CHAPTER VII
RUBE CARTER'S VISITOR
"Hullo!"
Rube Carter was studying the architect's plan of Kiddie's woodlandcabin. The portable sections of the building were all preciselynumbered; but they were nevertheless perplexing, and he wanted, aboveall things, to avoid mistakes.
Usually when in doubt he could apply for an explanation to Kiddiehimself, but on this particular day Kiddie was absent on duty with thePony Express, and Rube had to puzzle out the difficulty unhelped. Hehad one of the elevation plans spread out in front of him on theworking bench, and was trying to ascertain the exact position of awindow casement, when a moving shadow crossed the sheet of paper.
He had not heard any one approaching. The only sounds he had beenconscious of were the mumbling of his pet bear cub lying beside himchained to a log, busily licking the inside of an empty honey jar, andthe regular strokes of the woodman's axe as Abe Harum worked at thefelling of a pine tree some distance away. The shadow came from behindhim and stopped on the sunlit expanse of paper.
Rube turned sharply round and looked up at the intruder.
Rube turned sharply round and looked up at the intruder.]
"Hullo!" he exclaimed. "Where did you blow in from, I'd like ter know?An' what 're you doin' here, anyway? You aware as you're trespassin'?"
He stood confronting a tall, handsome young Indian, who was dressed infringed buckskins with a red shirt, and a close-fitting cap of beaverfur. There was a finely-plaited leather belt about his waist, fromwhich was suspended a holster containing a heavy revolver. Hismoccasins, of white deerskin, were gaily decorated with an intricatedesign in beads and coloured silks and little bits of looking-glass.They were so dainty, it seemed almost that their wearer wanted to drawspecial attention to his feet. Rube, however, stared inquisitivelyinto the stranger's ruddy brown face, noticing how closely together hispiercing black eyes were set and how sharp and thin was his nose. Hewas an unusually handsome person.
"Injuns ain't supposed ter come out from their reservations," the boycontinued. "Anyhow, you've got no business trespassin' on this yerproperty. You'd best quit. You're not lost, I suppose? You knowsyour way home?"
"Ugh!" the Indian grunted, taking a step nearer and glancing curiouslyat the plan.
"Dessay you've got no savee fer what I'm tellin' you," Rube went on,signing a dismissal, "but I can't help that. You gotter quit, see? Goaway. Make yerself scarce. Vamoose."
"Oh, I quite understand," said the Indian, speaking, to Rube'ssurprise, in very good English. "Your words are clear as the sunlight.It is only their meaning that I do not seize. You speak of trespass.I am not a trespasser. For long, long years--many generations--mypeople have had their hunting grounds, have put up their lodges, andlived and died in these same forest glades. They have trapped thebeaver in this same creek, taken fish from this same lake, and followedthe buffalo on yonder prairie. Who shall stop me if I lay my line oftraps where my people so long ago laid theirs?"
Rube shrugged his shoulders.
"I ain't figurin' ter discuss ancient hist'ry with you, mister," hesaid. "I'm not denyin' that Redskins hunted on these yer landscenturies 'fore the white man happened along. But that ain't gotnothin' t' do wi' you an' me to-day. You're trespassin' on privateproperty, an' you gotter quit, see? An' if you've bin layin' trapsaround you kin just lift 'em an' take 'em along with you. This yerforest, that thar lake, an' all the land as far's you kin see belongster Lord St. Olave. And he don't allow no trespassers mouchin' around."
"Lord St. Olave?" The Indian pronounced the name with peculiardistinctness. "Otherwise Kiddie," he added, resting a foot on the log,but carefully avoiding the bear cub. "I have heard of him."
"Yes, an' seen him, too," rejoined Rube.
"Seen him? When?" questioned the Indian.
"Why," answered Rube, "you saw him pretty plain, I guess, the time hedropped his lariat over your arms in One Tree Gulch. I suppose youthinks I don't know you, eh? You're Broken Feather; that's who youare. Broken Feather, the boss chief of the Injun village over thar.An' now, what you want? What you doin' around here? Spyin' out thelie o' the land fer future raids?"
"Surely I am at liberty to take interest in a neighbour's buildingoperations," returned the chief. He leant closer over the workingbench and gazed down at the architect's plan with renewed curiosity."This, I suppose, is the front entrance," he said.
He touched the paper at a particular part of the design, but quicklydrew his arm back. Rube heard him draw a deep breath, as if he were inpain.
"Say, what's up?" the boy asked. "You took bad in th' inside?"
Instead of answering, Broken Feather turned sharply round. Abe Harumwas approaching, followed at some distance by Rube Carter's mother, whocarried a basket of food for the workers.
The Indian waited coolly, taking out a tobacco bag and a packet ofcigarette papers. Rube thought it curious that he did not make acigarette, but hesitatingly returned the material to his pocket, as ifon deliberation he had decided not to smoke.
"I see you got a visitor, Rube," said Abe, as he strode up. "How do,Broken Feather! You still coveting that Arab mare?--wantin' to buyher, since you couldn't steal her? Well, she ain't for sale."
"I was hoping to see Lord St. Olave," announced the chief. "I come topay a friendly call upon him. Why not?"
"Friendly?" Abe stared at him in amazement. "Say, you've got somenerve t' come right here an' talk like that, mister. Lord St. Olaveain't anyways likely t' accept friendly calls from the likes o' you.Thar's too much bad blood 'tween you an' him fer that. Anyhow, he'snot at home, an' won't be for a long while. So thar's no use yourhangin' around."
"Won't be for a long while," Broken Feather repeated. Then with a lookof cunning he added: "It will be a longer while than you think."
As he went away, treading very silently, he looked round and spoke inhis own tongue, which neither Abe nor Rube could understand. Hedisappeared as mysteriously as he had come. When he was out of sight,Mee-Mee went up to Abe Harum.
"You no savvy what he say," she said. "I savvy heap. He say Kiddienever, never come back. He say he catch Kiddie on trail, kill him,take him scalp."
"I don't notion he came here ter say that, though," said Rube.
"What d'you reckon he come for?" asked Abe.
"Dunno," said Rube. "But I got a idea. Mother," he turned to Mee-Mee,"jus' you hustle back t' the homestead an' let the big dog loose, willyer?"
"What in thunder d'you want the dog for?" questioned Abe.
"I didn't think of it till he'd gone," returned Rube. "But jus' afteryou come along, he took out his tobacco pouch ter make a cigarette, butdidn't make one. Before that, he stretched out his hand ter touch thisyer plan, an' drew his arm back as if the paper'd burnt him. Now why?Ain't it plain? His arm was sore; he couldn't roll a cigarette. Whenhe stretched out his hand it hurt him. It was his left hand, Abe.Kiddie made out that the man as fired that poisoned arrow was bitten inthe left arm when the hound attacked him. See?"
"Yes, but what about the hob-nailed boots?" asked Abe. "I noticed thatBroken Feather's wearin' moccasins. And uncommonly gay ones they are."
"Nobody c'd help noticin' 'em," argued Rube. "That's what he wanted,in case we'd heard about the boot-tracks. Ain't he just cute, puttin'us off the scent thataway?"
"That don't explain why he should come prowlin' around here," pursuedAbe. "What did he want here, anyway? What's your idea?"
"This," said Rube. "Broken Feather calculated he wouldn't find Kiddiehere to-day. He knew that Kiddie was ridin' with the Express. Thatwas his chance--ter come here while Kiddie was away and ter prowlaround in search of that hound--meanin' ter shoot her at sight withthat heavy six-shooter that he carried. That was his errand, sure asmud."
"If that's so," resumed Abe Harum, "why do you want the hound letloose? She'll get on his track. She'll go up ter him where he's mostlikely lyin' in hiding. Then he'll put a bullet inter
her. You'd bestha' kept her chained up, sure."
Rube shook his head.
"Broken Feather's too cunnin' ter do her any harm now that he knowshe's been seen. He didn't want t' be seen. He didn't expect t' be.He happened upon me quite sudden, when he was sneakin' round ter gitpast where you was busy fellin' that tree. I'd seen his shadder 'forehe knew I was thar at the bench. No, Abe, he won't hurt the dog. I'vea notion he's gone right away."
"Leavin' no proof that he's the man that tried ter kill Kiddie," addedAbe.
"Wait till the hound comes along," said Rube; "then we shall haveproof. Just wait."
When at length the deerhound came limping eagerly towards them fromamong the trees, her nose was lowered to the ground and her tailslashing to and fro. Rube called her, but she went on sniffing thegrass, until she got on to Broken Feather's track. Then she boundedforward in pursuit of him. Rube Carter followed her down to the creek,where she stopped.
"Checked!" muttered Rube. "He's too clever for us. Not a bit o' usetrying ter pick up his scent in runnin' water, Sheila. Never mind,you've given proof that he's the man that dealt you the cut on theshoulder."
Rube was eager to tell Kiddie of his discovery, and he sat up thatnight with Abe Harum, waiting for Kiddie to ride along the trail andchange ponies at Birkenshaw's station.
Towards two o'clock in the morning, when the eastern bound Express wasdue, Abe got ready the relay pony, and led it down to the trail. Rubeaccompanied him. The night was very dark, a thin rain was falling, andthey took shelter under the trees. Abe presently struck a match, tosee his watch.
"It's time," he said. "D'ye hear him comin'?"
"No," Rube answered. "Mebbe your ticker's a bit fast."
"It's exactly right," Abe assured him. "An' Kiddie's four minutesbehind time. 'Tain't like Kiddie t' be late. Dessay his relay wasn'tready at Three Crossings. Keep yer ears open. Wind's comin' this way.We ought t' ha' heard him long ago."
Abe was at first merely interested in the fact of Kiddie being slightlybehind schedule time. Then he became impatient, then anxious, andfinally seriously alarmed.
"Suthin's happened," he declared. "Never knew Kiddie t' be late likethis. Suthin's sure happened."
Kiddie the Scout Page 7
