That Girl Montana

by Ryan, Marah Ellis

  “You haven’t told me how she is,” was all the answer he made to this tirade. “You said—that by daylight—”

  “There would be a change—yes, and there is; only a shadow of a change as yet, but the shadow leans the right way.”

  “The right way,” he half whispered, and walked on toward her cabin. He felt dizzy and the tears crept up in his eyes, and he forgot the doctor, who looked after him and muttered statements damaging to Dan’s sanity.

  All the long night he had fought with himself to keep away, to let the others care for her—the others, who fancied they were giving him a wished-for rest. And all the while the desire of his heart was to bar them out—to wait, alone with her, for the life or death that was to come. He had walked miles in his restlessness, but could not have found again the paths he walked over. He had talked with some of the people who were wakeful in the night, but could scarce have told of any words he had said.

  He had felt dazed by the dread of what the new day would bring, and now he looked up at the morning star with a great thankfulness in his heart. The new day had come, and with it a breath of hope.

  Miss Lavina met him at the door, and whispered that the doctor thought the fever had taken the hoped-for turn for the better. ’Tana had opened her eyes but a moment before, and looked at Miss Slocum wonderingly, but fell asleep again; she had looked rational, but very weak.

  “Well, old fellow, I am proud of myself,” said Lyster, as Overton entered. “It took Miss Slocum and me only one night to bring ’Tana around several degrees nearer health. We are the nurses! And if she only wakes conscious—”

  His words, or else the intense, wistful gaze of the man at the foot of the bed, must have aroused her, for she moved and opened her eyes and looked around aimlessly, passing over the faces of Miss Slocum, of the squaw, and of Overton, until Lyster, close beside her, whispered her name. Then her lips curved ever so little in a smile as her eyes met his.

  “Max!” she said, and put out her hand to him. As his fingers clasped it, she turned her face toward him, and fell contentedly asleep again, with her cheek against his hand.

  And Mr. Haydon, who came in with the doctor a moment later, glanced at the picture they made, and smiled meaningly at Overton.

  “You see, I was right,” he observed. “And do you not think it would be a very exacting guardian who could object?”

  Overton only looked at Max, whose face had flushed a little, knowing how significant his attitude must appear to others. But his hand remained in hers, and his eyes turned to Dan with a half embarrassed confession in them—a confession Dan read and understood.

  “Yes, you may well be proud, Max,” he said, answering Lyster’s words. “You deserve all gratitude; and I hope—I hope nothing but good luck will come your way.”

  Mr. Haydon, who watched him with critical eyes, could read nothing in his words but kindliest concern for a friend.

  The doctor, who had suddenly got a ridiculous idea in his head that Dan Overton was wearing himself out on ’Tana’s account, changed his mind and silently called himself a fool. He might have known Dan had more sense than that. Yet, what was it that had changed him so?

  Twenty-four hours later he thought he knew.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XVII.

  MISS SLOCUM’S IDEAS REGARDING DEPORTMENT.

  “So it was a gold mine that dragged you people up into this wilderness? Well, I’ve puzzled my mind a good deal to understand your movements lately; but the finding of a vein as rich as your free gold promises is enough to turn any man’s head for a while. Well, well; you are a lucky fellow, Overton.”

  “Yes, I’ve no doubt that between good luck and bad luck, I’ve as much luck as anybody,” answered Overton, with a grimace, “but a week or so ago you did not think me lucky—you thought me ‘looney.’”

  “You are more than half right,” agreed the doctor; “appearances justified me. My wife and I stormed at you—behind your back—for carrying ’Tana with you on your fishing trip; it was such an unheard-of thing to my folks, you know. Humph! I wonder what they will say when it is known that she was on a prospecting trip, and that the venture will result in a gain to her of dollars that will be counted by the tens of thousands. By George! it seems incredible! Just like a chapter from the old fairy tales.”

  “Yes. I find myself thinking about it like that sometimes,” said Overton; “a little afraid to lay plans, for fear that after all it may be a dream. I never hoped much for it; I came under protest, and the luck seems more than I deserved.”

  “Maybe that is the reason you accept it in such a sulky fashion,” observed the doctor, “for, upon my soul, I think I am more elated over your good fortune than you are. You don’t appear to get up a particle of enthusiasm because of it.”

  “Well, I have not had an enthusiastic lot of partners, either. Harris, here, not able to move; ’Tana not expected to live; and I suddenly face to face with all this responsibility for them. It gave me considerable to think about.”

  “You are right. I only wonder you are not gray-haired. A new gold-field waiting for you to make it known, and you guarding it at the same time, perhaps, from red tramps who come spying around. But you are lucky, Dan; everything comes your way, even a capitalist ready at your word to put up money on the strength of the ore you have to show. Why, man, many a poor devil of a prospector has stood a long siege with starvation, even with gold ore in sight, just because no one with capital would buy or back him.”

  “I know. I realize that; and, for the sake of the other two, I am very glad there need be no waiting for profits.”

  “Do you know, Dan, I fancy little ’Tana is in the way of being well cared for, even without this good fortune,” observed the doctor, looking at the other in a questioning way. “It just occurred to me yesterday that that fine young fellow, Lyster, is uncommonly fond of her. It may be simply because she is ill, and he is sorry for her; but his devotion appeared to me to have a sentimental tinge, and I thought what a fine thing it would be.”

  “Very,” agreed Overton; “and you are sentimental enough yourself to plan it all out for them. I guess Haydon helped to put that notion into your head, didn’t he?”

  The doctor laughed.

  “Well, yes, he did speak of Lyster’s devotion to your protégée” he acknowledged; “and you think we are a couple of premature match-makers, don’t you?”

  “I think maybe you had better leave it for ’Tana to decide,” answered Overton, “and I also think schools will be the first thing considered by her. She is very young, you know.”

  “Seventeen, perhaps,” hazarded the doctor; but Overton did not reply.

  He was watching the canoe just launched by their Indian boatmen. They were to take Mr. Haydon back again to the Ferry. He was to send up workmen, and Overton was to manage the work for the present—or, at least, until Mr. Seldon could arrive and organize the work of developing the vein that Mr. Haydon had found was of such exceeding richness that his offer to the owners had been of corresponding magnitude. Overton had promptly accepted the terms offered; Harris agreed to them; and even if ’Tana should not, Dan decided that out of his own share he could make up any added sum desired by her for her share, though he had little idea that she would find fault with his arrangements. She! who had thought, that day of the gold find, that it was better to have their little camp unshared by the many whom gold would bring to them—that it was almost better to be poor than to have their happy life changed.

  And it was all over now. Other people had come and were close about her, while he had not seen her since the morning before, when she had awakened and turned to Max. Well, he should be satisfied, so he told himself. She was going to get well again. She was going to be happy. More wealth than they had hoped for had come to her, and with it she would, of course, leave the hills, would go into the life of the cities, and by and by would be glad to forget the simple, primitive life they had shared for the few days of one Kootenai summer. Well, she w
ould be happy.

  And here on the spot where their pretty camp had been, he would remain. No thought of leaving came to him. It would all be changed, of course; men and machinery would spoil all the beauty of their wilderness. But as yet no plan for his own future had occurred to him. That he himself had wealth sufficient to secure him from all toil and that a world of pleasure was within his reach, did not seem to touch him with any alluring sense. He was going to remain until the vein of the Twin Springs had a big hole made in it; and the rich soil of the old river he had staked out as a reserve for himself and his partners, to either work or sell. Through his one-sided conversations with Harris he learned that he, too, wanted to remain in the camp where their gold had been found. Doctors, medicines, luxuries, could be brought to him, but he would remain.

  Mrs. Huzzard had at once been offered a sum that in her eyes was munificent, for the express purpose of managing the establishment of the partners—when it was built. Until then she was to draw her salary, and act as either nurse or cook in the rude dwellings that for the present had to satisfy all their dreams of luxury.

  An exodus from Sinna Ferry was expected; many changes were to be made; and Overton and the doctor went down to the canoe to give final directions to their Indian messenger.

  Lyster was there, too, with a most exhausting list of articles which Mr. Haydon was to send up from Helena.

  “Dan, some of these things I put down for ’Tana, as I happened to think of them,” he said, and unfolded a little roll made from the leaves of a notebook stuck together at the ends with molasses. “You look it over and see if it’s all right. I left one sheet empty for anything you might want to add.”

  Dan took it, eying dubiously the length of it and the great array of articles mentioned.

  “I don’t think I had better add anything to it until heavier boats are carrying freight on the Kootenai,” he remarked, and then commenced reading aloud some of the items:

  Eiderdown pillows.

  Rugs and hammocks.

  A guitar.

  Hot water bottle.

  Some good whisky.

  Toilet soap.

  Bret Harte’s Poems.

  A traveling dress for a girl. (Here followed measurements and directions to the dressmaker.) Then the whole was scratched out, and the following was substituted: Brown flannel or serge—nine yards.

  “I had to get Mrs. Huzzard to tell me some of the things,” said Lyster, who looked rather annoyed at the quizzical smiles of Dan and the doctor.

  “I should imagine you would,” observed Overton. “I would have needed the help of the whole camp to get together that amount of plunder. A good shaving set and a pair of cork insoles, No. 8, are they for ’Tana, too?”

  But Lyster disdained reply, and Overton, after reading, “All the late magazines,” and “A double kettle for cooking oatmeal,” folded up the paper and gave it back.

  “As I have read only a very small section of the list, I do not imagine you have omitted anything that could possibly be towed up the river,” he said. “But it is all right, my boy. I would never have thought of half that stuff, but I’ve no doubt they will all be of use, and ’Tana will thank you.”

  “How soon do you expect she will be able to walk, or be moved?” asked Mr. Haydon of the doctor.

  “Oh, in two or three weeks, if nothing interferes with her promised recovery. She is a pretty sick girl; but I think her good constitution will help her on her feet by that time.”

  “And by that time I will be back here,” said Haydon, addressing Lyster.

  He took a sealed envelope from an inner pocket and gave it to the young fellow.

  “When she gets well enough to read that, give it to her, Max,” he said, in a low tone. “It’s something that may surprise her a little, so I trust your discretion as to when she is to see it. From what I hear of her, she must be a rather level-headed, independent little girl. And as I have something to tell her worth her knowing, I have decided to leave the letter. Now, don’t look so puzzled. When I come back she will likely tell you what it means, but you may be sure it is no bad news I send her. Will you attend to it?”

  “Certainly. But I don’t understand—”

  “And there is no need for you to understand—just yet. Take good care of her, and help Overton in all possible ways to look after our interests here. There will be a great deal to see to until Seldon or I can get back.”

  “Oh, Dan is a host in himself,” said Lyster. “He won’t want me in his way when it comes to managing his men. But I can help Flap-Jacks carry water, or help old Akkomi smoke, for he comes here each day for just that purpose—that and his dinner—so never fear but that I will make myself useful.”

  Miss Slocum from the cabin doorway—the door was a blanket—watched the canoe skim down the little stream, and sighed dolefully when it disappeared entirely.

  “Now, Lavina,” remonstrated Mrs. Huzzard, “I do hope that you ain’t counting on making part of the next load that leaves here; for now that you have got here, I’d hate the worst kind to lose you. Gold mines are fine things to live alongside of, I dare say; but I crave some human beings within hail—yes, indeed.”

  “Exactly my own feelings, Cousin Lorena,” admitted Miss Slocum, “and I regret the departure of any member of our circle—all except the Indians. I really do not think that any amount of living among them would teach me to feel lonely at their absence. And that dreadful Akkomi!”

  “Yes, isn’t he a trial? Not that he ever does any harm; but he just keeps a body in mortal dread, for fear he might take a notion to.”

  “Yet Mr. Overton seems to think him entirely friendly.”

  “Humph! yes. But if ’Tana should pet a rattlesnake, Mr. Overton would trust it. That’s just how constant he is to his friends.”

  “Well, now,” said Miss Lavina, with mild surprise in her tone, “I really have seen nothing in his manner that would indicate any extreme liking for the girl, though she is his ward. Now, that bright young gentleman, Mr. Lyster—”

  “Tut, tut, Lavina! Max Lyster is all eyes and hands for her just now. He will fan her and laugh with her; but it will be Dan who digs for her and takes the weight of her care on his shoulders, even if he never says a word about it. That is just Dan Overton’s way.”

  “And a very fine way it is, Lorena,” said Miss Slocum, while her eyes wandered out to where he stood talking to Lyster. “I’ve met many men of fine manners in my time, but I never was more impressed at first sight by any person than by him when he conducted me personally to you on my arrival. The man had never heard my name before, yet he received me as if this camp had been arranged on purpose for my visit, and that he himself had been expecting me. If that did not contain the very essence of fine manners, I never saw any, Lorena Jane.”

  “I—I s’pose it does, Lavina,” agreed Mrs. Huzzard; “though I never heard any one go on much about his manners before. And as for me—well,” and she looked a bit embarrassed, “I ain’t the best judge myself. I’ve had such a terrible hard tussle to make a living since my man died, that I hain’t had time to study fine manners. I’ll have time enough before long, I suppose, for Dan Overton surely has offered me liberal living wages. But, Lavina, even if I did want to learn now, I wouldn’t know where to commence.”

  “Well, Lorena, since you mention it, there is lots of room for improvement in your general manner. You’ve been with careless people, I suppose, and bad habits are gathered that way. Now I never was much of a genius—couldn’t trim a bonnet like you to save my life; but I did have a most particular mother; and she held that good manners was a recommendation in any land. So, even if her children had no fortune left them, they were taught to show they had careful bringing up. One of my ideas in coming out here was that I might teach deportment in some Indian school, but not much of that notion is left me. Could I ever teach Flap-Jacks to quit scratching her head in the presence of ladies and gentlemen? No.”

  “I don’t think,” said Mrs. Huzzard,
in a meditative way, “that I mind the scratching so much as I do the dratted habit she has of carrying the dish-cloth under her arm when she don’t happen to be using it. That just wears on my nerves, it does. But I tell you what it is, Lavina—if you are kind of disappointed on account of not getting Indian scholars that suit just yet, I’m more than half willing you should teach me the deportment, if you’d be satisfied with one big white scholar instead of a lot of little red ones.”

  “Yes, indeed, and glad to do it,” said Miss Slocum, frankly. “Your heart is all right, Lorena Jane; but a warm heart will not make people forget that you lean your elbow on the table and put your food into your mouth with your knife. Such things jar on other people just as Flap-Jacks and the dish-cloth jar on you. Don’t you understand? But your desire to improve shows that you are a very remarkable woman, Lorena, for very few people are willing to learn new habits after having followed careless ones for forty years.”

  “Thirty-nine,” corrected Lorena Jane, showing that, however peculiar and remarkable her wisdom might be in some directions, it did not prevent a natural womanly feeling regarding the number of years she had lived.

  “You see,” she continued, after a little, as Miss Lavina kept a discreet silence, “this here gold fever is catching; and if any one gets started on the right track, there is no telling what day he may stumble over a fortune. One might come my way—or yours, Lavina. And, just as you say, fine manners is a heap of help in sassiety. And thinking of it that way makes me feel I’d like to be prepared to enjoy, in first-class style, any amount of money I might get a chance at up here. For I tell you what it is, Lavina, this Western land is a woman’s country. Her chances in most things are always as good, and mostly better than a man’s.”

  “Yes, if she does not die from fright at the creepy looks of the friendly Indians,” said Miss Slocum, with a shivering breath. “I have not slept sound for a single minute since I saw that old smoking wretch who never seems a rod from this cabin. Now down there at Sinna Ferry I thought it might be kind of nice, though we stopped only a little while, and I was not up in the street. Any real genteel people there?”