“You’ve hit it dead centre, auntie,” interrupted the girl mischievously.
“Don’t interrupt or—I’ll clear the court. Well, the child comes to me fresh from the prairie. She is good as good can be; but she is quite helpless in her new life. And more than this she is burdened—I say it advisedly—with great wealth under, what I consider, an extraordinary will. How the colonel came to make such a will I cannot understand. The only thing I can think of is that when that will was made he feared there might be some person or persons, possibly relatives, into whose hands she might fall, when she was young, and who might misuse her fortune. This is surmise. Anyway, after providing for her mother he leaves everything to Rosebud. But the legacy is not to take effect until the day she marries.
“Further, the property left to her mother devolved upon her at her mother’s death. This, of course, she has already inherited; the rest still remains in trust. Now, of course, as the child’s social mother, it is my first duty to watch the men with whom she comes into contact. I have given her every opportunity to meet the most eligible bachelors. Men of title and wealth. Men who cannot possibly be charged with fortune-hunting. What is the result? She sends them all to the right-about. She is positively rude to them—little barbarian. And the others—the undesirables—well, she just encourages them outrageously.”
“Oh, auntie!”
“Wait a minute. The prosecution has not done yet. Now, Mrs. Sampson, I ask you, what am I to do? The truth is she can marry whom she pleases. I have no power over her. I feel sure she will throw herself away on some dreadful, undesirable fortune-hunter. She is in such a position that no poor man can ask her to marry him without becoming a fortune-hunter. Why, out of all the people she has met since she has been with me, who do you think she encourages? Quite the worst man I know. Lord Vinceps. He’s a peer, I know; but he’s poor, and up to his neck in debts. She is a great trial.”
She smiled fondly at the girl whose shortcomings were causing her so much anxiety. But there was no answering smile to meet hers. Rosebud’s face was serious for once, and her beautiful eyes quite cold. Mrs. Rickards had addressed herself to Ma, but the girl knew well enough, and resented the fact, that her words were meant for another. Rube and Seth still remained silent. But the impeachment was not allowed to pass unchallenged. Rosebud was up in arms at once.
“About Lord Vinceps, auntie; you know that is all nonsense. I don’t care if I never see him again. I understood him within five minutes of our meeting. And that understanding would never permit me to think twice about him. He is a cheerful companion; but—no, auntie, count him out. As for the others—no, thanks. The man I marry will have to be a man, some one who, when I do wrong, can figuratively take me across his knee. The man I marry must be my master, auntie. Don’t be shocked. I mean it. And I haven’t met such a man under your roof. You see all my ideas are savage, barbarous.”
The girl paused. Ma’s smile had broadened. Rosebud had not changed. Rube listened in open-mouthed astonishment. He was out of his depth, but enjoying himself. Seth alone gave no sign of approval or otherwise.
“Now, look here, auntie,” Rosebud had gathered herself together for a final blow. One little hand was clenched, and it rested on the edge of the table ready to emphasize her words. “I do regard my position seriously. But I have to live my life myself, and will not be trammeled by any conventions of your social world. I’ll marry whom I please, because I want to, and not because the world says I ought to do so. Rest assured, I won’t marry any fortune-hunter. The man I marry I shall be able to love, honor, and obey, or I’ll not marry at all.”
The girl suddenly rose from her seat. Her color heightened. There was something in her manner that kept her aunt’s eyes fixed upon her in wondering anticipation. She watched her move round the table and lean over and kiss Ma on the crown of the head, and then pass on to Rube, round whose neck she gently placed her arms. Thus she stood for a second looking smilingly over the great rough head across at Ma, who, like the others, was wondering what was coming.
“Furthermore I am not going back to England any more unless I am turned out of here. You won’t turn me out, Pa, will you?” She bent down and softly rubbed her cheek against Rube’s bristling face.
There was a dead silence. Then Mrs. Rickards broke in weakly.
“But—but your—property?”
“I arranged that with Mr. Irvine before I came out. It’s no use, auntie, I am quite determined. That is—you won’t—you won’t turn me out, Pa, will you? I’ll be so good. I’ll never do anything wrong, and I’ll—I’ll even hoe potatoes if any one wants me to.”
The girl’s laughing eyes shot a mischievous glance in Seth’s direction. Rube raised one great hand and drew her face to his and kissed her.
“Guess this is your home if you’ve a notion to it, Rosie, gal. Guess Ma wants you, jest as we all do.”
Ma nodded and beamed through her glasses. Seth smiled in his slow fashion.
“An’ I guess I ain’t bustin’ fer you to hoe p’taters neither,” he said.
For a moment Mrs. Rickards looked about her helplessly; she hardly knew what to say. Then, at last, she, too, joined in the spirit which pervaded the party.
“Well, you are the strangest creature—but there, I said you were a little savage, and so did Mr. Seth.”
* * *
CHAPTER XXV
IN WHICH THE UNDERCURRENT BELIES THE SUPERFICIAL CALM
THE snow is gone, and the earth is passing through a process of airing. The sun licks up the moisture like some creature possessed of an unquenchable thirst. Wherever it is sufficiently dry the settlers are already at work seeding. Some are even breaking virgin soil, or turning over old ploughing. There is an atmosphere of leisurely industry about the plains. Even in these unsettled regions work goes forward with precision. The farmer’s life is one of routine with which he permits nothing to interfere. He lives by the fruits of the earth which ripen in due season. If fortune favors him he reaps the harvest. Whatever his lot he must accept it. The elements rule his life. The Indians may or may not disorganize the process.
The folk on White River Farm are in no way behind their neighbors. Seth’s returning strength permits him to take his share in the work, and thus Rube finds his burden lightened. But only partially, for Seth has much else to do, or seems to have, for he has many comings and goings which take up time.
Mrs. Rickards is still staying on at the farm. She thoroughly enjoys this new, simple life. Besides, in the brief fortnight which has elapsed since her coming, she has learnt something of the true worth, the wonderful kindliness and honesty of these frontier-folk.
Even Seth, whom at first she was less certain about, she has learned to look upon with favor. His silent, direct fashion of going through his daily life has given her an inkling of qualities, which, if not altogether companionable, show a manliness she has not always been accustomed to.
Her change of opinion found vent one night at bedtime. Rosebud listened to the worldly-wise woman’s remarks with a glow of pleasure and pride.
“Seth is a queer fellow, Rosie, so darkly reticent and all that,” she said, with a thoughtful smile. “Do you know I sometimes think if I were in great danger—personal danger, you know—he’s the sort of man I’d like to have about. He gives me the impression of a great reserve of strength. He is what one might—well, what you would call a ‘man.’”
Rosebud added her word without the least hesitation.
“He’s more than that, auntie; he’s the bravest and best man in the world.”
“Just so, my dear; and in consequence you don’t want to return to England,” Mrs. Rickards said slyly.
Rosebud encountered the glance which accompanied the words. She shook her head with a little despairing gesture.
“But he loves me only as a sort of daughter.”
“Does he, my dear?”
Mrs. Rickards’ tone was quite incredulous; she was at home in matters of love and marriage.
<
br /> The object of all this thought went about blissfully unconscious of the heart stirrings he was causing. Every moment of his life was full—full to the brim and even overflowing. There was not a settler in the district whom he had not visited during the fortnight. And his business was with the men alone.
The result of his visits would have been visible to the eye of only the most experienced. Work went on the same as before, but there were many half hours which might have been spent in well-earned idleness now devoted by the men to a quiet, undemonstrative overhauling of their armory.
As it was at these outlying farms so it was at White River. In the short twilight of evening Rube and Seth would wander round their buildings and the stockade, noting this defect, suggesting this alteration, or that repair. All their ideas were based on the single thought of emergency. Large supplies of cord-wood were brought in and stacked on the inner side of the stockade, thus adding to its powers of resistance. Every now and then Ma would receive casually dropped hints on the subject of her storeroom. A large supply of ammunition arrived from Beacon Crossing. Many cases of tinned provisions came along, and Ma, wondering, took them in without question or comment at the time. Later in the day when she happened to find Seth alone she told him of them, adopting a casual tone, the tone which these people invariably assumed when the signs of the times wore their most significant aspect.
“There was a heap of canned truck come from the Crossing, Seth,” she said. “I laid it down in the cellars. Maybe you sent it along?”
And Seth replied—
“Why, yes, Ma. I figgered we’d like a change from fresh meat. You see I happened along to Beacon Crossing, an’ I guessed I’d save a journey later.”
“I see.”
Ma’s bright old eyes read all there was underlying her boy’s words, and she, like the rest, continued steadily on with her work.
So the days crept slowly by. Now the snow and ice were gone, and the tawny hue of the prairie was tinged with that perfect emerald of budding spring. The woodlands of the river and the Reservation had lost their barren blackness. The earth was opening its eyes and stretching itself after its months of heavy slumber. Life was in the very air of the plains. The whole world seemed to be bursting with renewed life.
Seth was now restored to something like his old self. His vigor was a thing to marvel at. His regular day’s work was only a tithe of what he did. That which went on after the rest of the household had retired to rest was known to only two others. Rube possessed the younger man’s confidence, and Jimmy Parker was in constant communication with him. Seth and the latter worked hand in hand for the common welfare, but they were silent. Each knew the character of the dangers which ever surrounded them. Each knew that an absolute silence and apparent indifference were the only means of learning the plans, the meaning of the furtive unrest of the warlike Sioux. All that they learned was carefully stored and docketed for future reference.
Parker’s responsibility was official. Seth’s was voluntary and humanitarian. Now he had a double incentive. Rosebud was in danger. He knew that he alone stood between her and the treacherous machinations of Nevil Steyne, and the lawless passion of an unscrupulous savage. He dared not spare himself. He must know of every movement on the Reservation. He quite understood the men he was dealing with. He knew the motive of each. All he hoped was that he might prove himself just a shade cleverer, a shade quicker in emergency when the time came for him to act.
It was impossible, however, that Seth should leave the house night after night and no member of the household be the wiser. Oddly enough it was Mrs. Rickards’ maid who discovered his movements. She, with a discretion which a confidential servant may always be expected to possess, whispered her discovery to her mistress, and her mistress was not slow in drawing Rosebud’s attention. As they were retiring one night she told the girl of her maid’s discovery.
“Janet tells me that Mr. Seth goes out every night and doesn’t return till two or three in the morning, Rosie,” she said abruptly, as she was preparing for bed. “You know the girl sleeps over the kitchen, and some nights ago she saw him ride off from the barn in the moonlight. Last night she was awake when he got back. It was daylight. I wonder where he goes?”
Rosebud responded in a matter-of-fact tone, but with a quick look at her friend.
“I wonder.”
Mrs. Rickards wondered and speculated on, but Rosebud’s manner gave her no encouragement, and she was fain to let the matter drop. There was no malice in her remarks, but a very profound curiosity.
Her announcement had its effect.
The next night Rosebud did not go to bed after retiring to their room. She made no explanation, merely telling her aunt that she was not going to bed yet. And Mrs. Rickards nodded a comprehensive smile at her.
The girl waited a reasonable time till she thought the others were asleep, then she crept softly down-stairs. She went into the kitchen, but it was dark and empty. The parlor was also in darkness, except for the moonlight pouring in through the window. But as she stood in the doorway, peering closely into the remoter corners, she felt a cool draught playing upon her face. Then she saw that the door opening on the verandah was open.
She walked across the room, and, looking out on the moonlit scene, was promptly greeted by a low growl from General. The next moment she stepped out, and beheld Seth’s tall figure leaning against one of the great gate-posts of the stockade, while General came over to her and rubbed his keen nose against her skirts.
Just for a moment she hesitated. It suddenly occurred to her that her action might be construed into spying, and she was possessed by a sense of shame at the bare thought. She knew that she was not spying in the baser sense of the word. She had no doubts of Seth. Instinct told her why he was out. She had come to find out the facts, but not by spying. She meant to question him.
She felt her heart thumping in her chest as she stepped quickly across the verandah. She was nervous, and a strange feeling of shyness made her long to turn back before the man became aware of her presence. But she controlled the impulse, and, though feeling herself flush in the cool air of the night, walked bravely on.
She believed she was unobserved. Her slippers gave out no sound, but as she came within a few yards of the still figure, the man’s voice greeted her.
“Thought you was abed, Rosie.”
The girl started at the sound. Seth had not moved, had not even turned his head. Then she answered.
“How did you know I was here?” she said quickly.
“Guess I heard General talkin’ to you.”
She was at his side now.
“But you never looked round?”
“Ef it was Rube, I’d have heard his feet. Ma ain’t wanderin’ around o’ nights. An’ I guess your auntie ain’t bustin’ fer a moonlight ramble. It didn’t need a heap o’ figgerin’.”
Rosebud had no answer ready. The argument was so simple.
A brief silence fell, while both looked out across the moonlit plains at the dark line of distant woods. There was a slight glow in the sky in two different directions. One was away over the Pine Ridge Reservation, the other was nearer at hand, but on the far side of the Rosebud Reservation. The girl saw these things and they held her silent. Her breathing came quickly. There was a sensation of excitement running through her body. She knew these lights were what Seth was staring at.
The man stirred at last.
“Guess you’d best git back to bed, Rosie,” he said. “I’m goin’ to saddle up my plug. I’m goin’ to ride some.”
“Where are you going?” The girl’s question came with a little nervous energy.
The man turned upon her gravely.
“I’m meetin’ Parker to-night,” he said briefly.
“What for?” The violet eyes held the other’s with their steady gaze. The pretty, irregular face was set and determined.
Seth moved. Then he turned away to glance at the lurid reflection in the sky. Presently his eyes came back t
o her face.
“It’s them,” he said, indicating the reflected fires.
“And what are they?” Rosebud’s voice was quietly commanding. The irresponsible girl had gone from the woman talking now.
“Sun-dances. They’re doin’ it at night to cover their tracks. The Injuns are gettin’ wise.”
“You mean?”
There was no avoiding the sharp, direct questioning.
“We’re goin’ to git it, and when it comes it’ll be—sudden. Sudden an’ bad. It’s both Reservations. All of ’em.”
Rosebud was silent. Her wide open eyes were on the lights, but her thoughts were on other things,—so many other things, that her head whirled. At last she spoke again, in a tense, nervous manner.
“Tell me about it. Tell me all.”
Seth shook his head.
“Ther’ ain’t a deal.”
“Tell me.”
“See you, Rosie, ef I go out o’ here presently, will you jest close these gates an’ fix ’em? An’ will you be up to open ’em for me?”
“Yes. But tell me.”
Seth gazed at the horizon again.
“As I said, ther’ ain’t much,” he began presently. “This has been goin’ on fer days. Ther’s Injuns out most every night, an’ they are lyin’ this side o’ the fort. They’re all about it, an’ them soldier-fellers ain’t wise to it. What’s more we darsen’t to put ’em wise. They’re li’ble to butt right in, an’ then ther’ won’t be any stoppin’ them pesky redskins. Y’ see ther’s only a handful at the fort, an’ the Injuns could eat ’em.”
“Yes, you always said it was a mistake to bluff with soldiers so near the Reservation. I suppose the Indians resent their presence. Is that it?”
“Mebbe.”
“There’s another reason?”
“Can’t rightly say.”
The Watchers of the Plains Page 19
