John Ermine of the Yellowstone

by Frederic Remington

  CHAPTER XVIII

  MAN TO MAN

  The Major sauntered in shortly and found Mrs. Searles standing overKatherine's chair, trying to dry her tears and gather the reasons forher grief. Mary's Indians not having appeared, she stood in the doorway,with her apron raised to a sort of feminine "charge bayonets."

  "What in the devil is the circus?" demanded the father.

  "It's nothing, father; I am nervous, that is all."

  "Now, Major Searles, I want you to sit down and keep quiet. You willdrive me frantic. Why did you run away when I clearly told you to stayhere?" Her tones were dry with formality.

  Against all manner of people and happenings the Major joyfully pittedhis force and cunning. His only thought in a great crisis was hissix-shooter; but he always hesitated before anything which concernedMrs. Searles and a military order. These impelled obedience from thevery nature of things. "But what has happened? What must I do?"

  "You must sit down," said his wife; and he sat down. Affairs of thiskind could be cleared only by women; he was conscious that he could nothurry matters.

  "Now what has happened, Katherine? Will you tell me? Who did it?"pleaded the mother.

  "Why, it is nothing, only that horrible scout wanted to marry me. Didyou ever hear anything so ridiculous?" said the girl, sitting up andmade defiant by the idea.

  "Did he do anything?" and the Major again forgot his orders and rosetruculently.

  "Benjamin!" said Mrs. Searles, with asperity; and he again subsided.Like most soldiers and sailors, he was imperfectly domesticated.

  "He wanted to marry you?" she continued with questioning insistence.

  "Yes, he said I must marry him; that God wanted me to, and he also saidhe had lost his mind--"

  "Well, I think he has," observed the mother, catching this idea, whichwas at least tangible to her. "Is that all, Katherine?"

  "Is that all, mother? Why, isn't that enough?"

  "I mean, he simply asked you to marry him--properly--he wasn'tinsulting--insistent beyond--"

  "No, he did nothing else, though he went about it in a most alarmingway."

  "You said, No!"

  "I most emphatically did, mother."

  "What then?"

  "Then he began mumbling Indian and scared me nearly to death. I ran toMary."

  "Dade an' she did, mum; an' I'm afther loosin' my sinses thinkin' thimrid-divils what do be ploughin' the land down be the river wasdevastating the cantonmint for to pass the time. An' ets only some byeafther wantin' to marry her--the swate thing."

  Mrs. Searles interposed, "Mary!" and the domestic retired to the sablesilences of the rear steps, to split a joke with one Private O'Shane,should he venture to return.

  "The social savagery of this place is depressing. To think of mydaughter living in a log-cabin, cooking bear meat for a long-haired wildman. In the future, Benjamin Searles, I trust you will not feel calledupon to introduce your fantastic acquaintances to this house. You cansit on the corral fence to entertain them. That is where they belong. Isuppose next, an out-and-out Indian will want to be my son-in-law."

  "I certainly will see that the man does not again obtrude himself. I donot understand his nerve in this matter. Lewis thinks the boy'sridgepole is crooked; but he is harmless and has done many good andgallant deeds. As for his proposing, I simply think he doesn't know anybetter. For my part, I think it is about time that the engagement to Mr.Butler is announced; it will put an end to this foolishness all round,"added the father. "I am going out to see Lewis about this fellow now."

  "Ben Searles, I hope you are not going to do anything rash," pleaded themother.

  "Of course not, my dear; the situation doesn't call for any temperaturebeyond blood-heat. I only want to put a cooling lotion on the base ofthat scout's brain. He must stop this dreaming habit."

  Having found Lewis at his quarters and seated himself, the Major began,"Now, Captain, what do you think of this Ermine of yours--is he crazy?"

  "Is he crazy? Why, what has he done now?"

  "Well, by Gad, he came to my house this evening, and when I stepped outfor a minute he proposed marriage to my daughter--wanted her to marryhim! Now, how's that strike you? Is it just gall, or does he need aphysician?"

  "Well, I will be d----d; proposed marriage, hey! Looks like he ought tohave an opiate," concluded Lewis. "You know, now that I think of it, Ihave a little mistrusted him before. He has shown signs of liking yourdaughter, but I never regarded the matter seriously--didn't ever credithim with being an entire fool. The boy's queer, Searles--mighty queer,but he never did anything wrong; in fact, he is a pretty good boy--aheap different from most of these double-belted, sage-bush terrors.Then, of course, he was born and raised in the wilderness, and there isa whole lot of things he don't savvy. Probably he has lost his head overyour daughter and he can't see why he hasn't a chance. I will send forhim, and we will make a big talk, and I'll send him away to Harding."Turning, the Captain yelled, "Orderly! Jones! Oh, Jones!"

  "Yes, sir," responded Jones, as he appeared in the doorway.

  "Go find the scout Ermine, if you can, and tell him to report to meimmediately. If you don't find him in half an hour, let it go untilto-morrow--understand?

  "As I was saying, you see, Major, if this thing wasn't vinegar, it wouldbe sugar. When I think of him proposing--say, I have to laugh. There isone thing about him which kept me guessing: it is the Indian reserve ofthe fellow. He goes round here like a blue-moon, and if you should hithim over the head with an axe, I don't think he would bat an eye. Henever complains, he never questions, and when you are right up againstit, as we were a half-dozen times last winter, he is Johnny-on-the-spot.So you see, if he fell in love, no one would hear the splash. Now thathe is in love, we want to tighten the curb chain; he might--well, hemight take it into his head to do something, and that something might bejust what we would never think of."

  Thus the two speculated until the sandpaper grating of Ermine'smoccasins on the porch warned them, and looking up they beheld thescout, standing with his rifle in the hollow of his left arm. This wasunusual and produced several seconds of very bad silence. Captain Lewisheld up his hand in mockery of the "peace sign," and said: "I see you'refixed for war, Ermine. Sit down over there. I want to talk to you."

  The scout removed his hat and sat down, but with the ominous rifle inplace. He had been told by the orderly whom he was to encounter; and ithad come over him that wanting to marry Katherine Searles might be somecrime against the white man's law. He had seen very natural actions ofmen punished under those laws during his sojourn in camp.

  "Ermine, I understand that during the temporary absence of her fatherthis evening, you asked Miss Searles to marry you."

  "I did, sir."

  "Very well. Don't you think you took an unfair advantage of her father'sabsence?"

  "I don't know, sir. A man doesn't speak to a woman before other men,"replied Ermine, dubiously.

  The Captain emitted a slight cough, for the blow had staggered him alittle. He knew the law of convention, and he knew the customs of men;but they did not separate readily in his mind.

  "In any event, Ermine, the young lady had given you no encouragementwhich would warrant you in going to the length of proposing marriage toher."

  This was an assertion which Ermine did not care to discuss. His viewswould not coincide, and so he fumbled his hat and made no reply.

  "I may state that you are not warranted in aspiring to the hand of MissSearles for many reasons; further, that she distinctly doesn't wantattention of any kind from you. To this I will add, her father andmother forbid you all association in the future--do you understand?"

  This, also, failed to break the scout's silence.

  "And," interpolated the father, "I may add that my daughter is alreadyengaged to be married to Lieutenant Butler, which will end the matter."

  If the evening's occurrences had set the nerves of the Searles family onedge, it had torn the scout's into shreds; but he managed his stoic
ism.

  "Now, my boy," continued Captain Lewis, with a sense of benevolence, "wedo not mean to be hard on you. We all, including Miss Searles, feel agreat pity for you in this matter."

  "Pity--pity--what is pity?" saying which the boy's eyes took on anunnatural glow and he rose to his feet. Lewis quickly added, "I meanthat we feel for you."

  "I know what you feel for me, Captain Lewis, and Major Searles," and itwas evident that Ermine was aroused. "You feel that I am an uneducatedman, without money, and that I do not wear a white shirt; that I tuck mypants in my leggings and that I sleep among the Indians. I know youthink I am a dog. I know Miss Searles thinks I belong in the corralwith the mules; but, by G----, you did not think I was a dog when theSioux had your wagon-train surrounded and your soldiers buffaloed; youdid not think I was a dog when I stood beside the Colonel, and neitherdid Sitting Bull. You did not think I was a dog when I kept you all fromfreezing to death last winter; but here among the huts and the women Iam a dog. I tell you now that I do not understand such men as you are.You have two hearts: one is red and the other is blue; and you feel withthe one that best suits you at the time. Your blue heart pities me. Me,a warrior and a soldier! Do you give pity with your coffee andsow-belly? Is that what you feed a soldier on? Hum-m--G----!" And thescout slapped his hat on his head.

  "Steady, steady, my boy; don't you go up in the air on us," said Lewis,persuasively. "I did not mean to offend you, and we want to be friends;but you keep your feet on the ground and don't go raring and pitching,or we may forget you."

  "Yes; that is it,--forget me; you may forget me. What's more, you can doit now. I am going far away, so that your eyes will not remind you."

  "You are going to make your word good to Mr. Harding, are you not?"asked the chief of scouts.

  "What good is a dog's word?" came the bitter reply.

  The Major said little, but remained steadily studying the face of thescout; rising, he approached him with extended hand. "If you are goingaway, let us part friends, at least. Here is my hand, and I shall notforget you; I shall not forget your services to me or mine, and I do notthink you are a dog. When you calm down you may find that you have beenunjust to Captain Lewis and myself."

  The scout took the Major's hand mechanically, and also that of Lewis,which the latter offered in turn, saying:--

  "In the morning I will see that you get your pay, and if you conclude toreturn, I will find you employment."

  "Thank you, sir; I care nothing for the pay. I did not come here formoney; I came here to help you fight the Sioux, and to be a man amongwhite men." And once more the young man relapsed into the quiet of hisordinary discourse.

  "You certainly have shown yourself a man among men; no one has everquestioned that," said the Major.

  "Then why is it wrong for a man among men to want your daughter to behis wife?"

  "It is not wrong, but you have gone about the matter wrong. I have triedto make it plain that her hand is promised to Mr. Butler."

  As this was said, two horses trotted up to Captain Lewis's quarters. Aman dismounted, gave his horse to the other, and Butler himself strodeheavily into the room. He was quite gray with dust, with a soiledhandkerchief about his neck, unshaven, booted, and armed.

  "Hello, Major! Hello, Lewis! I'm just in with my troop, and if you willpardon me, I will have a word with Mr. Ermine here." His manner wasstrained, and knowing the situation as they all did, the two olderofficers were alarmed.

  "Hold up there, Butler; never mind your word to-night; wait untilmorning."

  Butler paid no attention, but addressed the scout with icy directness."May I ask, Mr. Ermine, if you have in your possession a photograph ofMiss Searles?"

  "I have."

  "Have you it about your person at present?"

  "I have, sir."

  "Then, Mr. Ermine, I have the word of Miss Searles for it, that thephotograph in question was one she had taken, of which there is only onecopy in the world; and which was given to me, and lost by myself,somewhere on the road between here and Fort Ellis. It must be myproperty. If you will let me see it, I can soon identify it. In whichcase I demand that you hand it over to me."

  "Mr. Butler, you will only get that photograph from off my dead body.You have Miss Searles; is not that enough?"

  "I will then take it by force from you!" A tremendous bang roared aroundthe room, and the little group was lost in smoke.

  "A TREMENDOUS BANG ROARED AROUND THE ROOM."]

  Butler turned half round, his six-shooter going against the far wallwith a crash. He continued to revolve until caught in the Major'sarms. Lewis sprang to his desk, where his pistol lay, and as he turned,the smoke lifted, revealing Butler lying against the Major's chest,wildly waving his left arm and muttering savagely between short breaths.Ermine was gone.

  "Fire on that man!" yelled Lewis to the orderly outside, taking one shothimself at the fleeing figure of the scout.

  The soldier jerked his carbine and thrashed about the breech-block witha cartridge. "I can't see him, Captain!" he shouted.

  "Fire at him, anyway! Fire, I tell you!" And the man discharged hisrifle in the direction in which Ermine's figure had disappeared.

  Simultaneously with the shots, the garrison bugles were drawling "Taps,"but they left off with an expiring pop. The lights did not go out inquarters, and the guard turned out with much noise of shoe leather andrattle of guns. This body soon arrived, and Lewis spoke from the porchof his quarters.

  "The scout, Ermine, has just shot Lieutenant Butler in the arm! He ranthat way! Chase him! Go quickly, or he will get away. Shoot instantly ifhe resists; and he will, I think."

  The guard shuffled off in the darkness and beat up the camp to nopurpose. The soldiers stood about, speculating in low voices andgradually quieting as the word passed about on the uneasy wings ofgossip that Ermine had shot Butler in the arm, wounding him badly, andthat the scout had gone into the earth or up in the air, for divil thehide nor hair of him could the guard find.

  When the orderly had come for Ermine and told him who wanted to see him,the scout scented trouble ahead. According to the immemorial practicesof the desert at such times, he had saddled his pony, tying him in thedarkest and most unlikely place he could find, which was between twosix-mule wagons outside the corral. He armed himself and obeyed thesummons, but he intended never to let a hand be placed on his shoulder;and he chose death rather than the military court which sat so gravelyaround the long table at headquarters. He fully expected to depart forthe mountains on the morrow, but his hand was forced. The quick episodeof Butler, ending in the shot and his flight, had precipitated matters.Shortly he found himself seated on his horse between the wagons, whilethe denizens of the cantonments swarmed around. A group searched thecorral with lanterns, and he heard one soldier tell another what hadhappened, with the additional information that Butler was not seriouslyinjured. Armed men passed close to him, and he knew that discovery meantprobable death, because he would not hold up his hands. Despite thedeadly danger which encompassed him, he found time for disappointment inthe news that Butler was only wounded. Even now he would go to his enemyand make more sure, but that enemy was in the hospital surrounded bymany friends. She, too, was probably there, weeping and hating theresponsible one,--a fugitive criminal driven into the night. The silkenrobes of self-respect had been torn from Ermine, and he stood naked,without the law, unloved by women, and with the hand of all men turnedagainst him. The brotherhood of the white kind, which had promised himso much, had ended by stealing the heart and mind of the poor mountainboy, and now it wanted his body to work its cold will on; but it couldhave that only dead. This he knew as he loosed five cartridges, puttingthem between his teeth and clutching his loaded rifle. Would the searchnever cease? The lanterns glided hither and yon; every garrison cur ranyelping; the dull shuffling of feet was coming directly to the wagonswhich stood apart from other objects, and a dog ran under the wagon.With their eyes on the ground, an officer and two men towered above thelight of a lanter
n. They were coming directly to the wagons. He kickedthe pony and galloped softly out. Instantly the men began calling,"Halt! halt! G---- d---- you, halt!" but the ghostly pony only answeredfeebly the lantern light. "Bang! bang! bang!" came the shots, which"zee-weeped" about his ears. He doubled quickly in the dark and trottedto the edge of the camp, which buzzed loudly behind him. He knew he mustpass the sentries, but he took the chance. His apprehensions werequickly answered. "Halt!"--the man was very near, but it was very dark."Bang!"--it missed, and he was away. He stopped shortly, dismounted,and ran his hand completely over the body of the pony; it was dry."Good!" For a half-hour he walked over the herd-grounds, crossing,circling, and stopping; then back as near to the post as he dared. Atlast he turned and rode away. He was thoroughly familiar with thevicinity of the camp, and had no trouble so long as the post lightsguided him.

  The mountain boy had brought little to the soldier camp but thequalities of mind which distinguished his remote ancestors of the northof Europe, who came out of the dark forests clad in skins, and bearingthe first and final law of man, a naked sword on a knotted arm. Aninterval of many centuries intervened between him and his fellows; allthe race had evolved, all the laws which they had made for thegovernment of society, all the subtle customs which experience haddecreed should circumscribe associates, were to him but the hermit'sgossip in idle hours at the cabin. The bar sinister was on his shield;his credentials were the advice of an unreal person to fight in commonwith the whites. He came clad in skins on a naked horse, and couldbarely understand English when it was in the last adulteration; andstill he had made his way without stumbling until the fatal evening. Nowhe was fleeing for life because he had done two of the most naturalthings which a man can do.

  "Good-by, good-by, white men, and good-by, white woman; the frost is inyour hearts, and your blood runs like the melting snow from the hills.When you smile, you only skin your fangs; and when you laugh, your eyesdo not laugh with you. You say good words which mean nothing. You strokea man's back as a boy does a dog's, and kick him later as a boy does.You, woman, you who pick men's hearts and eat them as a squaw does wildplums, I want no more of you. You, Butler, I wish were out here in thedark with me; one of us would never see the sun rise. You would forceme!" and the scout vented himself in a hollow laugh which was chill withmurder.

  The lights were lost behind the rise of the land, and the pony trottedalong. No horse or man not raised on the buffalo range could travel inthat darkness; but both of them made steady progress.

  "Those Indians will have to crawl on their knees a whole day to pick upmy pony tracks on the herd ground. The Crows will never try to followme; the Shoshone may when the white men offer a reward. That fool of aboy may see his chance to even up the insult which I gave before thewoman. He can shake her hand now for all I would do. I will ride for twohours before the sun comes, and then let the pony feed."

  Patting his horse's neck, he added: "And then, my boy, we will blind ourtrail in some creek. I will rub the medicine on your heels, you shallgallop until dark, and no horse in that camp will get near enough tospoil my sleep."

  Keeping along the river flats, floundering occasionally and dismountingto lead through the dry washes, he kept steadily on, impelled by thefear that the Indian scouts and cavalry might not stop for his trail,but deploy out at daybreak, and ride fast to the west, in the hopes thathe had not yet made a long start in the darkness. There was only thedanger that his horse might lame himself in the night; but then he couldgo back in the hills and make a skulk on foot. Even to be brought to bayhad no great terror; Ermine held his life lightly in the hollow of hishand.

  He mused as he rode: "They took my hair out of the braids and let itflow in the wind; then they said I was a white man. I may be one; but Iwish now I had forgotten my color and I would not be so empty-handedthis night. If I had followed my Indian heart, I could have stolen thatgirl out from under the noses of those soldiers, and I may do it yet.When she was riding, I could have taken her away from the hunting-party,rawhided her on to her horse, and left no more sign than a bird behindus; but when she looked at me, my blood turned to water. O Sak-a-war-te,why did you not take the snake's gaze out of her eyes, and not let poorErmine sit like a gopher to be swallowed? God, God, have you desertedme?"