CHAPTER IV.
DAN'S WARD.
Mr. Max Lyster was not given to the study of deep problems; his habits ofthought did not run in that groove. But he did watch the young strangerwith unusual interest. Her face puzzled him as much as her presencethere.
"I feel as though I had seen you before," he said at last, and her facegrew a shade paler. She did not look up, and when she spoke, it was verycurtly:
"Where?"
"Oh, I don't know--in fact, I believe it is a resemblance to some one Iknow that makes me feel that way."
"I look like some one you know?"
"Well, yes, you do--a little--a lady who is a little older than you--alittle more of a brunette than you; yet there is a likeness."
"Where does she live--and what is her name?" she asked, with scantceremony.
"I don't suppose her name would tell you much," he answered. "But it isMiss Margaret Haydon, of Philadelphia."
"Miss Margaret Haydon," she said slowly, almost contemptuously. "So youknow her?"
"You speak as though you did," he answered; "and as if you did not likethe name, either."
"But you think it's pretty," she said, looking at him sharply. "No, Idon't know such swells--don't want to."
"How do you know she is a swell?"
"Oh, there's a man owns big works across the country, and that's his name.I suppose they are all of a lot," she said, indifferently. "Say! are thereany girls at Sinna Ferry, any family folks? Dan didn't tell me--only saidthere was a white woman there, and I could live with her. He hasn't awife, has he?"
"Dan?" and he laughed at the idea, "well, no. He is very kind to women,but I can't imagine the sort of woman he would marry. He is a queer fish,you know."
"I guess you'll think we're all that up in this wild country," sheobserved. "Does he know much about books and such things?"
"Such things?"
"Oh, you know! things of the life in the cities, where there's music andtheaters. I love the theaters and pictures! and--and--well, everythinglike that."
Lyster watched her brightening face, and appreciated all the longing in itfor the things he liked well himself. And she loved the theaters! All hisown boyish enthusiasm of years ago crowded into his memory, as he lookedat her.
"You have seen plays, then?" he asked, and wondered where she had seenthem along that British Columbia line.
"Seen plays! Yes, in 'Frisco, and Portland, and Victoria--big, realtheaters, you know; and then others in the big mining camps. Oh, I justdream over plays, when I do see them, specially when the actresses arepretty. But I mostly like the villains better than the heroes. Don't knowwhy, but I do."
"What! you like to see their wickedness prosper?"
"No--I think not," she said, doubtfully. "But I tell you, the heroes aregenerally just too good to be live men, that's all. And the villain mostlytalks more natural, gets mad, you know, and breaks things, and rides overthe lay-out as though he had some nerve in him. Of course, they alwaysmake him throw up his hands in the end, and every man in the audienceapplauds--even the ones who would act just as he does if such a prettyhero was in their way."
"Well, you certainly have peculiar ideas of theatrical personages--for ayoung lady," decided Lyster, laughing. "And why you have a grievanceagainst the orthodox handsome hero, I can't see."
"He's too good," she insisted, with the little frown appearing between herbrows, "and no one is ever started in the play with a fair chance againsthim. He is always called Willie, where the villain would be calledBill--now, isn't he? Then the girl in the story always falls in love withhim at first sight, and that's enough to rile any villain, especially whenhe wants her himself."
"Oh!" and the face of the young man was a study, as he inspected thiswonderful ward of Dan. Whatever he had expected from the young swimmer ofthe Kootenai, from the welcomed guest of Akkomi, he had not expected thissort of thing.
She was twisting her pretty mouth, with a schoolgirl's earnestness, over aproblem, and accenting thus her patient forming of the clay face. Shebuilt no barriers up between herself and this handsome stranger, as shehad in the beginning with Overton. What she had to say was uttered withall freedom--her likes, her thoughts, her ambitions. At first the finenessand perfection of his apparel had been as grandeur and insolence whencontrasted with her own weather-stained, coarse skirt of wool, and herboy's blouse belted with a strap of leather. Even the blue beads--her onefeminine bit of adornment--had been stripped from her throat, that shemight give some pleasure to the little bronze-tinted runners on the shore.But the gently modulated, sympathetic tones of Lyster and the kindlyfellowship in his eyes, when he looked at her, almost made her forget herown shabbiness (all but those hideous coarse shoes!) for he talked to herwith the grace of the people in the plays she loved so, and had not oncespoken as though to a stray found in the shelter of an Indian camp.
But he did look curious when she expressed those independent ideas onquestions over which most girls would blush or appear at least a littleconscious.
"So, you would put a veto on love at first sight, would you?" he asked,laughingly. "And the beauty of the hero would not move you at all? What avery odd young lady you would have me think you! I believe love at firstsight is generally considered, by your age and sex, the pinnacle of allthings hoped for."
A little color did creep into her face at the unnecessary personalconstruction put on her words. She frowned to hide her embarrassment andthrust out her lips in a manner that showed she had little vanity as toher features and their attractiveness.
"But I don't happen to be a young lady," she retorted; "and we think as weplease up here in the bush. Maybe your proper young ladies would be veryodd, too, if they were brought up out here like boys."
She arose to her feet, and he saw more clearly then how slight she was;her form and face were much more childish in character than her speech,and the face was looking at him with resentful eyes.
"I'm going back to camp."
"Now, I've offended you, haven't I?" he asked, in surprise. "Really, I didnot mean to. Won't you forgive me?"
She dug her heel in the sand and did not answer; but the fact that sheremained at all assured him she would relent. He was amused at her quickshow of temper. What a prospect for Dan!
"I scarcely know what I said to vex you," he began; but she flashed asullen look at him.
"You think I'm odd--and--and a nobody; just because I ain't like fineyoung ladies you know somewheres--like Miss Margaret Haydon," and she dugthe sand away with vicious little kicks. "Nice ladies with kid slipperson," she added, derisively, "the sort that always falls in love with thepretty man, the hero. Huh! I've seen some men who were heroes--realones--and I never saw a pretty one yet."
As she said it, she looked very straight into the very handsome face ofMr. Lyster.
"A young Tartar!" he decided, mentally, while he actually colored at thedirectness of her gaze and her sweepingly contemptuous opinion of "prettymen."
"I see I'd better vacate your premises since you appear unwilling toforgive me even my unintentional faults," he decided, meekly. "I'm verysorry, I'm sure, and hope you will bear no malice. Of course I--nobodywould want you to be different from what you are; so you must not think Imeant that. I had hoped you would let me buy that clay bust as a mementoof this morning, but I'm afraid to ask favors now. I can only hope thatyou will speak to me again to-morrow. Until then, good-by."
She raised her eyes sullenly at first, but they dropped, ashamed, beforethe kindness of his own. She felt coarse and clumsy, and wished she hadnot been so quick to quarrel. And he was turning away! Maybe he wouldnever speak nicely to her again, and she loved to hear him speak.
Then her hand was thrust out to him, and in it was the little clay model.
"You can have it. I'll give it to you," she said, quite humbly. "It ain'tvery pretty, but if you like it--"
Thus ended the first of many differences between Dan's ward and Dan'sfriend.
When Daniel Overton himself cam
e stalking down among the Indian children,looking right and left from under his great slouch hat, he haltedsuddenly, and with his lips closed somewhat grimly, stood there watchingthe rather pretty picture before him.
But the prettiness of it did not seem to appeal to him strongly. He lookedon the girl's half smiling, drooped face, on Lyster, who held the modeland his hat in one hand and, with his handsome blonde head bared, held outhis other hand to her, saying something in those low, deferential tonesDan knew so well.
Her hand was given after a little hesitation. When they beheld Dan so nearthem, the hands were unclasped and each looked confused.
Mr. Lyster was the first to recover, and adjusting his head covering oncemore, he held up the clay model to view.
"Thought you'd be around before long," he remarked, with a provoking gleamin his eyes. "I really had no hope of meeting Miss Rivers before you thismorning; but fortune favors the brave, you know, and fortune sent meright along these sands for my morning walk--a most indulgent fortune,for, look at this! Did you know your ward is an embryo sculptress?"
The older man looked indifferently enough at the exalted bit of clay.
"I leave discoveries of that sort to you. They seem to run in your linemore than mine," he answered, briefly. Then he turned to the girl. "Akkomitold me you were here with the children, 'Tana. If you had other company,Akkomi would have made him welcome."
He did not speak unkindly, yet she felt that in some way he was notpleased; and perhaps--perhaps he would change his mind and leave her wherehe found her! And if so, she might never see--either of their faces again!As the thought came to her, she looked up at Dan in a startled way, andhalf put out her hand.
"I--I did not know. I don't like the lodges. It is better here by theriver. It is _your_ friend that came, and I--"
"Certainly. You need not explain. And as you seem to know each other, Ineed not do any introducing," he answered, as she seemed to grow confused."But I have a little time to talk to you this morning and so came early."
"Which means that I can set sail for the far shore," added Lyster,amiably. "All right; I'm gone. Good-by till to-morrow, Miss Rivers. I'mgrateful for the clay Indian, and more grateful that you have agreed to befriends with me again. Will you believe, Dan, that in our shortacquaintance of half an hour, we have had time for one quarrel and 'makeup'? It is true. And now that she is disposed to accept me as a travelingcompanion, don't you spoil it by giving me a bad name when my back isturned. I'll wait at the canoes."
With a wave of his hat, he passed out of sight around the clump of bushes,and down along the shore, singing cheerily, and the words floated back tothem:
"Come, love! come, love! My boat lies low; She lies high and dry On the Ohio."
Overton stood looking at the girl for a little time after Lysterdisappeared. His eyes were very steady and searching, as though he beganto realize the care a ward might be, especially when the antecedents andpast life of the ward were so much of stubborn mystery to him.
"I wonder," he said, at last, "if there is any chance of your being myfriend, too, in so short a time as a half-hour? Oh, well, never mind," headded, as he saw the red mouth tremble, and tears show in her eyes as shelooked at him. "Only don't commence by disliking, that's all; forunfriendliness is a bad thing in a household, let alone in a canoe, and Ican be of more downright use to you, if you give me all the confidence youcan."
"I know what you mean--that I must tell you about--about how I came here,and all; but I won't!" she burst out. "I'll die here before I do! I hatedthe people they said were my people. I was glad when they weredead--glad--glad! Oh, you'll say it's wicked to think that way aboutrelatives. Maybe it is, but it's natural if they've always been wicked toyou. I'll go to the bad place, I reckon, for feeling this way, and I'lljust have to go, for I can't feel any other way."
"'Tana--_'Tana!_" and his hand fell on her shoulder, as though to shakeher away from so wild a mood. "You are only a girl yet. When you areolder, you will be ashamed to say you ever hated your parents--whoeverthey were--your mother!"
"I ain't saying anything about her," she answered bitterly. "She diedbefore I can mind. I've been told she was a lady. But I won't ever use thename again she used. I--I want to start square with the world, if I leavethese Indians, and I can't do it unless I change my name and try to forgetthe old one. It has a curse on it--it has."
She was trembling with nervousness, and her eyes, though tearless, werestormy and rebellious.
"You'll think I'm bad, because I talk this way," she continued, "but Iain't--I ain't. I've fought when I had to, and--and I'd swear--sometimes;but that's all the bad I ever did do. I won't any more if you take me withyou. I--I can cook and keep house for you, if you hain't got folks of yourown, and--I do want to go with you."
"Come, love! come! Won't you go along with me? And I'll take you back To old Tennessee!"
The words of the handsome singer came clearly back to them. Overton, aboutto speak, heard the words of the song, and a little smile, half-bitter,half-sad, touched his lips as he looked at her.
"I see," he said, quietly, "you care more about going to-day, than you didwhen I talked to you last night. Well, that's all right. And I reckon youcan make coffee for me as long as you like. That mayn't be long, though,for some of the young fellows will be wanting you to keep house for thembefore many years, and you'll naturally do it. How old are you?"
"I'm--past sixteen," she said, in a deprecating way, as though ashamed ofher years and her helplessness. "I'm old enough to work, and I will workif I get where it's any use trying. But I won't keep house for any one butyou."
"Won't you?" he asked, doubtfully. "Well, I've an idea you may. But we'lltalk about that when the time comes. This morning I wanted to talk ofsomething else before we start--you and Max and I--down into Idaho. I'mnot asking the name of the man you hate so; but if I am to acknowledge himas an old acquaintance of mine, you had better tell me what business hewas in. You see, it might save complications if any one should run acrossus some day and know."
"No one will know me," she said, decidedly. "If I didn't know that, I'dstay right here, I think. And as to him, my fond parent," and she made agrimace--"I guess you can call him a prospector and speculator--either ofthose would be correct. I think they called him Jim, when he waschristened."
"Akkomi said last night you had been on the trail hunting for some one.Was it a friend, or--or any one I could help you look for?"
"No, it wasn't a friend, and I'm done with the search and glad of it. Didyou," she added, looking at him darkly, "ever put in time hunting for anyone you didn't want to find?"
Without knowing it, Miss Rivers must have touched on a subject rathersensitive to her guardian, for his face flushed, and he gazed at herwith a curious expression in his eyes.
"Maybe I have, little girl," he said at last. "I reckon I know how to letyour troubles alone, anyway, if I can't help them. But I must tell you,Max--Max Lyster, you know--will be the only one very curious about yourpresence here--as to the route you came, etc. You had better be preparedfor that."
"It won't be very hard," she answered, "for I came over from Sproats'Landing, up to Karlo, and back down here."
"Over from Sproats--you?" he asked, looking at her nervously. "I heardnothing of a white girl making that trip. When, and how did you do it?"
"Two weeks ago, and on foot," was the laconic reply. "As I had only apaper of salt and some matches, I couldn't afford to travel in high style,so I footed it. I had a ring and a blanket, and I traded them up at Karlofor an old tub of a dugout, and got here in that."
"You had some one with you?"
"I was alone."
Overton looked at her with more of amazement than she had yet inspired inhim. He thought of that indescribably wild portage trail from the Columbiato the Kootenai. When men crossed it, they
preferred to go in company, andthis slip of a girl had dared its loneliness, its dangers alone. Hethought of the stories of death, by which the trail was haunted; ofprospectors who had verged from that dim path and had been lost in thewilderness, where their bones were found by Indians or white hunters longafter; of strange stories of wild beasts; of all the weird sounds of thejungles; of places where a misstep would send one lifeless to the jaggedfeet of huge precipices. And through that trail of terror she hadwalked--alone!
"I have nothing more to ask," he said briefly. "But it is not necessary totell any of the white people you meet that you made the trip alone."
"I know," she said, humbly, "they'd think it either wasn't true--or--orelse that it oughtn't to be true. I know how they'd look at me and whisperthings. But if--if you believe me--"
She paused uncertainly, and looked up at him. All the rebellion andpassion had faded out of her eyes now: they were only appealing. What awild, changeable creature she was with those quick contrasts of temper!wild as the name she bore--Montana--the mountains. Something like thatthought came into his mind as he looked at her.
He had gathered other wild things from his trips into the wilderness;young bears with which to enliven camp life; young fawns that he had lovedand cared for, because of the beauty of eyes and form; even a pair ofkittens had been carried by him across into the States, and developed intohealthy, marauding panthers. One of these had set its teeth through theflesh of his hand one day ere he could conquer and kill it, and his fawns,cubs and smaller pets had drifted from him back to their forests, or elseinto the charge of some other prospector who had won their affections.
He remembered them, and the remembrance lent a curious character to thesmile in his eyes, as he held out his hand to her.
"I do believe you, for it is only cowards who tell lies; and I don'tbelieve you'd make a good coward--would you?"
She did not answer, but her face flushed with pleasure, and she looked upat him gratefully. He seemed to like that better than words.
"Akkomi called you 'Girl-not-Afraid,'" he continued. "And if I were aredskin, too, I would look up an eagle feather for you to wear in yourhair. I reckon you've heard that only the braves dare wear eaglefeathers."
"I know, but I--"
"But you have earned them by your own confession," he said, kindly, "andsome day I may run across them for you. In the meantime, I have onlythis."
He held out a beaded belt of Indian manufacture, a pretty thing, and sheopened her eyes in glad surprise, as he offered it to her.
"For me? Oh, Dan!--Mr. Overton--I--"
She paused, confused at having called him as the Indians called him; buthe smiled understandingly.
"We'll settle that name business right here," he suggested. "You call meDan, if it comes easier to you. Just as I call you 'Tana. I don't know'Mr. Overton' very well myself in this country, and you needn't troubleyourself to remember him. Dan is shorter. If I had a sister, she'd call meDan, I suppose; so I give you license to do so. As to the belt, I got it,with some other plunder, from some Columbia River reds, and you use it.There is some other stuff in Akkomi's tepee you'd better put on, too; it'snew stuff--a whole dress--and I think the moccasins will about fit you. Ibrought over two pairs, to make sure. Now, don't get any independentnotions in your head," he advised, as she looked at him as though about toprotest. "If you go to the States as my ward, you must let me take themanagement of the outfit. I got the dress for an army friend of mine, whowanted it for his daughter; but I guess it will about fit you, and shewill have to wait until next trip. Now, as I've settled our business, I'llbe getting back across the river, so until to-morrow, _klahowya_."
She stood, awkward and embarrassed, before him. No words would come to herlips to thank him. She had felt desolate and friendless for so long, andnow when his kindness was so great, she felt as if she should cry if shespoke at all. Just as she had cried the night before at his compassionatetones and touch.
Suddenly she bent forward for the belt, and with some muttered words hecould not distinguish, she grasped his big hand in her little brownfingers, and touching it with her lips, twice--thrice--turned and ran awayas swiftly as the little Indians who had run on the shore.
The warm color flushed all over Dan's face, as he looked after her. Ofcourse, she was only a little girl, but he was devoutly glad Max was notin sight. Max would not have understood aright. Then his eyes traveledback to his hand, where her mouth had touched it. Her kiss had fallenwhere the scar of the panther's teeth was.
And this, also, was a wild thing he was taking from the forests!