by B. M. Bower
When Evadna and Jack rode up, they found Mr. Baumberger taking his ease in Peaceful’s armchair on the porch, discussing, with animated gravity, the ins and outs of county politics; his fishing-basket lying on its flat side close to his chair, his rod leaning against the house at his elbow, his heavy pipe dragging down one corner of his loose-lipped mouth; his whole gross person surrounded by an atmosphere of prosperity leading the simple life transiently and by choice, and of lazy enjoyment in his own physical and mental well-being.
CHAPTER IX
PEPPAJEE JIM “HEAP SABES”
Peppajee Jim had meditated long in the shade of his wikiup, and now, when the sun changed from a glaring ball of intense, yellow heat to a sullen red disk hanging low over the bluffs of Snake River, he rose, carefully knocked the ashes from his little stone pipe, with one mechanical movement of his arms, gathered his blanket around him, pushed a too-familiar dog from him with a shove of moccasined foot, and stalked away through the sagebrush.
On the brow of the hill, just where the faint footpath dipped into a narrow gully at the very edge, almost, of the bluff, he stopped, and lifted his head for an unconsciously haughty stare at his surroundings.
Beneath him and half a mile or so up the river valley, the mellow green of Peaceful’s orchard was already taking to itself the vagueness of evening shadows. Nearer, the meadow of alfalfa and clover lay like a soft, green carpet of velvet, lined here and there with the irrigation ditches which kept it so. And in the center of the meadow, a small inclosure marked grimly the spot where lay the bones of old John Imsen. All around the man-made oasis of orchards and meadows, the sage and the sand, pushed from the river by the jumble of placer pits, emphasized by sharp contrast what man may do with the most unpromising parts of the earth’s surface, once he sets himself heart and muscle to the task.
With the deliberation of his race, Peppajee stood long minutes motionless, gazing into the valley before he turned with a true Indian shrug and went down into the gully, up the steep slope beyond, and then, after picking his way through a jumble of great bowlders, came out eventually into the dust-ridden trail of the white man. Down that he walked, erect, swift, purposeful, his moccasins falling always with the precision of a wild animal upon the best footing among the loose rocks, stubs of sage-roots, or patches of deep dust and sand beside the wagon-road, his sharp, high-featured face set in the stony calm which may hide a tumult of elemental passions beneath and give no sign.
Where the trail curved out sharply to round the Point o’ Rocks, he left it, and kept straight on through the sage, entered a rough pass through the huge rock tongue, and came out presently to the trail again, a scant two hundred yards from the Hart haystacks. When he reached the stable, he stopped and looked warily about him, but there was no sight or sound of any there save animals, and he went on silently to the house, his shadow stretching long upon the ground before him until it merged into the shade of the grove beyond the gate, and so was lost for that day.
“Hello, Peppajee,” called Wally over his cigarette. “Just in time for supper.”
Peppajee grunted, stopped in the path two paces from the porch, folded his arms inside his blanket, and stood so while his eyes traveled slowly and keenly around the group lounging at ease above him. Upon the bulky figure of Baumberger they dwelt longest, and while he looked his face hardened until nothing seemed alive but his eyes.
“Peppajee, this my friend, Mr. Baumberger. You heap sabe Baumberger—come all time from Shoshone, mebbyso catchum heap many fish.” Peaceful’s mild, blue eyes twinkled over his old meerschaum. He knew the ways of Indians, and more particularly he knew the ways of Peppajee; Baumberger, he guessed shrewdly, had failed to find favor in his eyes.
“Huh!” grunted Peppajee non-commitally, and made no motion to shake hands, thereby confirming Peaceful’s suspicion. “Me heap sabe Man-that-catchum-fish.” After which he stood as before, his arms folded tightly in his blanket, his chin lifted haughtily, his mouth a straight, stern line of bronze.
“Sit down, Peppajee. Bimeby eat supper,” Peaceful invited pacifically, while Baumberger chuckled at the Indian’s attitude, which he attributed to racial stupidity.
Peppajee did not even indicate that he heard or, hearing, understood.
“Bothered much with Injuns?” Baumberger asked carelessly, putting away his pipe. “I see there’s quite a camp of ’em up on the hill. Hope you’ve got good watchdogs—they’re a thieving lot. If they’re a nuisance, Hart, I’ll see what can be done about slapping ’em back on their reservation, where they belong. I happen to have some influence with the agent.”
“I guess you needn’t go to any trouble about it,” Peaceful returned dryly. “I’ve had worse neighbors.”
“Oh—if you’re stuck on their company!” laughed Baumberger wheezily. “‘Every fellow to his taste, as the old woman said when she kissed her cow.’ There may be good ones among the lot,” he conceded politely when he saw that his time-worn joke had met with disfavor, even by the boys, who could—and usually did—laugh at almost anything. “They all look alike to me, I must admit; I never had any truck with ’em.”
“No, I guess not,” Peaceful agreed in his slow way, holding his pipe three inches from his face while he eyed Peppajee quizzically. “Don’t pay to have any truck with ’em while you feel that way about it.” He smoothed down his snow-white beard with his free hand, pushed the pipe-stem between his teeth, and went on smoking.
“I never liked the breed, any way you look at ’em,” Baumberger stated calmly.
“Say, you’ll queer yourself good and plenty, if you keep on,” Wally interrupted bluntly. “Peppajee’s ears aren’t plugged with cotton—are they, Jim?”
Neither Peppajee nor Baumberger made reply of any sort, and Peaceful turned his mild eyes reproachfully toward his untactful son. But the supper summons clanged insistently from the iron triangle on the back porch and saved the situation from becoming too awkward. Even Baumberger let his tilted chair down upon its four legs with a haste for which his appetite was not alone responsible, and followed the boys into the house as if he were glad to escape from the steady, uncompromising stare of the Indian.
“Better come and eat, Peppajee,” Peaceful lingered upon the porch to urge hospitably. “You no get mad. You come eat supper.”
“No!” Peppajee jerked the word out with unmistakable finality. “No eat. Bimeby mebbyso makum big talk yo’.”
Peaceful studied his face, found it stern and unyielding, and nodded assent. “All right. I eat, then I talk with you.” He turned somewhat reluctantly and followed the others inside, leaving Peppajee to pass the time away as pleased him best.
Peppajee stood still for a moment listening to the clatter of dishes from the kitchen, and then with dignity end deliberation seated himself upon the lowest step of the porch, and, pulling his blanket tight around him, resettled his disreputable old sombrero upon his head and stared fixedly at the crimson glow which filled all the west and made even the rugged bluff a wonderful thing of soft, rose tints and shadows of royal purple. Peaceful, coming out half an hour after with Baumberger at his heels, found him so and made a movement to sit down beside him. But Peppajee rose and stalked majestically to the gate, then turned and confronted the two.
“I talk yo’. Mebbyso no talk Man-with-big-belly.” He waited impassively.
“All right, Jim.” Peaceful turned apologetically toward his guest. “Something he wants to tell me, Baumberger; kinda private, I guess. I’ll be back in a minute, anyway.”
“Now don’t mind me at all,” Baumberger protested generously. “Go ahead just as if I wasn’t here—that’s what’ll please me best. I hope I ain’t so much of a stranger you’ve got to stand on ceremony. Go on, and find out what the old buck wants; he’s got something on his mind, that’s sure. Been stealing fruit, maybe, and wants to square himself before you catch him at it.” He laughed his laziest, and began leisurely to fill his pipe.
Peppajee led the way to the st
able, where he stopped short and faced Peaceful, his arms folded, one foot thrust forward in the pose he affected when about to speak of matters important.
“Long time ago, when yo’ hair black,” he began deliberately, with a sonorous lingering upon his vowels, “yo’ all time my frien’. I yo’ frien’ all same. Yo’ no likum otha white man. Yo’ all time bueno. Yo’ house all same my wikiup. Me come eat at yo’ house, talk yo’ all same brotha. Yo’ boys all same my boys—all time my frien’. Me speakum all time no lie, mebbyso.”
“No,” Peaceful assented unhesitatingly, “you no tell lies, Peppajee. We good friends, many years.”
“Huh! Man-that-catchum-fish, him no yo’ frien’. Shont-isham. All time him speakum lies—tellum frien’ yo’, no frien’. Yo’ no more tellum stop yo’ wikiup. Kay bueno. Yo’ thinkum frien’. All time him have bad heart for yo’. Yo’ got ranch. Got plenty hay, plenty apple, plenty all thing for eat. All time him think bad for yo’. All time him likum steal yo’ ranch.”
Peaceful laughed indulgently. “You no sabe,” he explained. “Him like my ranch. Him say, long time ago, pay much money for my ranch. Me no sell—me like for keep all time. Baumberger good man. Him no steal my ranch. Me got one paper from government—you sabe?—one paper say ranch all time b’longum me all same. Big white chief say ranch b’longum me all time. I die, ranch b’longum my boys. You sabe?”
Peppajee considered. “Me sabe,” he said at length. “Me sabe paper, sabe ranch all time b’longum yo’. All same, him like for ketchum yo’ ranch. Me hear much talk, him talk Man-that-coughs, tellum him ketchum ranch. Much white man come, so—” He lifted one hand with thumb and fingers outspread, made a downward gesture, and then raised three fingers. “Catchum ranch.”
Peaceful shook his head while he smiled. “No can do that. Mebbyso much men come, heap fight, mebbyso killum me, ranch all same b’longum my boys. Men that fights go to jail, mebbyso hangum.” He indicated by signs his exact meaning.
Peppajee scowled, and shook his head stubbornly. “Me heap sabe. All same, ketchum yo’ ranch. Man-that-catchum-fish kay bueno. Yo’ thinkum frien’, yo’ damfool. Him all same rattlesnake. Plenty foolum yo’. Yo’ see. Yo’ thinkum Peppajee Jim heap big fool. Peaceful Hart, him all time one heap big damfool. Him ketchum yo’ ranch. Yo’ see.” He stopped and stared hard at the dim bulk of the grove, whence came the faint odor of smoke from Baumberger’s pipe.
“Yo’ be smart man,” he added grimly, “yo’ all same kickum dat mans off yo’ ranch.” For emphasis he thrust out a foot vigorously in the direction of the house and the man he maligned, and turned his face toward camp. Peaceful watched until the blanketed form merged into the dusk creeping over the valley, and when it disappeared finally into the short cut through the sage, he shook his gray head in puzzlement over the absurd warning, and went back to talk politics with Baumberger.
CHAPTER X
MIDNIGHT PROWLERS
Came midnight and moonlight together, and with them came also Good Indian riding somewhat sullenly down the trail to the ranch. Sullen because of Evadna’s attitude, which seemed to him permanently antagonistic, and for very slight cause, and which made the ranch an unpleasant abiding place.
He decided that he would not stop at the ranch, but would go on up the valley to where one Abuer Hicks lived by himself in a half-dugout, half-board shack, and by mining a little where his land was untillable, and farming a little where the soil took kindly to fruit and grasses, managed to exist without too great hardship. The pension he received for having killed a few of his fellow-men at the behest of his government was devoted solely to liquid relief from the monotony of his life, and welcome indeed was the man who brought him a bottle of joy between times. Wherefore Good Indian had thoughtfully provided himself with a quart or so and rode with his mind at ease so far as his welcome at the Hicks dwelling place was concerned.
Once again the Peaceful Hart ranch lay in brooding silence under the shadow of the bluff. A few crickets chirped shrilly along the trail, and from their sudden hush as he drew near marked unerringly his passing. Along the spring-fed creek the frogs croaked a tuneless medley before him, and, like the crickets, stopped abruptly and waited in absolute silence to take up their night chant again behind him. His horse stepped softly in the deep sand of the trail, and, when he found that his rider refused to let him stop at the stable-door, shook his head in mute displeasure, and went quietly on. As he neared the silent house, the faint creak of saddle-leather and the rattle of spur-chains against his iron stirrups were smothered in the whispering of the treetops in the grove, so that only the quick hushing of night noises alone betrayed him to any wakeful ear.
He was guilty of staring hard at that corner of the house where he knew Evadna slept, and of scowling over the vague disquiet which the thought of her caused him. No girl had ever troubled his mind before. It annoyed him that the face and voice of Evadna obtruded, even upon his thoughts of other things.
The grove was quiet, and he could hear Gene’s unmistakable snore over by the pond—the only sound save the whispering of the trees, which went on, unmindful of his approach. It was evident, he thought, that the ghost was effectually laid—and on the heels of that, as he rode out from the deep shade of the grove and on past the garden to the meadows beyond, he wondered if, after all, it was again hardily wandering through the night; for he thought he glimpsed a figure which flitted behind a huge rock a few rods in advance of him, and his eyes were not used to playing him tricks.
He gave a twitch of his fingers upon the reins, and turned from the trail to investigate. He rode up to the rock, which stood like an island of shade in that sea of soft moonlight, and, peering into the shadows, spoke a guarded challenge:
“Who’s that?”
A figure detached itself without sound from the blot of darkness there, and stood almost at his stirrup.
“Yo’ Good Injun—me likum for talk yo’.”
Good Indian was conscious of a distinct disappointment, though he kept it from his voice when he answered:
“Oh, it’s you, Peppajee. What you do here? Why you no sleepum yo’ wikiup?”
Peppajee held up a slim, brown hand for silence, and afterward rested it upon the saddle-fork.
“Yo’ heap frien’ Peaceful. Me heap frien’ all same. Mebbyso we talk. Yo’ get down. No can see yo’, mebbyso; yo’ no likum bad man for se—” He stepped back a pace, and let Good Indian dismount; then with a gesture he led him back into the shadow of the rock.
“Well, what’s the row?” Good Indian asked impatiently, and curiously as well.
Peppajee spoke more hastily than was usual. “Me watchum Man-that-catchum-fish. Him hee-eeap kay bueno. Me no sabe why him walk, walk in night—me heap watchum.”
“You mean Baumberger? He’s all right. He comes down here to catchum many fish—trout, up in the Malad, you sabe. Heap friend Peaceful. You no likum?”
“Kay bueno.” Peppajee rested a forefinger upon Good Indian’s arm. “Sun up there,” he pointed high in the west. “Me go all same Hartley. Come stable—Pete stable—me walkum close—no makum noise. Me hear talk. Stoppum—no can see—me hear much bad talk. All time me hear, heap likum for steal dis ranch. Me no sabe”—his tone was doubtful for a space—“all same, me hear stealum this ranch. Man, you callum—”
“Baumberger?” suggested Grant.
“Him. All same Baumberga, him talk Man-that-coughs. All time say stealum ranch. Makum much bad talk, them mans. Me come ranch, me tellum Peaceful, him all time laugh, me. All time shakum head. Mebbyso thinkum I lie—shont-isham!”
“What more you do?” Good Indian, at least, did not laugh.
“Me go camp. Me thinkum, thinkum all time. Dat man have bad heart. Kay bueno. No can sleep—thinkum mebbyso do bad for Peaceful. Come ranch, stop all time dark, all time heap watchum. Bimeby, mebbyso man—all same yo’ callum Baumberga—him come, look, so—” He indicated, by a great craning of neck in all directions, the wariness of one who goes by stealth.
“Him walk still all time, go all time ova there.” He swept his arm toward the meadows. “Me go still, for watchum. Yo’ come, mebbyso make heap much noise—kay bueno. Dat mans, him hear, him heap scare. Me tellum, yo’ mebbyso go still.” He folded his arms with a gesture of finality, and stood statue-like in the deep gloom beside the rock.
Good Indian fingered his horse’s mane while he considered the queer story. There must be something in it, he thought, to bring Peppajee from his blankets at midnight and to impel him, unfriendly as he usually seemed, to confide his worry to him at once and without urging. And yet, to steal the Peaceful Hart ranch—the idea was ludicrous. Still, there was no harm in looking around a bit. He sought a sagebrush that suited his purpose, tied his horse to it, stooped, and took the clanking Mexican spurs from his heels, and touched Peppajee on the shoulder.
“All right,” he murmured close to his ear, “we go see.”
Without a word, Peppajee turned, and stole away toward the meadows, keeping always in the shadow of rock or bush, silent-footed as a prowling bobcat. Close behind him, not quite so silent because of his riding-boots, which would strike now and then upon a rock, however careful he was of his footing, went Good Indian.
So they circled the meadow, came into sand and sage beyond, sought there unavailingly, went on to the orchard, and skirted it, keen of eye and ear, struck quietly through it, and came at last to the place where, the night before, Grant had overtaken Evadna—and it surprised him not a little to feel his heart pounding unreasonably against his ribs when he stopped beside the rock where they had sat and quarreled.
Peppajee looked back to see why Grant paused there, and then, wrapping his blanket tightly around him, crawled through the fence, and went on, keeping to the broad belt of shade cast upon the ground by the row of poplars. Where the shade stopped abruptly, and beyond lay white moonlight with the ranch buildings blotching it here and there, he stopped and waited until Good Indian stood close beside him. Even then he did not speak, but, freeing an arm slowly from the blanket folds, pointed toward the stable.
