CHAPTER IX
All the small ranchers and disreputable stragglers about that immediatevicinity were of one opinion in regard to the new sheep-man. Thisparticular section of the country promised to be soon over-crowded withcattle and horses. There was no room in their mountains for sheep.Livingston, the interloper, must vacate. That was the unanimous decisionof the whole Harris faction. This gang was a mixture of badness, a scumof the roughest element from the face of the globe, which in newcountries invariably drifts close upon the heels of the first settlers.It is the herald of civilization, but fortunately goes on before itsadvance to other fields or is deeply buried in its midst. The breeds,pliable to the strong will of Joe Harris, were not an unimportantfactor, and among these, old Mother White Blanket was the rulingspirit.
She lived in a tepee not a rod to the left of Harris' squalid logbuildings. Her daughter was the cattle-man's wife, therefore the oldwoman had particular rights about the premises, a mother-in-law'srights, more honored and considered among Indians than among civilizedwhites.
Her tepee was the usual Indian affair, its conical, pointed top, dingywith the smoke of many camp-fires. Back of the old woman's tepee, atvarious distances, stood a few ordinary wall tents. These were occupiedby the families of some breeds who were working for Harris. The whole,heightened by numerous dogs and the old squaw stooping over her fire,presented the appearance of a small Indian camp, such as may be seenabout any reservation. The old woman's rattle-trap cart stood beside herlodge, for she had her periods of wandering, after the manner of herrace. The running gears of a couple of dilapidated wagons were drawn upbetween the other tents, and not far away two closely hobbled horses,unmistakably Indian, for horses resemble their human associates, fedeagerly upon the short, new grass.
At an early hour, when the rising sun cast rosy lights upon everygrass-covered mountain top, when bird notes from the distant brushsounded the most melodious, when the chanticleer in the barnyard becameloudest in his crowing, when the dew of night began to steam upward inits vitality-giving stream, when the pigs with a grunt rose lazily upontheir fore-legs, and old Mother White Blanket bent over the smoke of hernewly built camp-fire, the girl school-teacher came out of her room andleaned against the smooth rain-washed logs of the building. She drew inwith every deep breath new vitality to add to her plentiful fund of it,she saw the rosy glow upon the mountains, listened in awe and rapture tothe bird notes from the brush, and finally brought herself back to morematerial things; to old Mother White Blanket and the Indian scene spreadout before her.
The old woman was bending over the fire apparently unconscious of thegirl's presence. From the school children Hope had learned something ofthe wonderful perceptive powers of Mother White Blanket. They hadinnumerable stories of witchcraft to tell, as various as they wereastonishing, and, while crediting nothing, she felt a quickened interestin the old squaw. But she had so far no opportunity to cultivate heracquaintance. Generally the spaces between the tents were filled withgroups of breeds, and these she had no inclination to approach. Now,quiet pervaded the place. No one except the old woman and herself wereabout. She knew full well that the squaw had seen her, but on an impulsewalked over beside the tepee, spreading out her hands to the warmth ofthe fire.
"Good-morning!" she exclaimed. Mother White Blanket made no reply, andturning her back proceeded to fill a large black kettle with water.
"Good-morning!" repeated Hope in French, to which greeting the oldwoman grunted, while she placed the kettle over the fire.
"I beg your pardon," continued Hope. "I forgot for the moment you wereFrench."
At this old White Blanket stood up, anger bristling all over her.
"What you come here for? You stand there and make fun. You think I don'tknow you make fun at me? Go away, girl, or you be sorry! You call meFrench and laugh to yourself. Go away, I say!"
"No," said the girl, "I shall not go away until it pleases me. I haveheard that you are a great woman, a witch, and I want to find out if itis true." She had not one particle of belief in the old woman'sgenerally credited supernatural powers, but she thought she must possesssharp wit to so deceive the people and was curious to know more abouther. This she was destined to do.
"I have heard," she continued, "that you can bring the wild deer to yourside by calling to them, that a horse or cow will lie down and die whenyou command, and that little children who annoy you are taken withsevere pains in their stomachs. I have heard that you can say 'go' toany of your men or women and they go; that if anyone is sick you can layyour hand on them and they are well, and that you can tell the futureand the past of anyone. If all these things are true you must be a verygreat, remarkable woman. Is it true that you can do all these things?"She waited a moment and, as the old woman offered no reply, went on:"Whether you can do these things or not, you still remain, in my eyes, aremarkable woman in possessing the ability to make people believe thatyou can."
"You shall believe them too, _you_!" said the woman, suddenly rising andconfronting the girl.
As she spoke two yellow fangs of teeth protruded from her thin lips, andon her face was the snarl of a dog. She drew up her mummified facewithin two inches of the girl's own. Hope shuddered and involuntarilymoved backward toward the house. With every step she took the squawfollowed, her weazened face and cruel, baneful eyes held close to hers.
"You murderer of men, you teacher of little children, you butcher, Iwill show you my power!"
The girl recoiled from the frenzied woman, shutting out the sight withher hands and moving backward step by step until she leaned against thesmooth logs of the building. There the foolishness of her sudden frightpresented itself. Should the grimaces of a weazened old squaw frightenher into a fit, or should she pick up the bony thing and throw her overthe top of the tepee? An impulse to do the latter came over her--then toher fancy she could hear the crashing of brittle bones. What she did do,however, was to take her hands away from her eyes and look at the oldwitch fearlessly. At this old White Blanket broke into a terriblejargon, not a word of which was intelligible. Her voice rose to itsutmost pitch. The crisp morning air resounded with its sharpintonations.
Hope leaned against the logs of the house, lashing the squaw intogreater fury by her cool, impertinent gaze. She began to be interestedin the performance, speculating to just what degree of rage the oldwoman would reach before she foamed at the mouth, and as to how muchstrength she would have to exert to pitch the frail thing bodily intothe top of the tepee.
At that instant a man, apparently hurriedly dressed, rushed from thelodge and grasped the old woman by the arm.
"What're you doin'? Go over there and git my breakfast, and don't be allday about it!"
The old woman's face changed marvelously. She calmed like a dove, underthe hand of her son-in-law, but before turning away began muttering whatmight have been intended for an apology.
"I no hurt her. She think I know nothing. I _show_ her."
The man laughed good-naturedly.
"Well, you show me some grub an' that'll be enough fer one day, Ireckon. Wimmen folks should be seen an' not heard, an' you make as muchnoise as an old guinea hen." Meekly the old woman continued herinterrupted task, showing that in spite of his gruff speech sheentertained great respect for her tall son-in-law, Long Bill.
"Hope the old woman didn't frighten you, Miss. She don't mean nothin' byit, only she gits them spells once in a while," apologized Long Billpolitely. Hope gave a short laugh, while the man continued: "Seems likeall Hades is turned loose when she does git on the rampage, though."
"Probably I aggravated her. If so, I am sorry. But I wouldn't havemissed it--not for anything. Her rage was perfect--such gestures, and_such_ expressions!"
At her words the man smiled, holding up to his face as he did so abandaged hand. In an instant her eyes were riveted upon it. She hadsearched for that hand since Saturday evening among all the men she hadchanced to see. That this great, strong fellow possessed it eased herconscience, if, indeed,
it had greatly troubled her. She wanted to gethim to talk about the hand, but shifted her eyes from it to the oldwoman moving slowly before the tepee.
"She seems a very interesting woman," she remarked casually to LongBill, who through sheer awkwardness made no attempt to move away.
"Oh, she's a little locoed, but barrin' that she's smarter'n a steeltrap. They ain't nothin' goin' on but she's got her eye peeled. If shetakes a likin' to anyone she'll just about break her neck to please,but," he added in a lower voice, "if she ain't a-likin' anyone she'sjust about the _orneriest_, _cussedest_----" Words failed, in view ofthe critical eyes before him.
"Do you belong to the family?" asked Hope, observing: "I noticed youcame from the tepee."
"Well, you see," replied the man awkwardly, "I sort of do--that is, Idid. I married her youngest girl awhile back, but I ain't sure now we'regoin' to make it a go. You see I 'lowed to meet her here when theround-up come 'round to these parts, but here's she's done run off toCanada with some o' her folks, and I ain't set eyes on her fer nigh onto four months. But we've been spliced all right 'nough, an' the oldwoman's mighty fond o' me."
"I should think you would be glad of that!" exclaimed Hope. "It would betoo bad if she didn't like you. I am sorry she is not in a more amiablemood, for I'd really like to talk with her; but perhaps I will bepermitted to approach her later in the day."
"Oh, she'll be all right, now she's had her spell out," assured LongBill.
"You speak of the round-up; why are you not with it?" queried the girl,with cool intent.
Long Bill brought his huge bandaged fist up before him, resting it uponthe well one.
"I had a little accident th' other day," he explained, "an' hurt my handpowerful bad. It ain't goin' to be much use fer handlin' a rope ferquite a spell. Had to let the round-up move away without me." His voicegrew plaintive.
She spoke quickly, with great compassion. "I am sorry! It seems too badto see a great big fellow like you disabled. How did it happen?"
"Well, it was like this: I come over here th' other night an' got tosettin' 'round here doin' nothin', so I thought I'd improve th' time an'clean this here gun o' mine. It's been a-needin' it powerful bad ferawhile back. I didn't know there was nary load in it until the blamething went off an' I felt somethin' kind o' sudden an' hot piercin' myleft hand. It was a fool trick to do, but it's the gospel truth, Miss."
"I heard--that is, the boys said something about a shooting affair upthe road." She pointed toward the sheep-man's ranch. "I thought for amoment that perhaps you had been mixed up in that. I'm very glad to knowthat you were not, because you know it wasn't a very nice, manly thingto do to a defenseless stranger." Her cool eyes watched his nervousshifting. "You see I can't very well help hearing a lot of things aroundhere. The girls hear things and they tell me, and then I am often forcedto overhear the men and boys talking among themselves. It's none of mybusiness, but yet I am glad to know that you were not one to set upon aninnocent white man. I scarcely know this Mr. Livingston by sight, but heis a friend of Sydney's, my cousin, and they say,"--here she drew outher words slowly and impressively,--"that over in his country he hasbeen in the army and is well versed in firearms; also that he has asmall Gatling gun with him over here that shoots hundreds of shots aminute. So he really isn't so defenseless as he seems." This startledthe man into open-mouth astonishment.
"I thought there was something!--I mean I thought, when I heard tellabout the fracas over there, that there was somethin' like that in thewind," stammered the man.
Apparently Hope had told a deliberate untruth to force a confession fromLong Bill, but yet it was a fact that she had heard something verysimilar. On the day before, Sunday, Jim McCullen had come to visit her.From his camp the noise of the shooting had been plainly heard, andthrough curiosity he and Carter had ridden to Livingston's ranch toinquire into it, but the sheep-man had been very reticent about thematter. Had told them only that there had been trouble with some breeds,and his herder had been killed. This old Jim repeated to Hope, addingthat Livingston must have a Gatling gun concealed on his place, judgingfrom the sound of the firing. So Hope in her effort to impress the tallcow-puncher had not used her imagination wholly.
"I am glad you had nothing to do with it," she concluded, walking slowlyaway toward the kitchen end of the house. "And I hope your hand willsoon be well."
"That's right," said Long Bill. "I didn't have nothin' to do with it. NoGatlin' guns in mine, Miss!"
Hope Hathaway: A Story of Western Ranch Life Page 9
