forgotten,even her dislike of Nevil, as they made their way past Little Black Fox'shouse, and through the encampment of which it was the centre. She wasstill more delighted when her companion paused and spoke to some of theIndians idling about there. She was free to watch the squaws, and thepapooses she loved so well. The little savages were running wild about thetepees, dodging amongst the trailers and poles, or frolicking with thehalf-starved currish camp dogs. The air was busy with
shrieks of delight,and frequently through it all could be detected the note of smallferocity, native to these little red-skinned creatures.
It was all so familiar to her, so homely, so different from that otherlife she had just left. The past few months were utterly forgotten; shewas back in her old world again. Back in the only world she really knewand loved.
It came as no sort of surprise to her, when, in the midst of this scene,the great chief himself appeared. He came alone, without ceremony orattendants. He stood in the midst of the clearing--tall, commanding, andas handsome as ever. His dusky face was wreathed in a proud, halfdisdainful smile. He did not attempt to draw near, and, except for ahaughty inclination of the head, made no sign.
Rosebud had no suspicion. She had no thought of the man with her. She wasfar too interested in all she saw to wonder how the chief came to be inthe midst of the clearing just as she was passing through it.
On the far side of the camp a path led to the Agency. Its course wastortuous, winding in the shape of the letter S. It was at the second curvethat an unexpected, and to Nevil, at least, unwelcome meeting occurred.
Seth, mounted on his own tough broncho, was standing close against thebacking of brush which lined the way. He had every appearance of havingbeen awaiting their coming. Nevil's furtive eyes turned hither and thitherwith the quick glance of a man who prefers a safe retreat to a boldencounter.
Rosebud looked serious, and thought of the scolding that might beforthcoming. Then she laughed and urged her horse quickly forward.
"Why, Seth----" she cried. But she broke off abruptly. The rest of whatshe was about to say died out of her mind. Seth was not even looking ather. His eyes were on Nevil Steyne in a hard, cold stare. Physically weakas he was there could be no mistaking the utter hatred conveyed in thatlook.
Rosebud had drawn up beside him. For once she was at a loss, helpless.Nevil was some ten yards in rear of her. There was a moment's silenceafter the girl's greeting, then Seth said quite sharply--
"You stay right here."
He urged his horse forward and went to meet Nevil. The girl was veryanxious, hardly knowing why. She heard Seth's voice low but commanding.His words were lost upon her, but their effect was plain enough. Nevilfirst smiled contemptuously, then he paled and finally turned his horseabout, and slowly returned the way he had come.
Then, and not until then, Rosebud observed that Seth was grasping the buttof his revolver.