CHAPTER XVII
THE LETTER FROM ENGLAND
"La, child, an' why did you go for to do it?"
Ma was bending over Seth, bathing the ugly flesh wound in his shoulder.Her old eyes were pathetically anxious behind her spectacles, but hertouch was sure and steady. Her words were addressed to Rosebud, who wasstanding by with a handful of bandages. The girl made no reply, and hereyes were fixed on this result of her escapade. She was pale, and heryoung face looked drawn. The violet of her eyes was noticeably dull, andit was easy to see that she was struggling hard to keep tears back. Shesimply could not answer.
Seth took the task upon himself. He seemed to understand, although he wasnot looking her way.
"Don't worrit the gal, Ma," he said, in his gentle fashion, so thatRosebud felt like dropping the bandages and fleeing from the room. "Say,jest git right to it an' fix me up. I 'low ther's li'ble to be work doin''fore this night's out."
"God a-mussy, I hope not, Seth, boy!" the old woman said, with a deepintake of breath. But her busy fingers hastened. She tenderly laid thewool, saturated in carbolic oil, upon the gash. Seth bore it withoutflinching. "More'n six year," she added, taking the bandages from Rosebudand applying them with the skill of long experience, "an' we've had notrouble, thank God. But I knew it 'ud come sure. Rube had it in his eye."
"Wher's Rube now?" asked Seth, cutting her short.
"Doin' guard out front."
The bandage was adjusted, and Seth rose and was helped into his coat.
"Guess I'll git out to him."
He found it hard, for once, to sit in there with the womenfolk. Hisfeeling was one common to men of action.
"You're feelin' easy?" Ma asked him anxiously, as he moved to the door.
"Dead right, Ma."
The old woman shook her head doubtfully, and Rosebud's troubled eyesfollowed him as he moved away. She had scarcely spoken since they returnedto the house. Her brain was still in a whirl and she was conscious of aweak, but almost overpowering, inclination to tears. The one thing thatstood out above all else in her thoughts was Seth's wound.
No one had questioned her; no one had blamed her. These simple peopleunderstood her feelings of the moment too well. Later they knew they wouldlearn all about it. For the present there was plenty to be done.
Rube had been making preparations. Their plans needed no thinking out.Such an emergency as the present had always been foreseen, and so therewas no confusion. Charlie Rankin had gone on to old Joe Smith, and thatindividual would be dispatched post-haste in the direction of the whitetents that had been seen on the plains. For the rest the horses in thebarn were ready harnessed, and Ma could be trusted to get together thehousehold things ready for decamping. There was nothing to do but to keepa night-long watch.
Seth had crossed the passage, and was passing through the parlor, out ofwhich the front door opened. Rosebud hesitated. Then with something almostlike a rush she followed him. She was at his side in a moment, and her twosmall hands were clasping his rough, strong right hand.
"Seth," she whispered, tearfully. "I----"
"Don't, little Rosie!" the man interrupted, attempting to draw his handgently from her grasp. "Guess ther' ain't no need to say anything. Mebbe Iknow."
But Seth had misinterpreted her action. He thought she meant to explain.She kept hold of his hand, and tears were in her lovely eyes as she lookedup into his dark face, now little more than a shadow in the faint lightthat came from the passage.
"Oh, Seth, Seth, it was all my fault!" she cried, in her distress. "Yourpoor shoulder! Oh, what should I do if you were to die! Oh----" And thegirl fell on her knees at his side and kissed the hand she was clingingto. The long threatened tears had come at last, and her voice was chokedwith sobs.
Seth had been unprepared for this outburst. It took him quite aback, andhe felt a great lump rise in his throat. Unconsciously he almost roughlyreleased his hand. But the next moment it was laid tenderly upon the bowedhead.
"Git up, little gal," he said. And there was a world of tenderness in hisvoice. His effort at self-restraint was great, but his feelings found acertain amount of expression in spite of him, for he was stirred to thedepths of his loyal heart. He was face to face with a scene such as he hadnever even pictured. His sense of duty was powerless just then before hisdeep, strong love for the girl. "Little Rosebud," he went on, and hestruggled hard to make his words rough, "ther's things to do. Go rightback to Ma an' help her. I must go out to Rube. He's doin' all the work,an' so is she."
The girl made no move to rise. Her sobs were heart-breaking. Seth turnedsharply and left her where she was. He simply dared not stay there anothermoment.
Outside General was lying a few yards away from the house, crouchedalertly, and gazing out prairiewards. He called the dog to him.
"Injuns, boy," he said, in a low tone. "S-seek 'em!"
The dog responded with a low growl, and then moved off out into thedarkness, with the prowling gait of a puma stalking its prey.
"He'll keep us posted," Seth observed quietly to Rube.
"You kind o' understan' him."
"He understands Injuns," the dog's master returned significantly. No morewas said for a while, and the two men peered out into the darkness witheyes trained to such watchfulness.
"'Bout them tents?" said Rube later on.
"They're the troops. The postmaster told me they were comin' hard."
"Kind o' handy."
It was very dark. The moon had not yet risen. Presently Seth fetched achair. The older man watched him seat himself a little wearily.
"Hurt some?" he said.
"Jest a notion," Seth replied in his briefest manner.
"Say, you got around jest in time."
"Yup. Wanaha put me wise after I left here, so I came that aways. Say,this is jest the beginnin'."
"You think----"
"Ther's more comin'. Guess the troops 'll check it some. But--say, thisfeller's worse'n his father. Guess he's jest feelin' his feet. An' he'sgettin' all the Pine Ridge lot with him--I located that as I came along."
They talked on for some time longer, in their slow, short way discussingtheir plans. The one topic they did not discuss was Rosebud. They tacitlyignored her share in the evening's work like men who knew that certainblame must attach to her and refused to bestow it.
The night dragged slowly on. Rube wanted Seth to go in and rest, but Sethsat in his chair with dogged persistence. So they shared the vigil.
Rube, by way of variation, occasionally visited the stables to see to thehorses. And all the time the dog was out scouting with an almost humanintelligence. After once being dispatched he did not appear again. Sethhad brought him up to this Indian scouting, and the beast's naturalanimosity to the Indians made him a perfect guard.
The moon rose at midnight. There was no sign of disturbance on theReservation. All was quiet and still. But then these men knew that thecritical time had not yet arrived. Dawn would be the danger. And by dawnthey both hoped that something might result from Charlie Rankin'sjourney.
Rube was sitting in a chair at Seth's side. The clock in the kitchen hadjust cuckooed three times. The old man's eyes were heavy with sleep, buthe was still wide awake. Neither had spoken for some time. Suddenly Seth'sright hand gripped the old man's arm.
"Listen!"
There was a faint, uneasy whine far out on the prairie. Then Seth'sstraining ears caught the sound of horses galloping. Rube sprang to hisfeet, and his hands went to the guns at his waist. But Seth checked him.
"Easy," he said. "Guess it ain't that. General only whined. He mostlysnarls wicked for Injuns."
They listened again. And soon it became apparent that those approachingwere coming out of the north.
"Charlie's located 'em." Seth's tone was quietly assuring, and old Rubesighed his relief.
Then the dog suddenly reappeared. He, too, seemed to understand thatfriends were approaching.
And so it proved. The night of long suspense was over. A few
minutes latera squad of United States cavalry, in charge of a dapper, blue-coatedlieutenant, rode up to the farm. And when they arrived Seth was there byhimself to receive them.
"Rube Sampson's farm?" inquired the lieutenant, as he swung from hissteaming horse.
"Right." Seth shook hands with the man.
"Trouble over there," observed the other, indicating the Reservation witha nod of the head.
"Yup. Come right in. Guess your boys had best make their plugs snug in thebarn. Come right in, and I'll rouse Ma."
Those last two hours before morning were the hardest part of all to Rubeand Seth, for, in the parlor, they had to detail all the events of thepreceding day to Lieutenant Barrow and his sergeant. And neither of themwas good at explaining.
Breakfast was partaken of; after which, since the soldiers had acceptedall responsibility, Ma packed her men-folk off to bed. Seth had not seen abed since Friday night, and this was Tuesday.
The neighborhood of the farm, and, in fact, all along the north side ofthe river presented an unusual sight when Seth and Rube reappeared atnoon. Two regiments of United States cavalry had taken up their positionready for any emergency.
The midday meal was a little late, so that Seth's shoulder might beproperly dressed. And when at last the family sat down to it, itthreatened to be more than usually silent. All were weary, and the womenoverwrought. Ma was the only one who made any attempt to rouse thedrooping spirits about her. The men knew that they were confronted with noordinary Indian rising. There was something far more threatening to thempersonally.
As the meal dragged on Ma abandoned her efforts entirely, and a longsilence ensued. Finally Rube pushed back his chair and rose from thetable. Then it was that Seth spoke for the first time.
He looked from Rube to Ma. He was trying to look unconcerned, and evensmiled.
"Say," he observed, "guess I was fergittin'. I got a bit of a letterfrom--England."
Rube dropped back into his chair, and his eyes were questioning. Ma wasstaring through her spectacles at her boy. She, too, was asking a mutequestion. But hers was merely a quiet curiosity, while Rube's, slow oldRube's, was prompted by Seth's manner, which, instinctively, he knew to bea false one.
Rosebud was patting General's head as he sat at her side. She continuedher caressing, but her eyes, swift and eager but tenderly grave, watchedSeth as he drew out the letter from his pocket and smoothed it upon thetable. There was just the slightest tremor in her hand as it rested on thedog's head.
"Yup," Seth went on, with a great assumption of unconcern which deceivednobody. "It's a feller--jest one o' them law fellers. He's comin' rightalong to the farm. I 'low he must be nigh here now. He was goin' to githere Tuesday the 16th--that's to-day."
He was intent on the letter. Nor did he once raise his eyes while he wasspeaking. Now he turned the paper as though in search of some detail ofinterest.
"Ah," he went on. "Here it is. Says he's hit the trail o' some gal as waslost. Guesses he'd like to see--Rosebud, an' ask a few questions."
"Seth!"
Ma had risen, and somehow her chair overturned behind her. Her exclamationwas a gasp. Rube stared; he had no words just then. Rosebud continued tocaress the dog, who whined his pleasure at the unusual attention. At lastshe turned. For an instant her eyes met Seth's.
"May I read that letter, Seth?" she asked quietly.
"Sure." Seth rose from the table. "Rube," he said, "I'd take it friendlyif you'd fill my pipe." Then he moved across to the window.
Rosebud looked up from reading the letter. She came round to him andhanded it back.
"So my name's Marjorie Raynor?" she said with a queer smile.
Seth nodded.
"And all this money is what you once spoke about?"
Again came Seth's affirmation.
"And how long have you known--that I'm not Rosebud?"
"Got that bit of a letter Saturday."
"But you guessed it long before that--when we were out at the slough?"
"I'd a notion."
The girl glanced round. Ma's face was still in a condition of floridperplexity. Rube was quietly whittling a match with his tobacco knife.Rosebud's eyes were very soft as she looked from one to the other.
"And I'm to go away from--here?" she said at last, and her lips weretrembling.
"Guess when a 'stray' comes along we mostly git it back home."
Seth found a lot to interest him in the blank wall of the barn outside thewindow.
"But it seems I'm a stray without a home. My father and mother must bedead."
"Ther's aunts an' things--an' the dollars."
The girl also surveyed the wall of the barn.
"Yes, I forgot the--dollars."
Suddenly she turned away. Just for a moment she seemed in some doubt ofher own purpose. Then she walked over to Ma and put her arms about herneck and kissed her. Then she passed round to Rube and did the same.Finally she opened the door, and stood for a second looking at Seth's slimback.
"Farewell, friends. The heiress must prepare for her departure."
There was something harsh and hysterical about the laugh which accompaniedher mocking farewell, but she was gone the next instant, and the doorslammed behind her.
Ma stepped up to her boy, and forgetful of his wounded shoulder rested herhand upon it. Seth flinched and drew away; and the old woman was allsympathy at once.
"I'm real sorry, boy, I kind o' forgot."
"It's nothin', Ma; it jest hurts some."
The Watchers of the Plains: A Tale of the Western Prairies Page 17
