Good Indian

by B. M. Bower

  CHAPTER VII. MISS GEORGIE HOWARD, OPERATOR

  "Where is the delightful Mr. Good Indian off to?" Evadna stoppeddrumming upon the gatepost and turned toward the person she heard comingup behind her, who happened to be Gene. He stopped to light a matchupon the gate and put his cigarette to work before he answered her; andEvadna touched tentatively the wide, blue ribbon wound round her arm andtied in a bow at her elbow, and eyed him guardedly.

  "Straight up, he told me," Gene answered sourly. "He's sore oversomething that happened last night, and he didn't seem to have any talkto give away this morning. He can go to the dickens, for all I care."

  "WHAT--happened last night?" Evadna wore her Christmas-angel expression;and her tone was the sweet, insipid tone of childlike innocence.

  Gene hesitated. It seemed a sheer waste of opportunity to tell her thetruth when she would believe a falsehood just as readily; but, since thetruth happened to be quite as improbable as a lie, he decided to speakit.

  "There was a noise when the moon had just come up--didn't you hear it?The ghost I told you about. Good Injun went after it with a gun, and Iguess they mixed, all right, and he got the worst of it. He was sure onthe fight when he came back, and he's pulled out this morning--"

  "Do you mean to tell me--did you see it, really?"

  "Well, you ask Clark, when you see him," Gene hinted darkly. "You justask him what was in the grove last night. Ask him what he HEARD." Hemoved closer, and laid his hand impressively upon her arm. Evadna wincedperceptibly. "What yuh jumping for? You didn't see anything, did you?"

  "No; but--was there REALLY something?" Evadna freed herself asunobtrusively as possible, and looked at him with wide eyes.

  "You ask Clark. He'll tell you--maybe. Good Injun's scared clean off theranch--you can see that for yourself. He said he couldn't be hired tospend another night here. He thinks it's a bad sign. That's the Injun ofit. They believe in spirits and signs and things."

  Evadna turned thoughtful. "And didn't he tell you what he--that is, ifhe found out--you said he went after it--"

  "He wouldn't say a blamed thing about it," Gene complained sincerely."He said there wasn't anything--he told us it was a screech-owl."

  "Oh!" Evadna gave a sigh of relief. "Well, I'm going to ask Clark whatit was--I'm just crazy about ghost stories, only I never would DAREleave the house after dark if there are funny noises and things,really. I think you boys must be the bravest fellows, to sleep outthere--without even your mother with you!"

  She smiled the credulous smile of ignorant innocence and pulled the gateopen.

  "Jack promised to take me up to Hartley to-day," she explained over hershoulder. "When I come back, you'll show me just where it was, won'tyou, Gene? You don't suppose it would walk in the grove in the daytime,do you? Because I'm awfully fond of the grove, and I do hope it will bepolite enough to confine its perambulations entirely to the conventionalmidnight hour."

  Gene did not make any reply. Indeed, he seemed wholly absorbed instaring after her and wondering just how much or how little of it shemeant.

  Evadna looked back, midway between the gate and the stable, and, whenshe saw him standing exactly as she had left him, she waved her hand andsmiled. She was still smiling when she came up to where Jack was givingthose last, tentative twitches and pats which prove whether a saddle isproperly set and cinched; and she would not say what it was that amusedher. All the way up the grade, she smiled and grew thoughtful by turns;and, when Jack mentioned the fact that Good Indian had gone off madabout something, she contented herself with the simple, unqualifiedstatement that she was glad of it.

  Grant's horse dozed before the store, and Grant himself sat upon a benchin the narrow strip of shade on the porch. Evadna, therefore, refusedabsolutely to dismount there, though her errand had been a post-officemoney order. Jack was already on the ground when she made known herdecision; and she left him in the middle of his expostulations and rodeon to the depot. He followed disapprovingly afoot; and, when she broughther horse to a stand, he helped her from the saddle, and took the bridlereins with an air of weary tolerance.

  "When you get ready to go home, you can come to the store," he saidbluntly. "Huckleberry wouldn't stand here if you hog-tied him. Justremember that if you ever ride up here alone--it might save you a walkback. And say," he added, with a return of his good-natured grin, "itlooks like you and Good Injun didn't get acquainted yesterday. I thoughtI saw mum give him an introduction to you--but I guess I made a mistake.When you come to the store, don't let me forget, and I'll do it myself."

  "Oh, thank you, Jack--but it isn't necessary," chirped Evadna, and lefthim with the smile which he had come to regard with vague suspicion ofwhat it might hide of her real feelings.

  Two squaws sat cross-legged on the ground in the shade of the littlered depot; and them she passed by hastily, her eyes upon them watchfullyuntil she was well upon the platform and was being greeted joyfullyby Miss Georgie Howard, then in one of her daily periods of intenseboredom.

  "My, my, but you're an angel of deliverance--and by rights you shouldhave a pair of gauze wings, just to complete the picture," she cried,leading her inside and pushing her into a beribboned wicker rocker. "Iwas just getting desperate enough to haul in those squaws out thereand see if I couldn't teach 'em whist or something." She sat downand fingered her pompadour absently. "And that sure would have beeninteresting," she added musingly.

  "Don't let me interrupt you," Evadna began primly. "I only came for amoney order--Aunt Phoebe's sending for--"

  "Never mind what you came for," Miss Georgie cut in decisively, andlaughed. "The express agent is out. You can't get your order till we'vehad a good talk and got each other tagged mentally--only I've tagged youlong ago."

  "I thought you were the express agent. Aunt Phoebe said--"

  "Nice, truthful Aunt Phoebe! I am, but I'm out--officially. I'm severalthings, my dear; but, for the sake of my own dignity and self-respect,I refuse to be more than one of them at a time. When I sell a ticketto Shoshone, I'm the ticket agent, and nothing else. Telegrams, I'm theoperator. At certain times I'm the express agent. I admit it. But thisisn't one of the times."

  She stopped and regarded her visitor with whimsical appraisement."You'll wait till the agent returns, won't you?" And added, with agrimace: "You won't be in the way--I'm not anything official right now.I'm a neighbor, and this is my parlor--you see, I planted you on thatrug, with the books at your elbow, and that geranium also; and you're inthe rocker, so you're really and truly in my parlor. I'm over the linemyself, and you're calling on me. Sabe? That little desk by the safe isthe express office, and you can see for yourself that the agent is out."

  "Well, upon my word!" Evadna permitted herself that much emotionalrelief. Then she leaned her head against the cherry-colored head-resttied to the chair with huge, cherry-colored bows, and took a deliberatesurvey of the room.

  It was a small room, as rooms go. One corner was evidently the telegraphoffice, for it held a crude table, with the instruments clickingspasmodically, form pads, letter files, and mysterious things whichpiqued her curiosity. Over it was a railroad map and a makeshiftbulletin board, which seemed to give the time of certain trains.And small-paned windows gave one sitting before the instruments anunobstructed view up and down the track. In the corner behind the doorwas a small safe, with door ajar, and a desk quite as small, with,"Express Office: Hours, 8 A.M. to 6 P.M." on a card above it.

  Under a small window opening upon the platform was another little table,with indications of occasional ticket-selling upon it. And in the end ofthe room where she sat were various little adornments--"art" calendars,a few books, fewer potted plants, a sewing-basket, and two rugs upon thefloor, with a rocker for each. Also there was a tiny, square table, witha pack of cards scattered over it.

  "Exactly. You have it sized up correctly, my dear." Miss Georgie Howardnodded her--head three times, and her eyes were mirthful. "It's a game.I made it a game. I had to, in self-defense. Otherwise--" She waveda h
and conspicuous for its white plumpness and its fingers taperingbeautifully to little, pink nails immaculately kept. "I took at thejob and the place just as it stands, without anything in the way ofmitigation. Can you see yourself holding it down for longer than a week?I've been here a month."

  "I think," Evadna ventured, "it must be fun."

  "Oh, yes. It's fun--if you make fun OF it. However, before we settledown for a real visit, I've a certain duty to perform, if you willexcuse my absence for a moment. Incidentally," she added, getting lazilyout of the chair, "it will illustrate just how I manage my system."

  Her absence was purely theoretical. She stepped off the rug, went to the"express office," and took a card from the desk. When she had stood itupright behind the inkwell, Evadna read in large, irregular capitals:

  "OUT. WILL BE BACK LATER."

  Miss Georgie Howard paid no attention to the little giggle which wentwith the reading, but stepped across to the ticket desk and to thetelegraph table, and put similar cards on display. Then she came back tothe rug, plumped down in her rocker with a sigh of relief, and reachedfor a large, white box--the five pounds of chocolates which she had sentfor.

  "I never eat candy when I'm in the office," she observed soberly. "Iconsider it unprofessional. Help yourself as liberally as your digestionwill stand--and for Heaven's sake, gossip a little! Tell me allabout that bunch of nifty lads I see cavorting around the storeoccasionally--and especially about the polysyllabic gentleman who seemsto hang out at the Peaceful Hart ranch. I'm terribly taken with him.He--excuse me, chicken. There's a fellow down the line hollering hishead off. Wait till I see what he wants."

  Again she left the rug, stepped to the telegraph instrument, andfingered the key daintily until she had, with the other hand, turneddown the "out" card. Then she threw the switch, rattled an impatientreply, and waited, listening to the rapid clicking of the sounder. Hereyes and her mouth hardened as she read.

  "Cad!" she gritted under her breath. Her fingers were spiteful as theyclicked the key in answer. She slammed the current off, set up the "out"notice again, kicked the desk chair against the wall, and came back tothe "parlor" breathing quickly.

  "I think it must be perfectly fascinating to talk that way to personsmiles off," said Evadna, eying the chittering sounder with somethingapproaching awe. "I watched your fingers, and tried to imagine what itwas they were saying--but I couldn't even guess."

  Miss Georgie Howard laughed queerly. "No, I don't suppose you could,"she murmured, and added, with a swift glance at the other: "They said,'You go to the devil.'" She held up the offending hand and regarded itintently. "You wouldn't think it of them, would you? But they have tosay things sometimes--in self-defense. There are two or three freshyoung men along the line that can't seem to take a hint unless you knockthem in the head with it."

  She cast a malevolent look at the clicking instrument. "He's trying tosquare himself," she observed carelessly. "But, unfortunately, I'm out.He seems on the verge of tears, poor thing."

  She poked investigatingly among the chocolates, and finally selected adelectable morsel with epicurean care.

  "You haven't told me about the polysyllabic young man," she reminded."He has held my heart in bondage since he said to Pete Hamiltonyesterday in the store--ah--" She leaned and barely reached a slipof paper which was lying upon a row of books. "I wrote it down so Iwouldn't forget it," she explained parenthetically. "He said to Pete,in the store, just after Pete had tried to say something funny with theusual lamentable failure--um--'You are mentally incapable of recognizingthe line of demarcation between legitimate persiflage and objectionablefamiliarity.' Now, I want to know what sort of a man, under fifty andnot a college professor, would--or could--say that without studying itfirst. It sounded awfully impromptu and easy--and yet he looks--well,cowboyish. What sort of a young man is he?"

  "He's a perfectly horrid young man." Evadna leaned to help herself tomore chocolates. "He--well, just to show you how horrid, he calls mea--a Christmas angel! And--"

  "Did he!" Miss Georgie eyed her measuringly between bites. "Tag himas being intelligent, a keen observer, with the ability to expresshimself--" She broke off, and turned her head ungraciously toward thesounder, which seemed to be repeating something over and over with agood deal of insistence. "That's Shoshone calling," she said, frowningattentively. "They've got an old crank up there in the office--I'd knowhis touch among a million--and when he calls he means business. I'llhave to speak up, I suppose." She sighed, tucked a chocolate into hercheek, and went scowling to the table. "Can't the idiot see I'm out?"she complained whimsically. "What's that card for, I wonder?"

  She threw the switch, rattled a reply, and then, as the sounder settleddown to a steady click-clickety-click-click, she drew a pad toward her,pulled up the chair with her foot, sat down, and began to write themessage as it came chattering over the wire. When it was finished andthe sounder quiet, her hand awoke to life upon the key. She seemed to berepeating the message, word for word. When she was done, she listened,got her answer, threw off the switch with a sweep of her thumb, andfumbled among the papers on the table until she found an envelope. Sheaddressed it with a hasty scrawl of her pencil, sealed it with a viciouslittle spat of her hand, and then sat looking down upon it thoughtfully.

  "I suppose I've got to deliver that immediately, at once, withoutdelay," she said. "There's supposed to be an answer. Chicken, some queerthings happen in this business. Here's that weak-eyed, hollow-chestedSaunders, that seems to have just life enough to put in about ten hoursa day reading 'The Duchess,' getting cipher messages like the hero of adetective story. And sending them, too, by the way. We operators are notsupposed to think; but all the same--" She got her receipt-book, filledrapidly a blank line, tucked it under her arm, and went up and tappedEvadna lightly upon the head with the envelope. "Want to come along? Orwould you rather stay here? I won't be more than two minutes."

  She was gone five; and she returned with a preoccupied air which lasteduntil she had disposed of three chocolates and was carefully choosing afourth.

  "Chicken," she said then, quietly, "do you know anything about youruncle and his affairs?" And added immediately: "The chances are ten toone you don't, and wouldn't if you lived there till you were gray?"

  "I know he's perfectly lovely," Evadna asserted warmly. "And so is AuntPhoebe."

  "To be sure." Miss Georgie smiled indulgently. "I quite agree with you.And by the way, I met that polysyllabic cowboy again--and I discoveredthat, on the whole, my estimate was incorrect. He's emphaticallymonosyllabic. I said sixteen nice things to him while I was waiting forPete to wake up Saunders; and he answered in words of one syllable; oneword, of one syllable. I'm beginning to feel that I've simply got toknow that young man. There are deeps there which I am wild to explore.I never met any male human in the least like him. Did you? Soabsolutely--ah--inscrutable, let us say."

  "That's just because he's part Indian," Evadna declared, with thepositiveness of youth and inexperience. "It isn't inscrutability, butstupidity. I simply can't bear him. He's brutal, and rude. He toldme--told me, mind you--that he doesn't like women. He actually warnedme against thinking his politeness--if he ever is polite, which Idoubt--means more than just common humanity. He said he didn't want meto misunderstand him and think he liked me, because he doesn't. He's aperfect savage. I simply loathe him!"

  "I'd certainly see that he repented, apologized, and vowed eternaldevotion," smiled Miss Georgie. "That should be my revenge."

  "I don't want any revenge. I simply want nothing to do with him. I don'twant to speak to him, even."

  "He's awfully good--looking," mused Miss Georgie.

  "He looks to me just like an Indian. He ought to wear a blanket, likethe rest."

  "Then you're no judge. His eyes are dark; but they aren't snaky, mydear. His hair is real wavy, did you notice? And he has the dearest,firm mouth. I noticed it particularly, because I admire a man who'sa man. He's one. He'd fight and never give up, once he started. And Ithink"--
she spoke hesitatingly--"I think he'd love--and never give up;unless the loved one disappointed him in some way; and then he'd bestrong enough to go his way and not whine about it. I do hate a whiner!Don't you?"

  A shadow fell upon the platform outside the door, and Saunders appeared,sidling deprecatingly into the room. He pulled off his black, slouchedhat and tucked it under his arm, smoothed his lank, black hair, ran hispalm down over his lank, unshaven face with a smoothing gesture, andsidled over to the telegraph table.

  "Here's the answer to that message," he said, in a limp tone, withoutany especial emphasis or inflection. "If you ain't too busy, and couldsend it right off--it's to go C.O.D. and make 'em repeat it, so as to besure--"

  "Certainly, Mr. Saunders." Miss Georgie rose, the crisp, businesslikeoperator, and went to the table. She took the sheet of paper from himwith her finger tips, as if he were some repulsive creature whose touchwould send her shuddering, and glanced at the message. "Write it on theregular form," she said, and pushed a pad and pencil toward him. "I haveto place it on file." Whereupon she turned her back upon him, and stoodstaring down the railroad track through the smoke-grimed window until amovement warned her that he was through.

  "Very well--that is all," she said, after she had counted the wordstwice. "Oh--you want to wait for the repeat."

  She laid her fingers on the key and sent the message in a whirl ofchittering little sounds, waited a moment while the sounder spoke,paused, and then began a rapid clicking, which was the repeated message,and wrote it down upon its form.

  "There--if it's correct, that's all," she told him in a tone ofdismissal, and waited openly for him to go. Which he did, after a slyglance at Evadna, a licking of pale lips, as if he would speak butlacked the courage, and a leering grin at Miss Georgie.

  He was no sooner over the threshold than she slammed the door shut,in spite of the heat. She walked to the window, glanced down the trackagain, turned to the table, and restlessly arranged the form pads,sticking the message upon the file. She said something under her breath,snapped the cover on the inkwell, sighed, patted her pompadour, andfinally laughed at her own uneasiness.

  "Whenever that man comes in here," she observed impatiently, "I alwaysfeel as if I ought to clean house after him. If ever there was a humantoad--or snake, or--ugh! And what does he mean--sending twenty-wordmessages that don't make sense when you read them over, and gettingothers that are just a lot of words jumbled together, hit or miss? Iwish--only it's unprofessional to talk about it--but, just the same,there's some nasty business brewing, and I know it. I feel guilty,almost, every time I send one of those cipher messages."

  "Maybe he's a detective," Evadna hazarded.

  "Maybe." Miss Georgie's tone, however, was extremely skeptical. "Only,so far as I can discover, there's never been anything around here todetect. Nobody has been murdered, or robbed, or kidnapped that I everheard of. Pete Hamilton says not. And--I wonder, now, if Saunders couldbe watching somebody! Wouldn't it be funny, if old Pete himself turnedout to be a Jesse James brand of criminal? Can you imagine Pete doinganything more brutal than lick a postage stamp?"

  "He might want to," Evadna guessed shrewdly, "but it would be too muchtrouble."

  "Besides," Miss Georgie went on speculating, "Saunders never doesanything that anyone ever heard of. Sweeps out the store, they say--butI'd hate to swear to that. _I_ never could catch it when it lookedswept--and brings the mail sack over here twice a day, and gets oneto take back. And reads novels. Of course, the man's half dead withconsumption; but no one would object to that, if these queer wireshadn't commenced coming to him."

  "Why don't you turn detective yourself and find out?" Plainly, Evadnawas secretly laughing at her perturbed interest in the matter.

  "Thanks. I'm too many things already, and I haven't any false hair ordark lantern. And, by the way, I'm going to have the day off,Sunday. Charlie Green is coming up to relieve me. And--couldn't we dosomething?" She glanced wearily around the little office. "Honest, I'dgo crazy if I stayed here much longer without a play spell. I want toget clear out, away from the thing--where I can't even hear a trainwhistle."

  "Then you shall come down to the ranch the minute you can get away,and we'll do something or go somewhere. The boys said they'd take mefishing--but they only propose things so they can play jokes on me,it seems to me. They'd make me fall in the river, or something, I justknow. But if you'd like to go along, there'd be two of us--"

  "Chicken, we'll go. I ought to be ashamed to fish for an invitation theway I did, but I'm not. I haven't been down to the Hart ranch yet; andI've heard enough about it to drive me crazy with the desire to see it.Your Aunt Phoebe I've met, and fallen in love with--that's a matter ofcourse. She told me to visit her just any time, without waiting to beinvited especially. Isn't she the dearest thing? Oh! that's a trainorder, I suppose--sixteen is about due. Excuse me, chicken."

  She was busy then until the train came screeching down upon the station,paused there while the conductor rushed in, got a thin slip of paper forhimself and the engineer, and rushed out again. When the train grumbledaway from the platform and went its way, it left man standing there, afish-basket slung from one shoulder, a trout rod carefully wrapped inits case in his hand, a box which looked suspiciously like a case ofsome bottled joy at his feet, and a loose-lipped smile upon his face.

  "Howdy, Miss Georgie?" he called unctuously through the open door.

  Miss Georgie barely glanced at him from under her lashes, and hershoulders indulged themselves in an almost imperceptible twitch.

  "How do you do, Mr. Baumberger?" she responded coolly, and very, verygently pushed the door shut just as he had made up his mind to enter.