That Girl Montana
devote herself without restraint to the welfare of a stranger--a man they
knew nothing of--a fellow who, of course, could have no appreciation of
the great luck he was in to have her constantly beside him. It was a clean
waste of exceptionable sympathy; and a squaw, or some miner out of work,
would do as well in this case.
He even offered to pay for a squaw, or for any masculine nurse; but the
girl had very promptly suggested that he busy himself with his own duties,
if he had any. She stated further that he had no control whatever over her
actions, and she could not understand--
"I know I have none," he retorted, with some impatience, and yet a good
deal of fondness in his handsome eyes. "That is why I'm complaining. I
wish I had. And if I had, wouldn't I whisk you away from this uncouth
life! I wonder if you will ever let me do so, Tana?"
"I think you'd better be packing your plunder," she remarked, coolly. "If
you don't, you'll keep the whole outfit waiting."
And that was how they let even Lyster go away. Not a hint was he given of
the all-engrossing plan that bound both 'Tana and Overton to the interests
of the passive stranger, who looked at them with intelligence, but who
could not speak.
Their partnership was a curious affair, and the arrangement for interests
in it was conducted on the one side by nods or shakes of the head, while
the other two offered suggestions, and asked questions, until a very clear
understanding was arrived at.
Only one knotty discussion had arisen. Overton offered to give one month
of time to the search, on condition that one half of the find, if there
was any made, should belong to 'Tana, while the original finder should
have the other half. He himself would give that much time to helping them
out in a friendly way; but more than that he could not give, because of
other duties.
To this the man Harris shook his head with all possible vigor, while 'Tana
was quite as emphatic in an audible way. Harris desired that all shares be
equal, and Overton count himself in for a third. 'Tana approved the plan,
insisting that she would not accept an ounce of the dust if he did not. So
Dan finally agreed and ended the discussion concerning the division of the
gold they might never find.
"And don't be so dead sure that the dirt will pan out well, even if we do
find the place," he said, warningly, to 'Tana. "Why, my girl, if the
average of dust had been as high as my average of hope over strikes I've
made myself, I would have been a billionaire long ago."
"I never heard you talk of prospecting," remarked 'Tana. "All the rest do
here, and not you--how is that?"
"Oh, prospecting strikes one like a fever; sometimes a man recovers from
it, or seems to for a while. I had the fever bad about two years ago--out
in Nevada. Well, I left there. I sunk my stock of capital in a very big
hole, and lost my enthusiasm for a while. Maybe I will find it again,
drifting along the Kootenai; but as yet it has not struck me hard. From
what I can gather, this fellow must simply have dropped on a nugget or
little pocket, and something must have made him distrust his partner to
such an extent that he kept the secret find to himself. So there evidently
has been no testing of the soil, no move toward development. We may never
find an ounce of metal, for such disappointments have been even where very
large nuggets have been found. You must not expect too much of this
search. Golden hope lets you down hard when you do fall with it."
But, despite his warnings, he made arrangements for their river journey
with all speed possible. The three of them were to go; and, as chaperon,
Mrs. Huzzard was persuaded to join their queer "picnic" party, for that
was the idea given abroad concerning their little trip to the north. It
was to be a venture in the interests of Harris--supposedly the physical
interests; though Captain Leek did remark, with decided emphasis, that it
was the first time he ever knew of a man being sent out to live in the
woods as a cure for paralysis.
But the preparations were made; even the fact that Mrs. Huzzard was seized
with an unreasonable attack of rheumatism on the eve of departure did not
deter them at all.
"Unless you need me to stay here and look after you, we'll go just the
same," decided 'Tana. "A squaw won't be much of a substitute for you; but
she'll be better than no one, and we'll go."
So the squaw was secured, through the agency of her husband, whom Overton
knew, and who was to take their camp outfit up the river for them. This
was one reason why Mrs. Huzzard, as she watched them depart, was a little
thankful for the visitation of rheumatism.
Their camp was only a day old when 'Tana announced her willingness to
dance if only good fortune would come to her.
It seemed a thing probable, for as Overton poured water slowly from a tin
pan into the shallow little stream, there were left in the bottom of the
pan, as the last sifting bit of soil was washed out, some tiny bits of
yellow the size of a pin-head, and one as large as a grain of wheat.
'Tana gave a little ecstatic cry as she bent over it and touched the
particles with her finger.
"Oh, Dan--it is the gold!--the real gold! and we are
millionaires!--millionaires, and you would not believe it!"
He raised his finger warningly, and shook his head.
"Wait until we are millionaires before you commence to shout," he advised.
"It is a good show here--yes; but, after all, it may be only a chance
washing from hills far enough away. Show them to Harris, though; he may
be interested, though he appears to me very indifferent about the
matter."
"He don't seem to care," she agreed. "He just looks at us as though we
were a couple of children he had found a new plaything for. But don't you
think he looks brighter?"
"Well, yes; the river trip has done him good, instead of the harm the
Ferry folks prophesied. But you run along and show him the 'yellow,' and
don't draw the squaw's attention to it."
The squaw was wrapped neck and heels in a blanket, although the day was
one of the warmest of summer; and stretched asleep in the sun, she gave no
heed to the quick, light step of the girl.
Neither did Harris, at whose tent door she lay. He must have thought it
was the stoical, indifferent Indian, for he gave her a quick, startled
glance as he heard her surprised "Oh!" at the door. Then she walked
directly to him, lifted his right hand, and let go again. It fell on his
knee in the old, helpless way.
"But you did raise it," she said, accusingly. "I saw you as I came to the
door. You stretched out your hand."
He looked at her and nodded very slightly, then looked at his hand and
appeared trying to lift it; but gave up, and shook his head sadly.
"You mean you moved it a little once, but can't do it again?" she asked,
and he nodded assent.
"Oh, well, that's all right," she continued, cheerfully. "You are sure to
get along all right, now that you have commenced to manage your hands if
ever so little. But just at first, when I saw you, I had a mighty queer
notion come into my head. I thought you were getting over that stroke
faster than you let us know. But I'm too suspicious, ain't I? Maybe it's a
bad thing for folks to trust strangers too much in this world; but it is
just as bad for a girl to grow up where she can't trust any one. Don't you
think so?"
The man nodded. They had many conversations like that, and she had grown
not to notice his lack of speech nearly so much as at first. He was so
good a listener, and she had become so used to his face gradually gaining
again expressive power, that she divined his wishes more readily than the
others.
"But trusting don't cut any figure in what I came to speak to you about,"
she continued. "No 'trust and hope on, brethren,' about this, I guess,"
and she held the grains of yellow metal before his eyes. "There it is--the
gold! Dan found it in the little hollow where the spring is. Is that where
you found it?"
He shook his head, but looked pleased at the show they had found.
"Was it bigger bundles of it than this you struck?"
He nodded assent.
"Bigger than this! Well, it must have been rich. These lumps are enough in
size if they only turn out enough in number. Oh, how I wish you had put
the very spot on that plan of the ground and the rivers! Still, I suppose
you were right to be cautious. And if I hadn't been on a lone trail
through this country last spring, and got lost, and happened to notice the
two little streams running into the river so close to each other, we might
have had a year's journey along the Kootenai before we could have found
the particular little stream and followed the right one to its source. I
think we are close on the trail now, Joe."
He shook his head energetically when she called him Joe.
"Well, I forget," she said. "You see, I've been thinking for months about
finding Joe Hammond; and now that I've found you, I can't get used to
thinking you are Jim Harris. What's the use of your changing your name,
anyway? You did it so you could trail him, your partner, better. But what
was the use, with him well and strong, and with devils back of him, and
you alone and barely able to crawl? Your head was wrong, Joe--Jim, I mean.
If you hadn't been looney, you'd just have settled down and worked your
claim, got rich, and then looked for your man."
He shook his head impatiently, and looked at her with as much of a frown
as his locked muscles would allow, and a very queer, hard smile about his
eyes and mouth.
"Ah!" and 'Tana shivered a little; "don't look like that, Joe. You
wouldn't get any Sunday-school prizes for a meek and lowly spirit if the
manager saw you fix your face in that fashion. I guess I know how you
felt. If you had just so much strength, and couldn't hope for more, you
wouldn't waste it looking for gold while he was above ground. Now, ain't I
about right?"
He gave no assent, but smiled in a more kindly way at the shrewdness of
her guess.
"You won't own up, but I know I am right," she said; "and the way I know
it is because I think I'd feel just like that myself if some one hurt me
bad. I wonder if girls often feel that way. I guess not. I know Ora
Harrison, the doctor's girl, don't. She says her prayers every night, and
asks God to let her enemies have good luck. U'm! I can't do that."
The man watched her as she sat silent for a little, looking out into the
still, warm sunshine. The squaw slumbered on, and the girl stared across
her, and her face grew sad and moody with some hard thought.
"It's awful to hate," she said, at last. "Don't you think it is?--to hate
so that you can't breathe right when the person you hate comes near where
you are--to be able to _feel_ if he comes near, even when you don't see or
hear him, to feel a devil that rises up in your breast and makes you want
to get a knife and cut--cut deep, until the blood you hate runs away from
the face you hate, and leaves it white and cold. Ah! it's bad, I reckon,
to have some one hate you; but it's a thousand times worse to hate back.
It makes the prettiest day black when the devil tells you of the hate you
must remember, and you can't pray it away, and you can't forget it, and
you can't help it! Oh, dear!"
She put her hands over her eyes and leaned her head against his hand. He
felt her tears, but could not comfort her.
"You see, I know--how you felt," she said, trying to speak steadily.
"Girls shouldn't know; girls should have love and good thoughts taught to
them. I--I've dreamed dreams of what a girl's life ought to be like;
something like Ora's home, where her mother kisses her and loves her, and
her father kisses and loves them both. I went to their home once, and I