The Watchers of the Plains: A Tale of the Western Prairies

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XXXI

  THE SENTENCE

  The relief of the farm was really only the beginning of the campaign. Itmeant that following on its heels the great northern posts were pouringout their thousands of troops, and that a general advance was in progress.It meant that now, at last, but, alas! too late to avert the awfulmassacre of the white settlers, the force was adequate to the task ofsubjugating the savages.

  The flying column that had ridden to the rescue was a small band of pickedmen, with a couple of light machine guns. It was composed of veteranIndian fighters, who, fully understanding the desperate chances of thuscutting themselves off from their supports, and riding into the very jawsof death, were yet ready to do it again and again.

  The Indians, believing this initial attack of white troops to be theimmediate advance guard of an overwhelming force, withdrew in somethingvery like panic. But with morning light they realized they had been"bluffed" and at once returned to the attack.

  For the defenders, however, all real anxiety was past. They knew that asweeping movement was in progress throughout the whole disturbed area,and it was only a question of days before the Indians would be shepherdedback to their Reservations.

  The mischief, however, was done, the country was devastated. Theprosperous farming region was laid waste, and the labor of years utterlydestroyed. Of the survivors of the awful holocaust the majority foundthemselves utterly ruined; their homes destroyed; their possessions gone.Many were wounded, and all were homeless. Their plight was pitiable.

  While others showered their praise and thanks and rough compliments uponthe girl who had dared all to bring her friends the help they so sorelyneeded; while old men and young rivaled each other in their admiration ofher reckless courage; while the women sought to minister to her, and weptover her, Seth held aloof, working and organizing for the general comfortand well-being with that everlasting thought for others which was so greata part of his nature.

  It was not that he was indifferent; it was not that he had no thanks totender. His heart was full, full to the brim with pride for this girl heloved. Hers, he felt, had been the great foresight, hers the great courageto carry out their only possible salvation. When his grave eyes had firstfallen upon the slight blanketed figure of the little white squaw herecognized indeed the clever head which had done more than trust to rashcourage. It would have been impossible for him to love her more.

  Nevertheless his was the first greeting when she had been discovered intheir midst. His had been the first hand to grip hers. But there was noeffusion. Nothing but what, to strange ears, might have sounded cold andwanting.

  "Thanks, little Rosie," was all he had said, while his hand held hers.But, at that moment, the girl would rather have foregone life itself thanthe glance he bestowed upon her out of his grave, dark eyes.

  It was many days before any freedom from the fortress farm could beenjoyed. But at last the time came round when the troops began to convergeupon the Reservations, and the shepherding process swept the Indians totheir homes, a dejected horde, hating but cowed for the moment. As before,as always, their fierce fires of savagery were alight; they were onlyburning low, for, as every plainsman knows, they are unquenchable.

  It was late in the afternoon when the news of their freedom flew throughthe camp. None but those who have passed through a similar ordeal canrealize the unutterable joy and thankfulness that filled each heart.Though possessions had gone and many were absolutely ruined, still libertywas theirs at last. Liberty with its boundless possibilities.

  Seth was sitting alone, propped against the charred gate-post of thestockade. He was smoking and resting, and incidentally thinking deeplyafter a long day's work. There was much to think about. Rube was slowlyrecovering under the careful hands of his devoted wife. Mrs. Rickards andRosebud had relieved the farmwife of all her duties that she might be freeto lavish her utmost care upon her staunch old friend and husband. Thefuture prospects of the farm were less involved than the affairs of mostof the farmers. The setback of the rebellion was tremendous, but years ofthrift had left White River Farm independent of a single year's crops.Besides the farmhouse and buildings were intact.

  But none of these things was in his mind just now. There was somethingelse which filled his heart with unutterable bitterness, which revealeditself in the hard, thoughtful stare of his dark eyes as he gazed out uponthe wide encampment of soldiers spreading itself out in all directions.

  Every now and then he shifted his gaze into a certain direction, only toturn away with apparent indifference and let his eyes wander over everychance object that attracted them. Once the Agent came to him and theyspoke for some moments in a low tone. Then he was again left to histhoughts. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the twilight waned. Heremained at his post. There could be no doubt now that he was waiting withsome fixed purpose.

  At last he turned decidedly in the direction in which he had been sofrequently glancing, and this time his movement was anticipatory. A darkfigure was approaching from among the tents. It was the scout, Jim Crow,who came up and squatted at the white man's side. The two talked togetherfor a long time, and at last the Indian rose to depart.

  "So," he said, in his pompous fashion, "I do these things. I, Jim Crow.Good."

  "You've done good work," Seth responded casually. "And you've been paidfor it, I guess. See you do this, sure."

  He watched the Indian while he solemnly spat upon the ground.

  "I, Jim Crow, have said." And with this vaunting claim to honesty thescout abruptly turned and moved away.

  A moment later Seth made his way slowly to a small outhouse. He raised thelatch of the door and passed within. There were two occupants. The IndianAgent was sitting at a little table smoking and reading, and Nevil Steynewas lying full length upon some outspread blankets upon the floor. Thisplace was the temporary abode of the three men. The farmhouse had beengiven up to the women and children.

  Seth took a seat. As he came in Parker closed his book and put it away.From his blankets Nevil glanced up quickly, and continued to watch themovements of both with expectant eyes. He was aware that permission hadbeen given for every one to leave the farm. Nor did he delude himself. Heknew that he was a prisoner.

  Seth placed his chair so that he was in full view of the man on theblankets. And his first words were addressed to him.

  "Guess you're goin' to quit this farm," he said, calmly, but in a mannerwhich compelled his prisoner's attention. "I've thought a heap, an' that'show I've got figgerin'. You're goin' to quit this night. That is ef you'reso minded."

  He paused, but his grave eyes still surveyed the ungainly form, stillstared coldly into the lean unshaven face, into the shifty pale eyes.Nevil made no response. He knew instinctively that this was only a preludeto more that was to follow.

  Parker watched Seth. In a measure he was mystified, for the plainsman hadnever given him his full confidence with regard to Nevil. He suspected alot, but that was all.

  "Guess I don't need to tell you a deal about yourself," Seth went onpresently. "I'll just mention that Nevil Steyne ain't your real name, an'it wouldn't take me guessin' long to locate the other. That's as mebbe.You're a skunk," he proceeded, without raising his voice. "You're wuss'n ayaller dawg, but even a yaller dawg mostly has an option. That's how it iswi' you, seein' you're o' that breed. I ain't no feelin' o' mercy for youanyways, but I'll give you a chance. Ef you stay right here ther's thecourts as 'll hang you sure; ef you quit, ther's the Injuns as you'velived by, an' as you fooled to suit your own dirty schemes. I don't see asther's a great choice for you. Your game's played, an' you're goin' tocash in, an' it kind o' seems to me you've got to pay anyways. Wal, you'llchoose right now."

  Nevil had sat up while the other was speaking. He gave no outward signbeyond that one movement. Now he slowly rose to his feet and looked downupon the set face of the arbiter of his fate a little uncertainly. Heturned from him to the Agent, who was looking on in no little puzzlement.Then his eyes came back to the rele
ntless face of Seth, and he seemed tobe struggling to penetrate the sphinx-like expression he beheld.

  He scented danger, he knew there was danger. But even so his mind was madeup. He would not face the jury of his white brothers. He believed heunderstood the Indians, and saw chances in this direction. But there wasthe wonder why Seth had given him the chance. He had no time to debate thequestion. His answer was needed.

  "I'll go back to the Indians," he said, with a hateful laugh, in whichthere was no semblance of mirth. "As you suggest, a yellow dog can alwaysrun for it."

  "Jest so. It ken allus run."

  Then the full bitterness of his position swept over the renegade, and adeep rage stirred the hatred he held for this man who had outwitted him atevery turn, and now was in a position to pronounce sentence upon him. Andhis words came low with concentrated fury.

  "Yes, blast you, you can sneer! But I tell you you're making a mistake. Ican twist the Indians around my finger. Bah, I care nothing for them! Ishall get clear and save myself, and, as sure as there's a hell for thedamned, you shall pay!"

  But the man he addressed remained undisturbed. His manner wasimperturbable. He nodded gravely.

  "Good," he said. "Now git--git quick!"

  And the man who posed as Nevil Steyne passed out of the hut and out of thefort, urged almost to precipitancy by the suggestion of Seth's finalcommand.

  After his going silence reigned in the little corn shed. Parker had ahundred questions to ask, but none of them came readily to his lips inface of his companion's silence. In the end it was Seth who spoke first.

  "Wal," he said, with a sigh, "that's settled." His words were anexpression of relief.

  "I don't understand. You've let him go. You've given him a chance to getaway in safety after----"

  "Yes," responded the other grimly, "a dawg's chance."

  The answer silenced all further protest.

  "Yes," Seth went on reflectively, "I've done with him, I guess; we allhave. Say, he's Rosebud's uncle."

  "Ah!" Parker was beginning to understand. But he was not yet satisfied,and his ejaculation was an invitation to the other.

  Seth went on as though in soliloquy.

  "Yes. He's gone, an' ther' ain't no tellin' where he'll finish. Ther's ahell some'eres. Mebbe he ken twist 'em, the Injuns, around his finger,mebbe he can't. I 'lows he goin' to face 'em. They'll deal out by him asthey notion justice, I guess."

  "But he may escape them. He's slippery." Parker hated the thought of theman going scot-free.

  Seth shook his head.

  "No," he said. "He'll face 'em. I've seen to that, I guess. Jim Crowfollers him wherever he goes. An' Jim Crow hain't no use for StephenRaynor."

  "What do you think will happen?"

  Parker looked up into the taller man's face as they stood in the doorwayof the hut.

  Seth turned. His shoulders shrugged expressively as he moved out andwalked toward the farmhouse.