That Girl Montana
"Back to Akkomi?" he asked, gaily. "Now, you know we would not hear to
that."
"It ain't your affair, only Dan's."
"Oh, excuse me for living on the same earth with you and Dan! It is not my
fault, you know. I suppose now, if you did desert us, it would be to act
as a sort of guardian angel to the tribes along the river, turn into a
whole life-saving service yourself, and pick up the superfluous reds who
tumble into the rivers. I wondered for a whole day why you made so strong
a swim for so unimportant an article."
"His mother thought he was important," she answered. "But I didn't know he
had a mother just then; all I thought as I started for him was that he was
so plucky. He tried his little best to save himself, and he never said one
word; that was what I liked about him. It would have been a pity to let
that sort of a boy be lost."
"You think a heap of that--of personal bravery--don't you? I notice you
gauge every one by that."
"Maybe I do. I know I hate a coward," she said, indifferently.
Then, as the canoe ran in to the shore, she for the first time saw
Overton, who was standing there waiting for them. She looked at him with
startled alertness as his eyes met hers. He looked like a statue--a
frontier sentinel standing tall and muscular with folded arms and gazing
with curious intentness from one to the other of the canoeists.
In the bottom of the boat a string of fish lay, fine speckled fellows, to
delight the palate of an epicure. She stooped and picking up the fish,
walked across the sands to him.
"Look, Dan!" she said, with unwonted humility. "They're the best I could
find, and--and I'm sorry enough for being ugly yesterday. I'll try not to
be any more. I'll do anything you want--yes, I will!" she added,
snappishly, as he smiled dubiously, she thought unbelievingly. "I'd--dress
like a boy, and go on the trails with you, paddle your canoe, or feed your
horse--I would, if you like."
Lyster, who was following, heard her words, and glanced at Overton with
curious meaning. Overton met the look with something like a threat in his
own eyes--a sort of "laugh if you dare!"
"But I don't like," Dan said, briefly, to poor 'Tana, who had made such a
great effort to atone for ugly words spoken to him the day before.
She said no more; and Lyster, walking beside her, pulled one of her unruly
curls teasingly, to make her look at him.
"Didn't I tell you it was better to give your smiles to me instead of to
Overton?" he asked, in a bantering way, as he took the string of fish. "I
care a great deal more about your good opinion than he does."
"Oh--you--" she began, and shrugged her shoulders for a silent finish to
her thought, as though words were useless.
"Oh, _me_! Of course, me. Now, if you had offered to paddle a canoe for
me, I'd--"
"You'd loll in the bottom of the boat and let me," she flashed out. "Of
course you would; you're made just that way."
"Sh--h, 'Tana," said Overton, while to himself he smiled in an indulgent
way, and thought: "That is like youth; they only quarrel when there is a
listener." Then turning to the girl, he said aloud:
"You know, 'Tana, I want you to learn other things besides paddling a
canoe. Such things are all right for a boy; but--"
"I know," she agreed; but there was a resentful tone in her voice. "And I
guess I'll never trouble you to do squaw's work for you again."
She looked squaw-like, but for her brown, curly hair, for she still wore
the dress Overton had presented to her at the Kootenai village; and very
becoming it was with its fancy fringes and dots of yellow, green, and
black beads. Only the hat was a civilized affair--the work of Mrs.
Huzzard, and was a wide, pretty "flat" of brown straw, while from its
crown some bunches of yellow rosebuds nodded--the very last "artificial"
blossoms left of Sinna Ferry's first millinery store. The young face
looked very piquant above the beaded collar; not so pinched or worn a face
as when the men had first seen her. The one week of sheltered content
had given her cheeks a fullness and color remarkable. She was prettier
than either man had imagined she would be. But it was not a joyous,
girlish face even yet. There was too much of something like suspicion in
it, a certain watchful attention given to the people with whom she came in
contact; and this did not seem to abate in the least. Overton had noticed
it, and decided that first night that she must have been treated badly by
people to have distrust come so readily to her. He noticed, also, that any
honest show of kindness soon won her over; and that to Lyster, with his
graceful little attentions and his amused interest, she turned from the
first hour of their acquaintance as to some chum who was in the very inner
circle of those to whom her favor was extended. Overton, hearing their
wordy wars and noting their many remarks of friendship, felt old, as
though their light enjoyment of little things made him realize the weight
of his own years, for he could no longer laugh with them.
Looking down now at the clouded young face under the hat, he felt
remorsefully like a "kill-joy;" for she had been cheery enough until she
caught sight of him.
"And you will never do squaw work for me again, little squaw?" Dan
questioned, banteringly. "Not even if I asked you?"
"You never will ask me," she answered, promptly.
"Well, then, not even if I should get sick and need a nurse?"
"You!" and she surveyed him from head to foot with pronounced unbelief.
"_You'll_ never be sick. You're strong as a mountain lion, or an old king
buffalo."
"Maybe," he agreed, and smiled slightly at the dubious compliment. "But
you know even the old king buffaloes die sometime."
"Die? Oh, yes, in a fight, or something of that sort; but they don't need
much medicine!"
"And even if you did," said Lyster, addressing Overton, "I'm going to give
you fair warning you can't depend on 'Tana, unless you mend your ways. She
threatened to-day to leave us, if you allow the shadow of your anger to
fall on her again. So take heed, or she will swim back to Akkomi."
Overton looked at her sharply, and saw that back of Lyster's badinage
there was something of truth.
"You did?" he asked, reproachfully. "I did not know I had been so bad a
friend to you as that."
But no answer was made to him. She was ashamed, and she looked it. She was
also angry at Lyster, and he was made aware of it by a withering glance.
"Now _I'm_ in her bad books," he complained; "but it was only my fear of
losing her that urged me to give you warning. I hope she does not take
revenge by refusing me all the dances I am looking forward to to-night.
I'd like to get you, as her guardian, on my side, Overton."
The girl looked up, expectantly, and rested her slim fingers on the arms
of the two men.
"I could not be of much use, unless I had an invitation myself to the
dance," Dan remarked, dryly; "mine has evidently been delayed in the
mail."
"You don't like it?" said the girl, detecting the fact in his slight
change of tone. "You don't want me to go to dances?"
"What an idea!" exclaimed Lyster. "Of course, he is not going to spoil our
good time by objecting--are you, Dan? I never thought of that. You see,
you were away; but, of course, I fancied you would like it, too. I'll
write you out a flourishing request for your presence, if that's all."
"It isn't necessary; I'll be there, I reckon. But why should you think I
mean to keep you from jollifications?" he asked, looking kindly at 'Tana.
"Don't get the idea in your head that I'm a sort of 'Bad Man from Roaring
River,' who eats a man or so for breakfast every day, and all the little
girls he comes across. No, indeed! I'll whistle for you to dance any time;
so get on your war-paint and feathers when it pleases you."
The prospect seemed to please her, for she walked closer to him and looked
up at him with more content.
"Anyway, you ain't like Captain Leek," she decided. "He's the worst old
baby! Why, he just said all sorts of things about dances. Guess he must be
a heavy swell where he comes from, and where all the fandangoes are got up
in gilt-edged style. I'd like to spoil the gilt for him a little. I will,
too, if he preaches any more of his la-de-da society rules to me. I'll
show him I'm a different boy from Mrs. Huzzard."
"Now, what would you do?" asked Lyster. "He wouldn't trust himself in a
boat with you, so you can't drown him."
"Don't want to. Huh! I wouldn't want to be lynched for _him_. All I'd like
to hit hard would be his good opinion of himself. I could, too, if Dan
wouldn't object."
"If you can, you're a wonder," remarked Dan. "And I'll give you license to
do what I confess I can't. But I think you might take us into your
confidence."
This she would not do, and escaped all their questions, by taking refuge
in Mrs. Huzzard's best room, and much of her afternoon was spent there
under that lady's surveillance, fashioning a party gown with which to
astonish the natives. For Mrs. Huzzard would not consent to her appearing
in the savageness of an Indian dress, when the occasion was one of
importance--namely, the first dance in the settlement held in the house of
a respectable woman.
And as 'Tana stitched, and gathered, and fashioned the dress, according to
Mrs. Huzzard's orders, she fashioned at the same time a little plan of her
own in which the personality of Captain Leek was to figure.
If Mrs. Huzzard fancied that her silent smiles were in anticipation of the
dancing festivities, she was much mistaken.
CHAPTER VII.
A GAME OF POKER.
Mr. Max Lyster, in his hasty plans for an innocent village dance, had
neglected to make allowance for a certain portion of the inhabitants whose
innocence was not of the quality that allowed them to miss anything, no
matter who was host. They would shoot the glass out of every window in a
house, if the owner of the house should be in their bad books for any
trifling slight, and would proceed to "clean out" any establishment where
their own peculiar set was ignored.
There were, perhaps, seven or eight women in the place who were shown all
respect by men in general. They were the wives and daughters of the city
fathers--the first of the "family folks" to give the stamp of permanency
to the little camp by the river. These ladies and their husbands, together
with the better class of the "boys," were the people whom Mr. Lyster
expected to meet and to partake of his hospitality in the cheery abode of
Mrs. Huzzard.
But Overton knew there were one or two other people to consider, and felt
impatient with Lyster for his impulsive arrangements. Of course, 'Tana
could not know and Mrs. Huzzard did not, but Lyster had at least been very
thoughtless.
The fact was that the well-ordered establishment of Mrs. Huzzard was a
grievance and a thorn in the side of certain womankind, who dwelt along
the main street and kept open drinking saloons seven days in the week.
They would have bought ribbons and feathers from her, and as a milliner
thought no more about her, or even if she had opened a hotel, with a bar
attached, they would have been willing to greet her as a fellow worker,
and all would have had even chances. But her effrontery in opening an
eating house, where only water--pure or adulterated with tea or
coffee--was drunk--Well, her immaculate pretensions, to use the vernacular
of one of the disgusted, "made them sick."
It may have been their dislike was made more pronounced because of the
fact that the more sober-minded men turned gladly to the irreproachable
abode of Mrs. Huzzard, and the "bosses" of several "gangs" of workmen had
arranged with her for their meals. Besides, the river men directed any
strangers to her house; whereas, before, the saloons had been the first