by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER XXVI. "WHEN THE SUN GOES AWAY"
"I wish," said Phoebe, putting her two hands on Miss Georgie's shouldersat the gate and looking up at her with haggard eyes, "you'd see whatyou can do with Vadnie. The poor child's near crazy; she ain't used toseeing such things happen--"
"Where is she?" Good Indian asked tersely, and was answered immediatelyby the sound of sobbing on the east porch. The three went together, butit was Grant who reached her first.
"Don't cry, Goldilocks," he said tenderly, bending over her. "It's allright now. There isn't going to be any more--"
"Oh! Don't TOUCH me!" She sprang up and backed from him, horror plain inher wide eyes. "Make him keep away, Aunt Phoebe!"
Good Indian straightened, and stood perfectly still, looking at her in astunned, incredulous way.
"Chicken, don't be silly!" Miss Georgie's sane tones were like a breathof clean air. "You've simply gone all to pieces. I know what nerves cando to a woman--I've had 'em myself. Grant isn't going to bite you, andyou're not afraid of him. You're proud of him, and you know it. He'sacted the man, chicken!--the man we knew he was, all along. So pullyourself together, and let's not have any nonsense."
"He--KILLED a man! I saw him do it. And he's going to kill some more. Imight have known he was like that! I might have KNOWN when he tried toshoot me that night in the orchard when I was trying to scare Gene! Ican show you the mark--where he grazed my arm! And he LAUGHED about it!I called him a savage then--and I was RIGHT--only he can be so nice whenhe wants to be--and I forgot about the Indian in him--and then he killedMr. Baumberger! He's lying out there now! I'd rather DIE than let him--"
Miss Georgie clapped a hand over her mouth, and stopped her. Also, shegripped her by the shoulder indignantly.
"'Vadna Ramsey, I'm ashamed of you!" she cried furiously. "For Heaven'ssake, Grant, go on off somewhere and wait till she settles down. Don'tstand there looking like a stone image--didn't you ever see a caseof nerves before? She doesn't know what she's saying--if she did, shewouldn't be saying it. You go on, and let me handle her alone. Men arejust a nuisance in a case like this."
She pushed Evadna before her into the kitchen, waited until Phoebe hadfollowed, and then closed the door gently and decisively upon Grant. Butnot before she had given him a heartening smile just to prove that hemust not take Evadna seriously, because she did not.
"We'd better take her to her room, Mrs. Hart," she suggested, "and makeher lie down for a while. That poor fellow--as if he didn't have enoughon his hands without this!"
"I'm not on his hands! And I won't lie down!" Evadna jerked away fromMiss Georgie, and confronted them both pantingly, her cheeks still wetwith tears. "You act as if I don't know what I'm doing' and I DO know.If I should lie down for a MILLION YEARS, I'd feel just the same aboutit. I couldn't bear him to TOUCH me! I--"
"For Heaven's sake, don't shout it," Miss Georgie interrupted,exasperatedly. "Do you want him--"
"To hear? _I_ don't care whether he does or not." Evadna was turningsullen at the opposition. "He'll have to know it SOME TIME, won't he? Ifyou think can forgive a thing like that and let--"
"He had to do it. Baumberger would have killed HIM. He had a perfectright to kill. He'd have been a fool and a coward if he hadn't. You comeand lie down a while."
"I WON'T lie down. I don't care if he did have to do it--I couldn'tlove him afterward. And he didn't have to go down there and threatenStanley--and--HE'LL DO IT, TOO!" She fell to trembling again. "He'll DOit--at sundown."
Phoebe and Miss Georgie looked at each other. He would, if the menstayed. They knew that.
"And I was going to marry him!" Evadna shuddered when she said it, andcovered her face with her two hands. "He wasn't sorry afterward; youcould see he wasn't sorry. He was ready to kill more men. It's theIndian in him. He LIKES to kill people. He'll kill those men, and hewon't be a bit sorry he did it. And he could come to me afterward andexpect me--Oh, what does he think I AM?" She leaned against the wall,and sobbed.
"I suppose," she wailed, lashing herself with every bitter thoughtshe could conjure, "he killed Saunders, too, like old Hagar said. Hewouldn't tell me where he was that morning. I asked him, and he wouldn'ttell. He was up there killing Saunders--"
"If you don't shut up, I'll shake you!" Miss Georgie in her fury did notwait, but shook her anyway as if she had been a ten-year-old child in atantrum.
"My Heavens above! I'll stand for nerves and hysterics, and almost anyold thing, but you're going a little bit too far, my lady. There's noexcuse for your talking such stuff as that, and you're not going todo it, if I have to gag you! Now, you march to your own room and--STAYthere. Do you hear? And don't you dare let another yip out of you tillyou can talk sense."
Good Indian stood upon the porch, and heard every word of that. He heardalso the shuffle of feet as Miss Georgie urged Evadna to her room--itsounded almost as if she dragged her there by force--and he rolled acigarette with fingers that did not so much as quiver. He scratched amatch upon the nearest post, and afterward leaned there and smoked,and stared out over the pond and up at the bluff glowing yellow inthe sunlight. His face was set and expressionless except that it wasstoically calm, and there was a glitter deep down in his eyes. Evadnawas right, to a certain extent the Indian in him held him quiet.
It occurred to him that someone ought to pick up Baumberger, and put himsomewhere, but he did not move. The boys and Peaceful must have stayeddown in the garden, he thought. He glanced up at the tops of the noddingpoplars, and estimated idly by their shadow on the bluff how long itwould be before sundown, and as idly wondered if Stanley and the otherswould go, or stay. There was nothing they could gain by staying, heknew, now that Baumberger was out of it. Unless they got stubbornand wanted to fight. In that case, he supposed he would eventually beplanted alongside his father. He wished he could keep the boys and oldPeaceful out of it, in case there was a fight, but he knew that would beimpossible. The boys, at least, had been itching for something like thisever since the trouble started.
Good Indian had, not so long ago, spent hours in avoiding all thoughtthat he might prolong the ecstasy of mere feeling. Now he had reversedthe desire. He was thinking of this thing and of that, simply that hemight avoid feeling. If someone didn't kill him within the next hour orso, he was going to feel something--something that would hurt him morethan he had been hurt since his father died in that same house. But inthe meantime he need only think.
The shadow of the grove, with the long fingers of the poplars topoint the way, climbed slowly up the bluff. Good Indian smoked anothercigarette while he watched it. When a certain great bowlder that waslike a miniature ledge glowed rosily and then slowly darkened to a chillgray, he threw his cigarette stub unerringly at a lily-pad which hadcourtesied many a time before to a like missile from his hand, pulledhis hat down over his eyes, jumped off the porch, and started around thehouse to the gate which led to the stable.
Phoebe came out from the sitting-room, ran down the steps, and barredhis way.
"Grant!" she said, and there were tears in her eyes, "don't do anythingrash--don't. If it's for our sakes--and I know it is--don't do it.They'll go, anyway. We'll have the law on them and make them go. Butdon't YOU go down there. You let Thomas handle that part. You're likeone of my own boys. I can't let you go!"
He looked down at her commiseratingly. "I've got to go, Mother Hart.I've made my war-talk." He hesitated, bent his head, and kissed her onthe forehead as she stood looking up at him, and went on.
"Grant--GRANT!" she cried heartbrokenly after him, and sank down on theporch-steps with her face hidden in her arms.
Miss Georgie was standing beside the gate, looking toward the stable.She may not have been waiting for him, but she turned without any showof surprise when he walked up behind her.
"Well, your jumpers seem to have taken the hint," she informed him, witha sort of surface cheerfulness. "Stanley is down there talking to Mr.Hart now, and the others have gone on. They'll all be well over thedead-line b
y sundown. There goes Stanley now. Do you really feel thatyour future happiness depends on getting through this gate? Well--if youmust--" She swung it open, but she stood in the opening.
"Grant, I--it's hard to say just what I want to say--but--you did right.You acted the man's part. No matter what--others--may think or say,remember that I think you did right to kill that man. And if there'sanything under heaven that I can do, to--to help--you'll let me do it,won't you?" Her eyes held him briefly, unabashed at what they mighttell. Then she stepped back, and contradicted them with a little laugh."I will get fired sure for staying over my time," she said. "I'll wirefor the coroner soon as I get to the office. This will never come to atrial, Grant. He was like a crazy man, and we all saw him shoot first."
She waited until he had passed through and was a third of the way tothe stable where Peaceful Hart and his boys were gathered, and then shefollowed him briskly, as if her mind was taken up with her own affairs.
"It's a shame you fellows got cheated out of a scrap," she taunted Jack,who held her horse for her while she settled herself in the saddle. "Youwere all spoiling for a fight--and there did seem to be the makings of abeautiful row!"
Save for the fact that she kept her eyes studiously turned away from acertain place near by, where the dust was pressed down smoothly withthe weight of a heavy body, and all around was trampled and tracked, onecould not have told that Miss Georgie remembered anything tragic.
But Good Indian seemed to recall something, and went quickly over to herjust in time to prevent her starting.
"Was there something in particular you wanted when you came?" he asked,laying a hand on the neck of the bay. "It just occurred to me that theremust have been."
She leaned so that the others could not hear, and her face was graveenough now.
"Why, yes. It's old Hagar. She came to me this afternoon, and she hadthat bunch of hair you cut off that was snarled in the bush. She hadyour knife. She wanted me to buy them--the old blackmailer! She madethreats, Grant--about Saunders. She says you--I came right down to tellyou, because I was afraid she might make trouble. But there was so muchmore on hand right here"--she glanced involuntarily at the trampledplace in the dust. "She said she'd come back this evening, 'when thesun goes away.' She's there now, most likely. What shall I tell her? Wecan't have that story mouthed all over the country."
Good Indian twisted a wisp of mane in his fingers, and frownedabstractedly.
"If you'll ride on slowly," he told her, at last straightening thetwisted lock, "I'll overtake you. I think I'd better see that oldJezebel myself."
Secretly he was rather thankful for further action. He told the boyswhen they fired questions at his hurried saddling that he was going totake Miss Georgie home, and that he would be back before long; in anhour, probably. Then he galloped down the trail, and overtook her at thePoint o' Rocks.
The sun was down, and the sky was a great, glowing mass of color. Roundthe second turn of the grade they came upon Stanley, walking with hishands thrust in his trousers pockets and whistling softly to himself asif he were thinking deeply. Perhaps he was glad to be let off so easily.
"Abandoning my claim," he announced, lightly as a man of his prosaictemperament could speak upon such a subject. "Dern poor placer miningdown there, if yuh want to know!"
Good Indian scowled at him and rode on, because a woman rode beside him.Seven others they passed farther up the hill. Those seven gave him scowlfor scowl, and did not speak a word; that also because a woman rodebeside him. And the woman understood, and was glad that she was there.
From the Indian camp, back in the sage-inclosed hollow, rose a soundof high-keyed wailing. The two heard it, and looked at each otherquestioningly.
"Something's up over there," Good Indian said, answering her look. "Thatsounds to me like the squaws howling over a death."
"Let's go and see. I'm so late now, a few minutes more won't matter, oneway or the other." Miss Georgie pulled out her watch, looked at it, andmade a little grimace. So they turned into the winding trail, and rodeinto the camp.
There were confusion, and wailing, and a buzzing of squaws around acertain wikiup. Dogs sat upon their haunches, and howled lugubriouslyuntil someone in passing kicked them into yelping instead. Papoosesstood nakedly about, and regarded the uproar solemnly, running to peerinto the wikiup and then scamper back to their less hardy fellows. Onlythe bucks stood apart in haughty unconcern, speaking in undertones whenthey talked at all. Good Indian commanded Miss Georgie to remain justoutside the camp, and himself rode in to where the bucks were gathered.Then he saw Peppajee sitting beside his own wikiup, and went to himinstead.
"What's the matter here, Peppajee?" he asked. "Heap trouble walk down atHart Ranch. Trouble walk here all same, mebbyso?"
Peppajee looked at him sourly, but the news was big, and it must betold.
"Heap much trouble come. Squaw callum Hagar make much talk. Do much bad,mebbyso. Squaw Rachel ketchum bad heart along yo'. Heap cry all time.No sleepum, no eatum--all time heap sad. Ketchum bad spirit, mebbyso.Ketchum debbil. Sun go 'way, ketchum knife, go Hagar wikiup.Killum Hagar--so." He thrust out his arm as one who stabs. "Killumhimself--so." He struck his chest with his clenched fist. "Hagar heapdead. Rachel heap dead. Kay bueno. Mebbyso yo' heap bad medicine. Yo'go."
"A squaw just died," he told Miss Georgie curtly, when they rode on. Buther quick eyes noted a new look in his face. Before it had been graveand stern and bitter; now it was sorrowful instead.
CHAPTER XXVII. LIFE ADJUSTS ITSELF AGAIN TO SOME THINGS
The next day was a day of dust hanging always over the grade because ofmuch hurried riding up and down; a day of many strange faces whose eyespeered curiously at the place where Baumberger fell, and at the coldashes of Stanley's campfire, and at the Harts and their house, and theirhorses and all things pertaining in the remotest degree to the dramawhich had been played grimly there to its last, tragic "curtain." Theystared up at the rim-rock and made various estimates of the distance andargued over the question of marksmanship, and whether it really took agood shot to fire from the top and hit a man below.
As for the killing of Baumberger, public opinion tried--with the aid ofvarious plugs of tobacco and much expectoration--the case and rendereda unanimous verdict upon it long before the coroner arrived. "Done justright," was the verdict of Public Opinion, and the self-constitutedjudges manifested their further approval by slapping Good Indian uponthe back when they had a chance, or by solemnly shaking hands with him,or by facetiously assuring him that they would be good. All of whichGrant interpreted correctly as sympathy and a desire to show him thatthey did not look upon him as a murderer, but as a man who had thecourage to defend himself and those dear to him from a great danger.
With everything so agreeably disposed of according to the crude--thoughnone the less true, perhaps--ethics of the time and the locality, it wastacitly understood that the coroner and the inquest he held in the grovebeside the house were a mere concession to red tape. Neverthelessa general tension manifested itself when the jury, after solemnlylistening, in their official capacity, to the evidence they had heardand discussed freely hours before, bent heads and whispered brieflytogether. There was also a corresponding atmosphere of relief when theverdict of Public Opinion was called justifiable homicide by the coronerand so stamped with official approval.
When that was done they carried Baumberger's gross physical shell awayup the grade to the station; and the dust of his passing settled uponthe straggling crowd that censured his misdeeds and mourned not at all,and yet paid tribute to his dead body with lowered voices while theyspoke of him, and with awed silence when the rough box was lowered tothe station platform.
As the sky clears and grows blue and deep and unfathomably peacefulafter a storm, as trees wind-riven straighten and nod graciously to thelittle cloud-boats that sail the blue above, and wave dainty finger-tipsof branches in bon voyage, so did the Peaceful Hart ranch, when thedust had settled after the latest departure and the whist
le of thetrain--which bore the coroner and that other quiet passenger--camefaintly down over the rim-rock, settle with a sigh of relief into itsold, easy habits of life.
All, that is, save Good Indian himself, and perhaps one other.
. . . . . . . . .
Peaceful cleared his white mustache and beard from a few stray drops ofcoffee and let his mild blue eyes travel slowly around the table, fromone tanned young face to another.
"Now the excitement's all over and done with," he drawled in hishalf-apologetic tones, "it wouldn't be a bad idea for you boys to getto work and throw the water back where it belongs. I dunno but what thegarden's spoiled already; but the small fruit can be saved."
"Clark and I was going up to the Injun camp," spoke up Gene. "We wantedto see--"
"You'll have to do some riding to get there," Good Indian informed themdryly. "They hit the trail before sunrise this morning."
"Huh! What were YOU doing up there that time of day?" blurted Wally,eying him sharply.
"Watching the sun rise." His lips smiled over the retort, but his eyesdid not. "I'll lower the water in your milk-house now, Mother Hart," hepromised lightly, "so you won't have to wear rubber-boots when you go toskim the milk." He gave Evadna a quick, sidelong glance as she came intothe room, and pushed back his chair. "I'll get at it right away," hesaid cheerfully, picked up his hat, and went out whistling. Then he puthis head in at the door. "Say," he called, "does anybody know where thatlong-handled shovel is?" Again he eyed Evadna without seeming to see herat all.
"If it isn't down at the stable," said Jack soberly, "or by theapple-cellar or somewhere around the pond or garden, look along theditches as far up as the big meadow. And if you don't run across itthere--" The door slammed, and Jack laughed with his eyes fast shut andthree dimples showing.
Evadna sank listlessly into her chair and regarded him and all herlittle world with frank disapproval.
"Upon my WORD, I don't see how anybody can laugh, after what hashappened on this place," she said dismally, "or--WHISTLE, after--" Herlips quivered a little. She was a distressed Christmas angel, if everthere was one.
Wally snorted. "Want us to go CRYING around because the row's over?" hedemanded. "Think Grant ought to wear crepe, I suppose--because he ain'ton ice this morning--or in jail, which he'd hate a lot worse. Think weought to go around with our jaws hanging down so you could step on 'em,because Baumberger cashed in? Huh! All hurts MY feelings is, I didn'tget a whack at the old devil myself!" It was a long speech for Wally tomake, and he made it with deliberate malice.
"Now you're shouting!" applauded Gene, also with the intent to beshocking.
"THAT'S the stuff," approved Clark, grinning at Evadna's horrified eyes.
"Grant can run over me sharp-shod and I won't say a word, for what hedid day before yesterday," declared Jack, opening his eyes and lookingstraight at Evadna. "You don't see any tears rolling down MY cheeks, Ihope?"
"Good Injun's the stuff, all right. He'd 'a' licked the hull damn--"
"Now, Donny, be careful what language you use," Phoebe admonished, andso cut short his high-pitched song of praise.
"I don't care--I think it's perfectly awful." Evadna lookeddistastefully upon her breakfast. "I just can't sleep in that room, AuntPhoebe. I tried not to think about it, but it opens right that way."
"Huh!" snorted Wally. "Board up the window, then, so you can't see thefatal spot!" His gray eyes twinkled. "I could DANCE on it myself," hesaid, just to horrify her--which he did. Evadna shivered, pressed herwisp of handkerchief against her lips, and left the table hurriedly.
"You boys ought to be ashamed of yourselves!" Phoebe scoldedhalf-heartedly; for she had lived long in the wild, and had seen muchthat was raw and primitive. "You must take into consideration thatVadnie isn't used to such things. Why, great grief! I don't suppose thechild ever SAW a dead man before in her life--unless he was laid out inchurch with flower-anchors piled knee-deep all over him. And to seeone shot right before her very eyes--and by the man she expects--or didexpect to marry--why, you can't wonder at her looking at it the way shedoes. It isn't Vadnie's fault. It's the way she's been raised."
"Well," observed Wally in the manner of delivering an ultimatum, "excuseME from any Eastern raising!"
A little later, Phoebe boldly invaded the secret chambers of GoodIndian's heart when he was readjusting the rocks which formed the floorof the milk-house.
"Now, Grant," she began, laying her hand upon his shoulder as he kneltbefore her, straining at a heavy rock, "Mother Hart is going to give youa little piece of her mind about something that's none of her businessmaybe."
"You can give me as many pieces as you like. They're always goodmedicine," he assured her. But he kept his head bent so that hishat quite hid his face from her. "What about?" he asked, a betrayingtenseness in his voice.
"About Vadnie--and you. I notice you don't speak--you haven't that I'veseen, since that day--on the porch. You don't want to be too hard onher, Grant. Remember she isn't used to such things. She looks at itdifferent. She's never seen the times, as I have, where it's kill or bekilled. Be patient with her, Grant--and don't feel hard. She'll get overit. I want," she stopped because her voice was beginning to shake "--Iwant my biggest boy to be happy." Her hand slipped around his neck andpressed his head against her knee.
Good Indian got up and put his arms around her and held her close. Hedid not say anything at all for a minute, but when he did he spoke veryquietly, stroking her hair the while.
"Mother Hart, I stood on the porch and heard what she said in thekitchen. She accused me of killing Saunders. She said I liked to killpeople; that I shot at her and laughed at the mark I made on her arm.She called me a savage--an Indian. My mother's mother was the daughterof a chief. She was a good woman; my mother was a good woman; just asgood as if she had been white.
"Mother Hart, I'm a white man in everything but half my mother's blood.I don't remember her--but I respect her memory, and I am not ashamedbecause she was my mother. Do you think I could marry a girl who thinksof my mother as something which she must try to forgive? Do you thinkI could go to that girl in there and--and take her in my arms--and loveher, knowing that she feels as she does? She can't even forgive me forkilling that beast!
"She's a beautiful thing--I wanted to have her for my own. I'm a man.I've a healthy man's hunger for a beautiful woman, but I've a healthyman's pride as well." He patted the smooth cheek of the only woman hehad ever known as a mother, and stared at the rough rock wall oozingmoisture that drip-dripped to the pool below.
"I did think I'd go away for awhile," he said after a minute spent insober thinking. "But I never dodged yet, and I never ran. I'm going tostay and see the thing through, now. I don't know--" he hesitated andthen went on. "It may not last; I may have to suffer after awhile, butstanding out there, that day, listening to her carrying on, kind of--oh,I can't explain it. But I don't believe I wes half as deep in love as Ithought I was. I don't want to say anything against her; I've no right,for she's a thousand times better than I am. But she's different. Shenever would understand our ways, Mother Hart, or look at life as wedo; some people go through life looking at the little things that don'tmatter, and passing by the other, bigger things. If you keep your eyeglued to a microscope long enough, you're sure to lose the sense ofproportion.
"She won't speak to me," he continued after a short silence. "I tried totalk to her yesterday--"
"But you must remember, the poor child was hysterical that day when--shewent on so. She doesn't know anything about the realities of life. Shedoesn't mean to be hard."
"Yesterday," said Grant with an odd little smile, "she was nothysterical. It seems that--shooting--was the last little weight thattilted the scale against me. I don't think she ever cared two whoopsfor me, to tell you the truth. She's been ashamed of my Indian blood allalong; she said so. And I'm not a good lover; I neglected her all thewhile this trouble lasted, and I paid more attention to Georgie Howardthan I did to her--and I didn't satisfa
ctorily explain about that hairand knife that Hagar had. And--oh, it isn't the killing, altogether! Iguess we were both a good deal mistaken in our feelings."
"Well, I hope so," sighed Phoebe, wondering secretly at the decadence oflove. An emotion that could burn high and hot in a week, flare bravelyfor a like space, and die out with no seared heart to pay for theextravagance--she shook her head at it. That was not what she had beentaught to call love, and she wondered how a man and a maid could bemistaken about so vital an emotion.
"I suppose," she added with unusual sarcasm for her, "you'll be fallingin love with Georgie Howard, next thing anybody knows; and maybe thatwill last a week or ten days before you find out you were MISTAKEN!"
Good Indian gave her one of his quick, sidelong glances.
"She would not be eternally apologizing to herself for liking me,anyway," he retorted acrimoniously, as if he found it very hard toforgive Evadna her conscious superiority of race and upbringing."Squaw."
"Oh, I haven't a doubt of that!" Phoebe rose to the defense of her ownblood. "I don't know as it's in her to apologize for anything. I neversaw such a girl for going right ahead as if her way is the only way!Bull-headed, I'd call her." She looked at Good Indian afterward,studying his face with motherly solicitude.
"I believe you're half in love with her right now and don't know it!"she accused suddenly.
Good Indian laughed softly and bent to his work again.
"ARE you, Grant?" Phoebe laid a moist hand on his shoulder, and felt themuscles sliding smoothly beneath his clothing while he moved a rock. "Iain't mad because you and Vadnie fell out; I kind of looked for it tohappen. Love that grows like a mushroom lasts about as long--only _I_don't call it love! You might tell me--"
"Tell you what?" But Grant did not look up. "If I don't know it, I can'ttell it." He paused in his lifting and rested his hands upon his knees,the fingers dripping water back into the spring. He felt that Phoebe waswaiting, and he pressed his lips together. "Must a man be in love withsome woman all the time?" He shook his fingers impatiently so that thelast drops hurried to the pool.
"She's a good girl, and a brave girl," Phoebe remarked irrelevantly.
Good Indian felt that she was still waiting, with all the quietpersistence of her sex when on the trail of a romance. He reached upand caught the hand upon his shoulder, and laid it against his cheek. Helaughed surrender.
"Squaw-talk-far-off heap smart," he mimicked old Peppajee gravely. "Heapbueno." He stood up as suddenly as he had started his rock-lifting afew minutes before, and taking Phoebe by the shoulders, shook her withgentle insistence. "Put don't make me fall out of one love right intoanother," he protested whimsically. "Give a fellow time to roll acigarette, can't you?"
