CHAPTER II
Helen Ervin's life in a private school for girls at San Francisco hadbeen uneventful until her graduation. She had been in the school for tenyears. Before that, she had vague recollections of a school that was notso well conducted. In fact, almost her entire recollection was ofteachers, school chums, and women who had been hired as companions andtutors. Some one had paid much money for her upbringing--that much HelenErvin knew. The mystery of her caretaking was known, of course, by MissScovill, head of the Scovill School, but it had never been disclosed. Ithad become such an ancient mystery that Helen told herself she had lostall interest in it. Miss Scovill was kind and motherly, and would answerany other questions. She had taken personal charge of the girl, wholived at the Scovill home during vacations as well as throughout theschool year.
"Some day it will all be explained to you," Miss Scovill had said, "butfor the present you are simply to learn all you can and continue to bejust as nice as you have been. And meantime rest assured that somebodyis vitally interested in your welfare and happiness."
The illuminating letter came a few days after graduation. The girls hadall gone home and school was closed. Helen was alone in the Scovillhome. Miss Scovill had gone away for a few days, on business.
The letter bore a postmark with a strange, Indian-sounding name: "WhiteLodge." It was in a man's handwriting--evidently a man who had writtenmuch. The signature, which was first to be glanced at by the girl, read:"From your affectionate stepfather, Willis Morgan." The letter was asfollows:
No doubt you will be surprised at getting this letter from one whose existence you have not suspected. I had thought to let you remain in darkness concerning me. For years I have been pleased to pay your expenses in school--glad in the thought that you were getting the best care and education that could be purchased. But my affairs have taken a bad turn. I am, to put it vulgarly, cramped financially. Moreover, the loneliness in my heart has become fairly overmastering. I can steel myself against it no longer. I want you with me in my declining years. I cannot leave here. I have become greatly attached to this part of the country, and have no doubt that you will be, also. Sylvan scenes, with a dash of human savagery in the foreground, form the best relief for a too-extended assimilation of books. It has been like balm to me, and will prove so to you.
Briefly, I want you to come, and at once. A check to cover expenses is enclosed. Your school years are ended, and a life of quiet, amid scenes of aboriginal romance, awaits you here. Selfishly, perhaps, I appeal to your gratitude, if the prospect I have held out does not prove enticing of itself. If what I have done for you in all these years entitles me to any return, I ask you not to delay the payment. By coming now, you can wipe the slate clean of any indebtedness.
Then followed directions about reaching the ranch--the Greek LetterRanch, the writer called it--and a final appeal to her sense ofgratitude.
When Helen finished reading the letter, her heart was suffused with pityfor this lonely man who had come thus strangely and unexpectedly intoher life. Her good impulses had always prompted her strongly. MissScovill was away, so Helen left her a note of explanation, tellingeverything in detail. "I know, dear foster mother," wrote the girl,"that you are going to rejoice with me, now that I have found mystepfather. I'll be looking forward to the time when you can visit us atthe Greek Letter Ranch."
Making ready for the journey took only a short time. In a few hoursHelen was on her way, little knowing that Miss Scovill, on her return,was frantically sending out telegrams which indicated anything but apeaceful acceptance of conditions. One of these telegrams, sent to anaddress which Helen would not have recognized, read:
The dove has been lured to the serpent's nest. Take what action you deem best, but quickly.
Helen enjoyed her trip through California and then eastward through theNorthwest country to the end of the spur which pointed toward thereservation. From the railroad's end she went to White Lodge by stage.From White Lodge she was told she had better take a private conveyanceto her destination. She hired a rig of a livery-stable keeper, who saidhe could not possibly take her beyond the Indian agency.
"Mebbe some one there'll take you the rest of the way," said theliveryman; and, accepting his hopeful view of the situation, the girlconsented to go on in such indefinite fashion.
Thus it happened that a slender, white-clad young woman, with a suitcaseat her feet, stood on the agency office porch, undergoing the steadyscrutiny of four or five blanketed Indian matrons when Walter Lowellcame back from lunch. In a few words Helen had explained matters, andLowell picked up her suitcase, and, after ascertaining that she had hadno lunch, escorted her up the street to the dining-hall.
"We have a little lunch club of employees, and guests often sit in withus," said the agent cordially. "After you eat, and have rested up a bit,I'll see that you are driven over to the--to the Greek Letter Ranch."
As a matter of fact, Lowell had to think several times before he couldget the Greek Letter Ranch placed in his mind. He had fallen into thehabit--in common with others in the neighborhood--of calling it MysteryRanch. Also Willis Morgan's name was mentioned so seldom that theagent's mental gymnastics were long sustained and almost painfullyapparent before he had matters righted.
"Rogers," said Lowell to his chief clerk, on getting back to the agencyoffice, "how many years has Willis Morgan been in this part of thecountry?"
"Willis Morgan," echoed Rogers, scratching his head. "Oh, I know now!You mean the 'squaw professor.' He hasn't been called Morgan since hemarried that squaw who died five years go. There was talk that he usedto be a college professor, which is right, I guess, from the number ofbooks he reads. But when he married an Indian folks just called him the'squaw prof.' He's been out here twelve or fifteen years, I guess. Let'ssee--he got those Indian lands through his wife when Jones was agent. Hemust have moved off the reservation when Arbuckle was agent, just beforeyou came on."
"Did he always use a Greek letter brand on his cattle?"
"Always. He never ran many cattle. I guess he hasn't got any at all now.But what he did have he always insisted on having branded with thatpitchfork brand, as the cowpunchers call it."
"I know--it's the letter Psi."
"Well, Si, or whatever other nickname it is, even the toughest-heartedold cowmen used to kick on having to put such a big brand on critters.That big pitchfork on flanks or shoulders must have spoiled many a hidefor Morgan, but he always insisted on having it slapped on."
"Have the Indians always got along with him pretty well?"
"Yes, because they're afraid of him and leave him alone. It ain'tphysical fear, but something deeper, like being afraid of a snake, Iguess. You see he knows so damn much, he's uncanny. It's the power ofmind over matter. Seems funny to think of him having the biggest Indiansbuffaloed, but he's done it, and he's buffaloed the white folks, too. Hegave it out that he wanted to be let alone, and, by jimminy, he's beenlet alone! I'll bet there aren't four people in the county who have seenhis face in as many years."
"Did he have any children?"
"No. His wife was a pretty little Indian woman. He just married her toshow his defiance of society, I guess. Anyway, he must have killed herby inches. If he had the other Indians scared, you can imagine how hemust have terrorized her. Yet I'll bet he never raised his voice abovean ordinary conversational tone."
Lowell frowned as he looked out across the agency street.
"Why, what's come up about Morgan?" asked Rogers.
"Oh, not such a lot," replied the agent. "It's only that there's a girlhere--his stepdaughter, it seems--and she's going to make her home withhim."
"Good Lord!" ejaculated the chief clerk.
"She's over at the club table now having lunch," went on Lowell. "I'mgoing to drive her over to the ranch. She seems to think this stepfatherof hers is all kinds of a nice fellow, and I can't tell her that she'dbetter take her li
ttle suitcase and go right back where she came from.Besides, who knows that she may be right and we've been misjudgingMorgan all these years?"
"Well, if Willis Morgan's been misjudged, then I'm really an angel allready to sprout wings," observed the clerk. "But maybe he's braced up,or, if he hasn't, this stepdaughter has tackled the job of reforminghim. If she does it, it'll be the supreme test of what woman can doalong that line."
"What business have bachelors such as you and I to be talking about anyreformations wrought by woman?" asked Lowell smilingly.
"Not much," agreed Rogers. "Outside of the school-teachers and otheragency employees I haven't seen a dozen white women since I went toDenver three years ago. And you--why, you haven't been away from hereexcept on one trip to Washington in the last four years."
Each man looked out of the window, absorbed in his own dreams. Lowellhad forsaken an active career to take up the routine of an Indianagent's life. After leaving college he had done some newspaper work,which he abandoned because a position as land investigator for acorporation with oil interests in view had given him a chance to travelin the West. There had been a chance journey across an Indianreservation, with a sojourn at an agency. Lowell had decided that hiswork had been spread before him. By persistent personal effort and theuse of some political influence, he secured an appointment as Indianagent. The monetary reward was small, but he had not regretted hischoice. Only there were memories such as this girl brought tohim--memories of college days when there were certain other girls inwhite dresses, and when there was music far removed from weird Indianchants, and the thud-thud of moccasins was not always in his ears....
Lowell rose hastily.
"They must be through eating over there," he said. "But I positivelyhate to start the trip that will land the girl at that ranch."
The agent drove his car over to the dining-hall. When Helen came out,the agency blacksmith was carrying her suitcase, and the matron, Mrs.Ryers, had her arm about the girl's waist, for friends are quickly madein the West's lonely places. School-teachers and other agency employeeschorused good-bye as the automobile was driven away.
The girl was flushed with pleasure, and there were tears in her eyes.
"I don't blame you for liking to live on an Indian reservation," shesaid, "amid such cordial people."
"Well, it isn't so bad, though, of course, we're in a backwater here,"said Lowell. "An Indian reservation gives you a queer feeling that way.The tides of civilization are racing all around, but here the progressis painfully slow."
"Tell me more about it, please," pleaded the girl. "This lovelyplace--surely the Indians like it."
"Some of them do, perhaps," said Lowell. "But they haven't been trainedto this sort of thing. A lodge out there on the prairie, with game to behunted and horses to be ridden--that would suit the most advanced ofthem better than settled life anywhere. But, of course, all that isimpossible, and the thing is to reconcile them to the inevitable thingsthey have to face. And even reconciling white people to the inevitableis no easy job."
"No, it's harder, really, than teaching these poor Indians, I suppose,"agreed the girl. "But don't you find lots to recompense you?"
Lowell stole a look at her, and then he slowed the car's paceconsiderably. There was no use hurrying to the ranch with such acharming companion aboard. The fresh June breeze had loosened a strandor two of her brown hair. The bright, strong sunshine merely emphasizedthe youthful perfection of her complexion. She had walked with a certainbuoyancy of carriage which Lowell ascribed to athletics. Her eyes werebrown, and rather serious of expression, but her smile was quick andnatural--the sort of a smile that brings one in return, so Lowellconcluded in his fragmentary process of cataloguing. Her youth was thesplendid thing about her to-day. To-morrow her strong, resourcefulwomanhood might be still more splendid. Lowell surrendered himselfcompletely to the enjoyment of the drive, and likewise he slowed downthe car another notch.
"Of course, just getting out of school, I haven't learned so much aboutthe inevitableness of life," said the girl, harking back to Lowell'sremark concerning the Indians, "but I'm beginning to sense theresponsibilities now. I've just learned that it was my stepfather whokept me in that delightful school so many years, and now it's time forrepayment."
"Repayment seems to be exacted for everything in life," said Lowellautomatically, though he was too much astonished at the girl's remark totell whether his reply had been intelligible. Was it possible the "squawprofessor" had been misjudged all these years, and was living a life ofsacrifice in order that this girl might have every opportunity? Lowellhad not recovered from the astounding idea before they reached Talpers'splace. He stopped the automobile in front of the store, and the tradercame out.
"Mr. Talpers, meet Miss Ervin, daughter of our neighbor, Mr. Morgan,"said the agent. "Miss Ervin will probably be coming over here after hermail, and you might as well meet her now."
Talpers bobbed his head, but not enough to break the stare he had bentupon the girl, who flushed under his scrutiny. As a matter of fact, thetrader had been too taken aback at the thought of a woman--and a youngand pretty woman--being related to the owner of Mystery Ranch to do morethan mumble a greeting. Then the vividness of the girl's beauty hadslowly worked upon him, rendering his speechlessness absolute.
"I don't like Mr. Talpers as well as I do some of your Indians," saidthe girl, as they rolled away from the store, leaving the trader on theplatform, still staring.
"Well, I don't mind confiding in you, as I've confided in Bill himself,that Mr. Talpers is something over ninety per cent undesirable. He isone of the thorns that grow expressly for the purpose of sticking in theside of Uncle Sam. He's cunning and dangerous, and constantly lowers thereservation morale, but he's over the line and I can't do a thing withhim unless I get him red-handed. But he's postmaster and the only tradernear here, and you'll have to know him, so I thought I'd bring out theTalpers exhibit early."
Helen laughed, and forgot her momentary displeasure as the insistentappeal of the landscape crowded everything else from her mind. The whiteroad lay like a carelessly flung thread on the billowing plateau land.The air was crisp with the magic of the upper altitudes. Gray clumps ofsagebrush stood forth like little islands in the sea of grass. A windingline of willows told where a small stream lay hidden. The shadows oflate afternoon were filling distant hollows with purple. Remotemountains broke the horizon in a serrated line. Prairie flowers scentedthe snow-cooled breeze.
They paused on the top of a hill, where, a few days later, a tragedy wasto be enacted. The agent said nothing, letting the panorama tell its ownstory.
"Oh, it's almost overwhelming," said Helen finally, with a sigh."Sometimes it all seems so intimate, and personally friendly, and thenthose meadow-larks stop singing for a moment, and the sun brings out thebigness of everything--and you feel afraid, or at least I do."
Lowell smiled understandingly.
"It works on strong men the same way," he said. "That's why there are noIndian tramps, I guess. No Indian ever went 'on his own' in this bigcountry. The tribes people always clung together. The white trapperscame and tried life alone, but lots of them went queer as a penalty. Thecowpunchers flocked together and got along all right, but many asheep-herder who has tried it alone has had to be taken in charge by hisfolks. Human companionship out in all those big spaces is just asnecessary as bacon, flour, and salt."
The girl sighed wistfully.
"Of course, I've had lots of companionship at school," she said. "Isthere any one besides my stepfather on his ranch? There must be, Iimagine."
"There's a Chinese cook, I believe--Wong," replied Lowell. "But you aregoing to find lots to interest you. Besides, if you will let me--"
"Yes, I'll let you drive over real often," laughed the girl, as Lowellhesitated. "I'll be delighted, and I know father will be, also."
Lowell wanted to turn the car around and head it away from the hatedranch which was now so close at hand. His heart sank, and he becamesilent as
they dropped into the valley and approached the watercourse,near which Willis Morgan's cabin stood.
"Here's the place," he said briefly, as he turned into a travesty of afront yard and halted beside a small cabin, built of logs and containingnot more than three or four rooms.
The girl looked at Lowell in surprise. Something in the grim set of hisjaw told her the truth. Pride came instantly to her rescue, and in asteady voice she made some comment on the quaintness of thesurroundings.
There was no welcome--not even the barking of a dog. Lowell took thesuitcase from the car, and, with the girl standing at his side, knockedat the heavy pine door, which opened slowly. An Oriental face peeredforth. In the background Lowell could see the shadowy figure of WillisMorgan. The man's pale face and gray hair looked blurred in thehalf-light of the cabin. He did not step to the door, but his voicecame, cold and cutting.
"Bring in the suitcase, Wong," said Morgan. "Welcome to this humbleabode, stepdaughter o' mine. I had hardly dared hope you would take sucha plunge into the primitive."
The girl was trying to voice her gratitude to Lowell when Morgan's handwas thrust forth and grasped hers and fairly pulled her into thedoorway. The door closed, and Lowell turned back to his automobile, withanger and pity struggling within him for adequate expression.
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