CHAPTER VII.
A REBEL.
Within the confines of Camp Kootenai there was a ripple of rejoicing. Atlast, after four days lost because of the snow, Major Dreyer hadarrived, pushing on with all possible haste after meeting therunner--and, to the bewilderment of all, he rode into camp on one of thehorses stolen almost a week ago.
"No mystery about it--only a little luck," he said in explanation. "Ifound him at Holland's as I came up. A white man belonging to theBlackfeet rode him in there several nights ago. The white man got drunk,picked a row, and got his pay for it. They gave him grave-room downthere, and in the morning discovered that the beast had our brand, sogave him up to us as we came through."
Needless to say that this account was listened to with unusual interest.A man belonging to the Blackfeet! That proved Genesee's theory of whichhe had spoken to Captain Holt--the theory that was so thoroughlydiscredited.
When word was brought that the Major's party had been sighted from thesouth, Fred and Rachel could hardly wait for the saddles to be thrown onthe horses.
Tillie caught the fever of impatience, and rode down beside Hardy.Stuart was not about. The days since Genesee's departure he had put inalmost entirely with the scouts stationed to note any approach from thenorth; he was waiting for that coming back. Kalitan, for the first timesince Genesee's flight, came into camp. The man who had seemed thefriend of his friend was again in command; and he showed hisappreciation of the difference by presenting himself in person besideRachel, to whom he had allied himself in a way that was curious to therest, and was so devotionally serious to himself.
"Then, perhaps it was not that Genesee who stole the horses, after all,"broke in Fred, as her father told the story.
"Genesee!--nonsense!" said the Major brusquely. "We must look into thataffair at once," and he glanced at the Captain; "but if that man's ahorse-thief, I've made a big mistake--and I won't believe it until Ihave proof."
As yet there had been no attempt at any investigation of affairs, onlyan informal welcoming group, and Fred, anxious to tell a story that shethought astonishing, recounted breathlessly the saving of the men by wayof the mine, and of the gloves and the hands worn in that night's work,and last, of the digging up of that body and carrying it away to themountains.
Her father, at first inclined to check her voluble recital that wouldcome to him in a more official form, refrained, as the practical arrayof facts showing through her admiration summed themselves up in a massthat echoed his convictions.
"And that is the man suspected of stealing a few horses? Good God! whatproof have you that will weigh against courage like that?"
"Major, he scarcely denied it," said the Captain, in extenuation oftheir suspicions. "He swore the Kootenais did not do it, and that's allhe would say. He was absent all the afternoon and all the night of thethievery, and refused to give any account whatever of his absence, evenwhen I tried to impress him with the seriousness of the situation. Theman's reputation, added to his suspicious absence, left me but one thingto do--I put him under guard."
"That does look strange," agreed the Major, with, a troubled face;"refused--"
He was interrupted by a sound from Rachel, who had not spoken after theconversation turned to Genesee. She came forward with a low cry,trembling and passionate, doubt and hope blending in her face.
"Did you say the night the horses were stolen?" she demanded. Alllooked at her wonderingly, and Kalitan instinctively slid a littlenearer.
"Yes, it was in the night," answered the Captain, "about two o'clock;but you surely knew about it?"
"I? I knew nothing," she burst out furiously; "they lied to me--all ofyou. You told me it was in the morning. How dared you--how dared you doit?"
The Major laid a restraining hand on her arm; he could feel that she wastrembling violently. She had kept so contemptuously cool through allthose days of doubt, but she was cool no longer; her face was white, butit looked a white fury.
"What matter about the hour, Miss Rachel?" asked the commander; and sheshook off his hand and stepped back beside Kalitan, as if puttingherself where Genesee had put himself--with the Indians.
"Because I could have told where Jack Genesee was that night, if theyhad not deceived me. He was with me."
Tillie gave a little cry of wonder and contrition. She saw it all now.
"But--but you said it was a Kootenai who brought you home," sheprotested feebly; "you told us Lamonti."
"He is a Kootenai by adoption, and he is called Lamonti," said the girldefiantly; "and the night those horses were run off, he was with me froman hour after sundown until four o'clock in the morning."
That bold statement had a damaging ring to it--unnecessarily so; and thegroup about her, and the officers and men back of them, looked at hercuriously.
"Then, since you can tell this much in his favor, can you tell why hehimself refused to answer so simple a question?" asked Major Dreyerkindly.
That staggered her for a moment, as she put her hand up in a helplessway over her eyes, thinking--thinking fast. She realized now what itmeant, the silence that was for her sake--the silence that was notbroken even to her. And a mighty remorse arose for her doubt--the doubtshe had let him see; yet he had not spoken! She raised her eyes and metthe curious glances of the men, and that decided her. They were the menwho had from the first condemned him--been jealous of the commander'strust.
"Yes, I think I can tell you that, too," she said frankly. "The man ismy friend. I was lost in the snow that night; he found me, and it tookus all night to get home. He knows how these people think of him;" andher eyes spared none. "They have made him feel that he is an outcastamong them. They have made him feel that a friendship or companionshipwith him is a discredit to any woman--oh, I know! They think so now, inspite of what he has done for them. He knows that. He is very generous,and wanted, I suppose, to spare me; and I--I was vile enough to doubthim," she burst out. "Even when I brought him his horse, I half believedthe lies about him, and he knew it, and never said a word--not oneword."
"When you brought him his horse?" asked the Major, looking at herkeenly, though not unkindly.
Her remorse found a new vent in the bravado with which she looked atthem all and laughed.
"Yes," she said defiantly, as if there was a certain comfort in bravingtheir displeasure, and proving her rebellion to their laws; "yes, Ibrought him his horse--not by accident either! I brought him brandy andprovisions; I brought him revolvers and ammunition. I helped him toescape, and I cut the bonds your guards had fastened him with. Now, whatare you going to do about it?"
Tillie gasped with horror. She did not quite know whether they wouldshoot her as a traitor, or only imprison her; but she knew military lawcould be a very dreadful thing, and her fears were extravagant.
As for Miss Fred, her eyes were sparkling. With the quick deductions ofher kind, she reasoned that, without the escape that night, the menwould have died in that trap in the hills, and a certain deliciousmeeting and its consequences--of which she was waiting to tell theMajor,--would never have been hers. Her feelings were very franklyexpressed, as she stepped across to the self-isolated rebel and kissedher.
"You're a darling--and a plucky girl," she said warmly; "and you neverlooked so pretty in your life."
The defiant face did not relax, even at that intelligence. Her eyes wereon the commander, her judge. And he was looking with decided interest ather.
"Yours is a very grave offense, Miss Rachel," he said, with deliberationthat struck added terrors to Tillie's heart. "The penalty of contrivingthe escape of prisoners is one I do not like to mention to you; butsince the man in this case was innocent, and I take your evidence inproof--well, that might be some extenuation of the act."
"I didn't know he was innocent when I helped him," she broke in; "Ithought the horses were stolen after he left me."
"That makes it more serious, certainly;" but his eyes were not at allserious. "And since you seem determined to allow nothing in extenuation
of your own actions, I can only say that--that I value very highly theforty men whose lives were saved to us by that escape; and when I seeMr. Genesee, I will thank him in the warmest way at my command;" and heheld out his hand to the very erect, very defiant rebel.
She could scarcely believe it when she heard the words of praise abouther; when one man after another of that rescued crowd came forward toshake hands with her--and Hardy almost lifted her off her feet to kissher. "By George! I'm proud of you, Rachel," he said impulsively. "Youare plucky enough to--to be Genesee himself."
The praise seemed a very little thing to her. Her bravado was over; shefelt as if she must cry if they did not leave her alone. Of what usewere words, if he should never come back--never know that he was clearedof suspicion? If they had so many kind words now, why had they not foundsome for him when he needed them? She did not know the uncompromisingsurliness that made him so difficult of approach to many people,especially any who showed their own feeling of superiority, as most ofthem did, to a squaw man.
She heard that term from the Major, a moment after he had shaken handswith her. He had asked what were the other suspicions mentioned againstGenesee; she could not hear the answer--they had moved a little apartfrom her--but she could hear the impatience with which he broke in ontheir speech.
"A squaw man!--well, what if he is?" he asked, with a sereneindifference to the social side of the question. "What difference doesit make whether the man's wife has been red, or white, or black, so longas she suited him? There are two classes of squaw men, as there are ofother men on the frontier--the renegades and the usual percentage ofhonest and dishonest citizens. You've all apparently been willing tounderstand only the renegades. I've been along the border for thirtyyears, and some of the bravest white men I've ever seen had Indianwives. Some of the men whose assistance in Indian wars has beeninvaluable to us are ranchmen whose children are half-breeds, and whohave taught their squaws housework and English at the same time, andmade them a credit to any nation. There's a heap of uncalled-forprejudice against a certain class of those men; and, so far as I'venoticed, the sneak who abandons his wife and children back in theStates, or borrows the wife of someone else to make the trip out herewith, is the specimen that is first to curl his lip at the squaw man.That girl over there strikes me as showing more common sense than thewhole community; she gave him the valuation of a man."
The Major's blood was up. It was seldom that he made so long a speech;but the question was one against which he had clashed often, and to findthe old prejudice was so strong a factor in the disorganizing of anoutpost was enraging.
"And do you realize what that man did when he took that trail north?" hedemanded impressively. "He knew that he carried his life in his hand assurely as he carried that body. And he went up there to play it againstbig odds for the sake of a lot of people who had a contemptible contemptfor him."
"And cursed us soundly while he did it," added one of the men, in anaside; but the Major overheard it.
"Yes, that's like him, too," he agreed. "But, if any of you can show meso great a courage and conscientiousness in a more refined citizen, I'mwaiting to see it."
Then there was the quick fall of hoofs outside the shack, hurriedquestions and brief answers. One of the scouts from the north ridgerushed in and reported to Major Dreyer.
"A gang o' hostiles are in sight--not many; they've got our horses.Think they carry a flag o' truce, but couldn't spot it for sure. They'renot a fighten' gang, any way, fur they're comen' slow and carryen'somethen'."
"A flag of truce? That means peace. Thank God!" said Tillie, fervently.
"And Genesee," added the Major.
As for Rachel, her heart seemed in her throat. She tried to speak, torush out and learn their message, but she could not move. An awfulpresentiment bound her. "Carrying something!"
Told in the Hills: A Novel Page 26
