The Price of the Prairie: A Story of Kansas

  CHAPTER III

  THE HERMIT'S CAVE

  The secret which the mountains kept The river never told.

  The bluff was our continual delight. It was so difficult, so full ofsurprises, so enchanting in its dangers. All manner of creeping thingsin general, and centipedes and rattlesnakes in particular, made theirhomes in its crevices. Its footing was perilous to the climber, and itshiding-places had held outlaws and worse. Then it had its haunted spots,where tradition told of cruel tragedies in days long gone by; and of theunknown who had found here secret retreat, who came and went, leavingnever a name to tell whom they were nor what their story might be. Allthese the old cliff had in its keeping for the sturdy boys and girls ofparents who had come here to conquer the West.

  Just below the town where the Neosho swings away to the right, thebottom lands narrow down until the stream sweeps deep and swift againsta stone wall almost two hundred feet in height. From the top of thecliff here the wall drops down nearly another hundred feet, leaving aninaccessible heap of rough cavernous rocks in the middle stratum.

  Had the river been less deep and dangerous we could not have gotten upfrom below; while to come down from above might mean a fall of threehundred feet or more to the foam-torn waters and the jagged rocksbeneath them. Here a stranger hermit had hidden himself years before.Nobody knew his story, nor how he had found his way hither, for he spokein a strange tongue that nobody could interpret. That this inaccessibleplace was his home was certain. Boys bathing in the shallows up-streamsometimes caught a glimpse of him moving about among the bushes. Andsometimes at night from far to the east a light could be seen twinklinghalf way up the dark cliff-side. Every boy in Springvale had an ambitionto climb to the Hermit's Cave and explore its mysteries; for the old mandied as he had lived, unknown. One winter day his body was found on thesand bar below the rapids where the waters had carried him after hisfall from the point of rock above the deep pool. There was no mark onhis coarse clothing to tell a word of his story, and the Neosho kept hissecret always.

  What boy after that would not have braved any danger to explore thedepths of this hiding-place? But we could not do it. Try as we might,the hidden path leading up, or down, baffled us.

  After Jean Pahusca came into our school we had a new interest and for atime we forgot that tantalizing river wall below town. Jean wasirregular in his attendance and his temper. He learned quickly, for anIndian. Sometimes he was morose and silent; sometimes he was affable andkind, chatting among us like one of our own; and sometimes he found thewhite man's fire-water. Then he murdered as he went. He was possessed ofa demon to kill, kill the moment he became drunk. Every living thing inhis way had to flee or perish then. He would stop in his mad chase tocrush the life out of a sleeping cat, or to strike at a bird or achicken. Whiskey to him meant death, as we learned to our sorrow.Nobody knew where he lived. He dressed like an Osage but he wassupposed to make his home with the Kaws, whose reservation was muchnearer to us. Sometimes in the cool weather he slept in our sheds. Inwarm weather he lay down on the ground wherever he chose to sleep. Therewas a fascination about him unlike all the other Indians who came up tothe village, many of whom we knew. He could be so gentle and winning inhis manner at times, one forgot he was an Indian. But the spirit of theRed Man was ever present to overcome the strange European mood in amoment.

  "He's no Osage, that critter ain't," Cam Gentry said to a group on histavern veranda one annuity day when the tribes had come to town fortheir quarterly allowances. "He's second cousin on his father's side tosome French missionary, you bet your life. He's got a gait like a Jessutpriest. An' he's not Osage on't other side, neither. I'll bet his motherwas a Kiowa, an' that means his maternal grandad was a rattlesnake, evenif his paternal grandpop was a French markis turned religious an' gonea-missionaryin' among the red heathen. You dig fur enough into thatbuck's hide an' you'll find cussedness big as a sheep, I'm tellin' you."

  "Where does he live?" inquired my father.

  "Lord knows!" responded Cam. "Down to the Kaws' nests, I reckon."

  "He was cuttin' east along the Fingal Creek bluff after he'd made off tothe southwest, the other night, when I was after the cows," broke inO'mie, who was sitting on the lowest step listening with all his ears."Was cuttin' straight to the river. Only that's right by the Hermit'sCave an' he couldn't cross to the Osages there."

  "Reckon he zigzagged back to town to get somethin' he forgot at Conlow'sshop," put in Cam. "Didn't find any dead dogs nor children nextmornin', did ye, O'mie?"

  Conlow kept the vilest whiskey ever sold to a poor drink-thirstyRedskin. Everybody knew it except those whom the grand jury called intocounsel. I saw my father's brow darken.

  "Conlow will meet his match one of these days," he muttered.

  "That's why we are runnin' you for judge," said Cam. "This cussedcountry needs you in every office it's got to clean out that gang thatrobs an' cheats the Injuns, an' then makes 'em ravin' crazy withdrinkin'. They's more 'n Conlow to blame, though, Judge. Keep one eye onthe Government agents and Indian traders."

  "I wonder where Jean did go anyhow," O'mie whispered to me. "Let's foindout an' give him a surprise party an' a church donation some night."

  "What does he come here so much for, anyhow?" I questioned.

  "I don't know," replied O'mie. "Why can't he stay Injun? What'll he dowid the greatest common divisor an' the indicative mood an' the Sea ofAzov, an' the Zambezi River, when he's learned 'em, anyhow? Phil,begorra, I b'lave that cussed Redskin is in this town fur trouble, an'you jist remember he'll git it one av these toimes. He ain't naturalInjun. Uncle Cam is right. He's not like them Osages that comes hereannuity days. All that's Osage about him is his clothes."

  While we were talking, Jean Pahusca came silently into the company andsat down under the oak tree shading the walk. He never looked less likean Indian than he did that summer morning lounging lazily in the shade.The impenetrable savage face had now an expression of ease and superiorself-possession, making it handsome. Unlike the others of his race whocame and went about Springvale, Jean's trappings were always bright andfresh, and his every muscle had the poetry of motion. In all our gameshe was an easy victor. He never clambered about the cliff as we did, hesimply slid up and down like a lizard. Jim Conlow was built to race, butJean skimmed the ground like a bird. He could outwrestle every boyexcept O'mie (nobody had ever held that Irishman if he wanted to getaway), and his grip was like steel. We all fought him by turns and hedefeated everyone until my turn came. From me he would take no chance ofdefeat, however much the boys taunted him with being afraid of PhilBaronet. For while he had a quickness that I lacked, I knew I had amuscular strength he could not break. I disliked him at first onMarjie's account; and when she grew accustomed to his presence andalmost forgot her fear, I detested him. And never did I dislike him somuch before as on this summer morning when we sat about the shadyveranda of the Cambridge House. Nobody else, however, gave any heed tothe Indian boy picturesquely idling there on the blue-grass.

  Down the street came Lettie Conlow and Mary Gentry with Marjory Whately,all chatting together. They turned at the tavern oak and came up theflag-stone walk toward the veranda. I could not tell you to-day what mylady wears in the social functions where I sometimes have the honor tobe a guest. I am a man, and silks and laces confuse me. Yet I rememberthree young girls in a frontier town more than forty years ago. MaryGentry was slender--"skinny," we called her to tease her. Her dark-bluecalico dress was clean and prim. Lettie Conlow was fat. Her skin wasthick and muddy, and there was a brown mole below her ear. Her black,slick braids of hair were my especial dislike. She had no neck to speakof, and when she turned her head the creases above her fat shouldersdeepened. I might have liked Lettie but for her open preference for me.Everybody knew this preference, and she annoyed me exceedingly. Thismorning she wore a thin old red lawn cut down from her mother's gown. Aruffle of the same lawn flopped about her neck. As they came near, herblack eyes sought mine as usual, but I saw only the flop
py redruffle--and Marjie. Marjie looked sweet and cool in a fresh starchedgingham, with her round white arms bare to the elbows, and her whiteshapely neck, with its dainty curves and dimples. The effect washeightened by the square-cut bodice, with its green and white ginghambands edged with a Hamburg something, narrow and spotless. How unlikeshe was to Lettie in her flimsy trimmings! Marjie's hair was coiled in aknot on the top of her head, and the little ringlets curved about herforehead and at the back of her neck. Somehow, with her clear pinkcheeks and that pale green gown, I could think only of the wild rosesthat grew about the rocks on the bluff this side of the Hermit's Cave.

  Marjie smiled kindly down at Jean as she passed him. There was always atremor of fear in that smile; and he knew it and gloried in it.

  "Good-morning, Jean," she said in that soft voice I loved to hear.

  "Good-morning, Star-face," Jean smiled back at her; and his own face wastransfigured for the instant, as his still black eyes followed her. Theblood in my veins turned to fire at that look. Our eyes met and for onelong moment we gazed steadily at each other. As I turned away I sawLettie Conlow watching us both, and I knew instinctively that she andJean Pahusca would sometime join forces against me.

  "Well, if you lassies ain't a sight good for sore eyes, I'll never tellit," Cam shouted heartily, squinting up at the girls with hisgood-natured glance. "You're cool as October an' twicet as sweet an'fine. Go in and let Dollie give you some hot berry pie."

  "To cool 'em off," O'mie whispered in my ear. "Nothin' so coolin' as ahot berry pie in July. Let's you and me go to the creek an' thaw out."

  That evening Jean Pahusca found the jug supposed to be locked inConlow's chest of tools inside his shop. I had found where that redforge light came from, and had watched it from my window many a night.When it winked and blinked, I knew somebody inside the shop was passingbetween it and the line of the chink. I did not speak of it. I was neveraccused of telling all I knew. My father often said I would make a goodwitness for my attorney in a suit at law.

  Among the Indians who had come for their stipend on this annuity day wasa strong young Osage called Hard Rope, who always had a roll of moneywhen he went out of town. I remember that night my father did not comehome until very late; and when Aunt Candace asked him if there wasanything the matter, I heard him answer carelessly:

  "Oh, no. I've been looking after a young Osage they call Hard Rope, whoneeded me."

  I was sleepy, and forgot all about his words then. Long afterwards I hadgood reason for knowing through this same Hard Rope, how well an Indiancan remember a kindness. He never came to Springvale again. And when Inext saw him I had forgotten that I had ever known him before. However,I had seen the blinking red glare down the slope that evening and I knewsomething was going on. Anyhow, Jean Pahusca, crazed with drink, hadstolen Tell Mapleson's pony and created a reign of terror in the streetuntil he disappeared down the trail to the southwest.

  "It's a wonder old Tell doesn't shoot that Injun," Irving Whatelyremarked to a group in his store. "He's quick enough with firearms."

  "Well," said Cam Gentry, squinting across the counter with hisshortsighted eyes, "there's somethin' about that 'Last Chance' store andabout this town I don't understand. There's a nigger in the wood-pile,or an Injun in the blankets, somewhere. I hope it won't be long tillthis thing is cleared up and we can know whether we do know anything, ordon't know it. I'm gettin' mystifieder daily." And Cam sat downchuckling.

  "Anyhow, we won't see that Redskin here for a spell, I reckon," broke inAmos Judson, Whately's clerk. And with this grain of comfort, we forgothim for a time.

  One lazy Saturday afternoon in early August, O'mie and I went for a swimon the sand-bar side of the Deep Hole under the Hermit's Cave. I hadsomething to tell O'mie. All the boys trusted him with theirconfidences. We had slid quietly down the river; somehow, it was too hotto be noisy, and we were lying on a broad, flat stone letting the warmwater ripple over us. A huge bowlder on the sand just beyond us threw asort of shadow over our brown faces as we rested our heads on the sand.

  "O'mie," I began, "I saw something last night."

  "Well, an' phwat did somethin' do to you?" He was blowing at the water,which was sliding gently over his chest.

  "That's what I want to tell you if you will shut up that red flannelmouth a minute."

  "The crimson fabric is now closed be order av the Coort," grinnedO'mie.

  "O'mie, I waked up suddenly last night. It was clear moonlight, and Ilooked out of the window. There right under it, on a black pony justlike Tell Mapleson's, was Jean Pahusca. He was staring up at the window.He must have seen me move for he only stayed a minute and then away hewent. I watched him till he had passed Judson's place and was in theshadows beyond the church. He had on a new red blanket with a circle ofwhite right in the middle, a good target for an arrow, only I'd neversneak up behind him. If I fight him I'll do it like a white man, fromthe front."

  "Then ye'll be dead like a white man, from the front clear back,"declared O'mie. "But hadn't ye heard? This mornin' ould Tell was showin'Tell's own pony he said he brought back from down at Westport. He gothome late las' night. An' Tell, he pipes up an' says, 'There was a arrowfastened in its mane when I see it this mornin', but his dad took nonotice whatsoever av the boy's sayin'; just went on that it was the oneJean Pahusca had stole when he was drunk last. What does it mean, Phil?Is Jean hidin' out round here again? I wish the cuss would go to SantyFee with the next train down the trail an' go to Spanish bull fightin'.He's just cut out for that, begorra; fur he rides like a Comanche. It udbe a sort av disgrace to the bull though. I've got nothin' agin bulls."

  "O'mie, I don't understand; but let's keep still. Some day when he getsso drunk he'll kill one of the grand jury, maybe the rest of them andthe coroner can indict him for something."

  We lay still in the warm water. Sometimes now in the lazy hot Augustafternoons I can hear the rippling song of the Neosho as it prattled andgurgled on its way. Suddenly O'mie gave a start and in a voice low andeven but intense he exclaimed:

  "For the Lord's sake, wud ye look at that? And kape still as a snakewhile you're doin' it."

  Lying perfectly still, I looked keenly about me, seeing nothing unusual.

  "Look up across yonder an' don't bat an eye," said O'mie, low as awhisper.

  I looked up toward the Hermit's Cave. Sitting on a point of rockoverhanging the river was an Indian. His back was toward us and hisbrilliant red blanket had a white circle in the centre.

  "He's not seen us, or he'd niver set out there like that," and O'miebreathed easier. "He could put an arrow through us here as aisy as tosnap a string, an' nobody'd live to tell the tale. Phil Bar'net, he'skapin' den in that cave, an' the devil must have showed him how to gitup there."

  A shout up-stream told of other boys coming down to our swimming place.You have seen a humming bird dart out of sight. So the Indian on therock far above us vanished at that sound.

  "That's Bill Mead comin'; I know his whoop. I wish I knew which side avthat Injun's head his eyes is fastened on," said O'mie, still motionlessin the water. "If he's watchin' us up there, I'm a turtle till the sungoes down."

  A low peal of thunder rolled out of the west and a heavy black cloudswept suddenly over the sun. The blue shadow of the bluff fell upon theNeosho and under its friendly cover we scrambled into our clothes andscudded out of sight among the trees that covered the east bottom land.

  "Now, how did he ever get to that place, O'mie?" I questioned.

  "I don't know. But if he can get there, I can too."

  Poor O'mie! he did not know how true a prophecy he was uttering.

  "Let's kape this to oursilves, Phil," counselled my companion. "If toomany knows it Tell may lose another pony, or somebody's dead dog mayfloat down the stream like the ould hermit did. Let's burn him out avthere oursilves. Then we can adorn our own tepee wid that soft black LaSalle-Marquette-Hennepin French scalp."

  I agreed, and we went our way burdened by a secret dangerous butfas
cinating to boys like ourselves.