XXXIV
SEED-TIME
As Lawson predicted, the very violence of this outburst of racial hatredwas its cure. A reaction set in. The leaders of Brisbane's party, withloud shouts, ordered their harriers back to their lairs, while the greatleader himself, oblivious to daylight or to darkness, was hurried hometo Washington. The Tetongs returned to their camps and hay-making, thetroops drilled peacefully each afternoon in the broiling heat, whileCurtis bent to his work again with a desperate sort of energy, as if byso doing he could shorten the long, hot days, which seemed well-nighinterminable after the passing of Elsie and her friends.
In a letter announcing their safe arrival in Washington, Elsie said:
"I am going to see the President about you, as soon as he returns from the mountains. Papa is gaining, but takes no interest in anything. He is pitifully weak, but the doctor thinks he will recover if he will only rest. His brain is worn out and needs complete freedom from care. Congress has adjourned finally. I am told that your enemies expect to secure a court-martial on the charge of usurping the authority of the sheriff. Osborne says not to worry, for nothing will be done now till the President returns, and he is confident that the department will sustain you--the fact that the violence you feared did actually take place has robbed your enemies of their power."
Nevertheless, the fight against the Tetongs and himself went on withever-increasing rancor during July and August, and each Congressionalcandidate was sharply interrogated as to his attitude towards theremoval bill. The anti-administration papers boldly said: "If we win(and we will) we'll cut the comb of this bantam. We'll break his sabreover his back."
To this the opposition made answer: "We're no lovers of the redman, butCaptain Curtis is an honorable soldier, doing his duty, and it will notbe easy for you, even if victorious, to order a court-martial."
This half-hearted defence gave courage to those who took the high groundthat the time for lynching had gone by. "The Tetongs have rights whichevery decent man is bound to respect, no matter how much he personallydislikes the redskin."
During the last days of August a letter came from Elsie, full ofcomforting assurances, both public and private, being more intimate andtender in tone than any that had preceded it, and full of sprightlyhumor too. It began:
"MY DEAR SOLDIER,--I've been so busy fighting your enemies I couldn't write a letter. I've met both the Secretary and the commissioner--their desks are said to be full of screeds against you--_and I've been to see the President_! He wasn't a bit gallant, but he listened. He glowered at me (not unkindly) while I told your story. I'm afraid I didn't phrase it very well, but he listened. I brought out all the good points I could think of. I said: 'Mr. President, Captain Curtis is the most disinterested man in the Indian service. He is sacrificing everything for his plans.' 'What are his plans?' he asked, so abruptly that I jumped. I then spoke learnedly of irrigating ditches and gardens; you would have laughed had you heard me, and I said: 'If he is ordered back to his regiment, Mr. President, these poor people will be robbed again.' 'Does Mr. Blank, of New York, endorse Captain Curtis?' he asked. I didn't see what this led to, but I answered that I did not know. 'He's a friend of yours, isn't he?' he asked. 'Whom do you mean?' I said, and my cheeks burned. Then he smiled. 'You needn't worry,' he said, banging the table with his fist. 'I'll keep Captain Curtis where he is if every politician in the State petitions for his removal.' I liked his wooden cuss-word, and I thanked him and jumped up and hurried home to write this letter. The Secretary told Osborne that the bill for buying out the settlers would certainly go through next winter, and that your plans were approved by the whole department. So, you see, you are master of the situation, and can plan as grandly as you wish--the entire reservation is yours.
"It is still hot here, and now that my 'lobbying' is done, I am going to the sea-shore, where papa is, and I know I shall wish you were with me to enjoy it. I am so sorry for you and Jennie, my heart aches for you. Think of it! The cool, beautiful ocean will be singing me to sleep to-night. I wish I could send you some fruit and some ices; I know you are longing for them.
"I wonder how it will all turn out? Will you be East this winter? Perhaps I'll help you celebrate the opening of your new gardens, next spring. Wouldn't you like me to come out and break a bottle of wine over the first plough or water-gate or something? If you do, maybe I'll come. If you write, address me at the Brunswick, Crescent Beach. I wish you could come and see me here--you look so handsome in your uniform."
The soldier's answer was not a letter, it was a packet! He began bywriting sorrowfully:
"DEAREST GIRL,--I fear I shall not be able to get away this winter. There is so much here that requires my care. If the bill passes, the people will be stirred up; if it doesn't pass, the settlers will be uneasy, and I shall be most imperatively necessary here. Nothing would be sweeter to me than a visit to you at the beach. As a boy I knew the sea-shore intimately, and to wall the sands with you would be to revive those sweet, careless boy memories and unite them with the deepest emotions of my life--my love for you, dear one. It almost makes me willing to resign. In a sense it would be worth it. I _would_ resign only I know I am not losing the delight forever--I am only postponing it a year.
"I have thought pretty deeply on my problem, dearest, and I've come to this conclusion: When two people love each other as we do, neither poverty nor riches--nothing but duty, should separate them. Your wealth troubled me at first. I knew I could not give you the comforts--not to say luxuries--you were accustomed to, and I knew that my life as a soldier would always make even a barrack a place of uncertain residence. I must stand to my guns here till I have won my fight; then I may ask for a transfer to some field where life would not be so hard. If only there were ways to use your great wealth in helping these people I would rejoice to be your agent in the matter.
"I am a penniless suitor, but a good soldier. I can say that without egotism. I think I could have acquired money had I started out that way; of course I cannot do it now. Perhaps my knowledge and training will come to supplement and give power to your wealth. I must work. I am not one to be idle. If I go on working--devising--in my own way, then my self-respect would not be daunted, even though you were worth ten millions instead of one. I am fitted to be the head of a department--like that of Forestry, or Civil Engineering. After my work here is finished I may ask for something of that kind, but I am resolved to do my duty here first. I like your suggestion about the water-gate. I hold you to that word, my lady. One year from now, when my gardens are ready for the sickle, I will have the criers announce a harvest-home festival, and you must come and dance with me among my people, and then, perhaps, I will take a little vacation, and return with you to the East, and be happy with you among the joyous of the earth for a little season. Beyond that I dare not plan."
The administration was sustained, and Brisbane's forces were beatenback. The better elements of the State, long scattered, disintegrated,and without voice, spoke, and with majesty, rebuking the cruelty, thebarbarism, and the blatant assertion of men like Musgrove and Streeter,who had made the State odious. Even Winters, the sheriff, was defeated,and a fairly humane and decent citizen put in his place, and thischange, close down to the people, was most significant of all. "Now Ihave hope of the courts," said Curtis to Maynard.
If the Tetongs did not at once apprehend the peace and comfort which thedefeat of Brisbane's gang and the passage of the purchase bill assuredto them, they deeply appreciated the significance of the immediatewithdrawal of the settlers. They rejoiced in full-toned song as theirimplacable and sleepless enemies drove their heavily laden wagons acrossthe line, leaving thei
r farms, sheds, and houses to the government forthe use of the needy tribe.
The urgency of the case being fully pleaded, the whole readjustment waspermitted to be made the following spring, and the powers of the agentand his employes were taxed to the uttermost. When the order actuallycame to hand, Curtis mounted his horse and rode from camp to camp,carrying the good news; calling the members of each band around him, hetold the story of their victory.
"Your days of hunger and cold will soon be over," he said. "The whiteman has gone from the reservation. The water of the streams, theploughed fields, are all yours. Now we must set to work. Every one willhave good ground; all will share alike, and every one must work. We mustshow the Great Father at Washington that we are glad of his kindness.Our friends will not be ashamed when they come to see us, and look uponour corn and wheat."
Every man, woman, and child did as they had promised. They laid hands tothe duties appointed them, and did so merrily. They moved at once to theplaces designated. A mighty shifting of dwellings took place first ofall, and when this was finished they set to work. They built fences,they dug ditches, they ploughed and they planted, cheery as robins. Eventhe gaunt old women lifted their morose faces to the sun and mutteredunaccustomed thanks. The old men no longer sat in complaining council,but talked of the wonderful things about to be.
"Ho! have you heard?" cried one. "Grayman lives in the house the whiteman has left; Elk too. Two Horns sleeps in the house above Grayman, andis not afraid. Ah, it is wonderful!"
The more thoughtful dwelt in imagination on the reservation completelyfenced, and saw the hills swarming with cattle as in the olden time itswarmed with the wild, black buffalo. They helped at the gardens, theseold men, and as they rested on their hoes and listened to the laughterof the women and children, they said one to the other: "Our camp is asit was in the days when game was plenty. Every one is smiling. Our worstdays are over. The white man's road is very long, and runs into astrange country, but while Swift Eagle leads we follow."
There was commotion in every corral, where long-haired men in leggingsand with feathered ornaments in their hats, were awkwardly breakingfiery ponies to drive, for teams were in sharp demand. The young men whoformerly raced horses, for lack of other things to do, and in order notto die of inertness, now became the hilarious teamsters of each valley.Every person, white or red, who could give instruction in ditching andplanting, was employed each hour of the day. The various camps were asbusy as ant-hills, and as full of cheer as a flock of magpies.
Curtis was everywhere, superintending the moving of barns, the buildingof cabins, and the laying out of lands. Each night he returned to hisbed so tired he could not lie flat enough, but happy in the knowledgethat some needed and permanent improvement had that day been made.Lawson, faithful to his post, came on from Washington, and was a comfortin ways less material than wielding a hoe. He went about encouraging thepeople at their work, and his words had the quality of a poem.
"You see how it is!" he said. "You need not despair. It is not true thatthe redmen are to vanish from the earth. They are now to be happy andhave plenty of food. The white people, at last, have found out the wayto help you."
Maynard got a short leave of absence, and came over to see "the hustle,"as he called it, and to visit Jennie, who still refused to leave herpost, though she had practically consented to his proposal. "We willsee," she had said. "If George marries, then I will feel free to go withyou; but not now."
Maynard expressed the same astonishment as ever. "A man may fight apeople a lifetime and never really know 'em. Now I consider itmarvellous the way these devils work."
Calvin, after his recovery, came seldom to the agency. He recognized thepower and the fitness of Captain Maynard's successful courtship, andthough Jennie wrote twice inviting him to call, he did not come, and didnot even reply till she had almost forgotten her own letters. In a veryerratic and laborious screed he conveyed his regrets. "I'm powfle bizzyjust now. The old man is gone East, an' that thros all the work of theranch onto me. Ime just as mutch obliged." Jennie did not laugh at thisletter; she put it away with a sigh--"Poor boy!"
The Captain of the Gray-Horse Troop Page 34
