That Girl Montana
minute! And he was powerless to help her--powerless even to utter all the
regret, the remorse, the heart-aching sorrow that was with him, for her
ears were closed to the sense of words, and his lips were locked by some
key of some past.
His own judgment on himself was not light as he went over in his mind each
moment of their hours together. Poor little 'Tana! poor little stray!
"I promised not to question her; yes, I promised that, or she would never
have left the Indians with me. And I--I was savage with her, just because
she would not tell me what she had a perfect right to keep from me if she
chose. Even if it was--a lover, what right had I to object? What right to
hold her hands--to say all the things I said? If she were a woman, I could
tell her all I think--all, and let her judge. But not as it is--not to a
girl so young--so troubled--so much of a stray. Oh, God! she shall never
be a stray again, if only she gets well. I'd stay here digging forever if
I could only send her out in the world among people who will make her
happy. And she--the child, the child! said she would rather live here as
we did than to have the gold that would make her rich. God! it is hard
for a man to forget that, no matter what duty says."
So his thoughts would ramble on each day, each night, and his restlessness
grew until Harris took to watching him with a great pity in his eyes, and
mutely asked each time he entered if hope had grown any stronger.
By the request of Mrs. Huzzard they had moved Harris into the other room
of the cabin, because of a rain which fell one night, and reminded them
that his earthen floor might prove injurious to his health. Mrs. Huzzard
declared she was afraid, with that room empty; and Harris, though having a
partially dead body, had at least a living soul, and she greatly preferred
his presence to the spiritless void and the fear of Indian occupancy.
So she shared the room with 'Tana, and the doctor and Overton used one
tent, while the squaw used the other. All took turns watching at night
beside the girl, who never knew one from the other, but who talked of
gold--gold that was too heavy a load for her to carry--gold that ran in
streams where she tried to find water to drink and could not--gold that
Dan thought was better than friends or their pretty camp. And over those
woes she would moan until frightened from them by ghosts, the ghosts she
hated, and which she begged them so piteously to keep out of her sight.
So they had watched her for days, and toward the evening of the eighth
Overton was keeping an ever-watchful ear for the Indian and the doctor who
had gone personally to fetch needed medicines from the settlement.
Akkomi was there as usual. Each day he would come, sit in the doorway of
the Harris cabin for hours, and contemplate the helpless man there. When
evening arrived he would enter his canoe and go back to his own camp,
which at that time was not more than five miles away.
Overton, fearing that Harris would be painfully annoyed by the presence of
this self-invited visitor, offered to entertain him in his own tent, if
Harris preferred. But while Harris looked with no kindly eye on the old
fellow, he signified that the Indian should remain, if he pleased. This
was a decision so unexpected that Overton asked Harris if he had ever met
Akkomi before.
He received an affirmative nod, which awakened his curiosity enough to
make him question the Indian.
The old fellow nodded and smoked in silence for a little while before
making a reply; then he said:
"Yes, one summer, one winter ago, the man worked in the hills beyond the
river. Our hunters were there and saw him. His cabin is there still."
"Who was with him?"
"White man, stranger," answered Akkomi briefly. "This man stranger, too,
in the Kootenai country--stranger from away somewhere there," and he
pointed vaguely toward the east. "Name--Joe--so him called."
"And the other man?"
"Other man stranger, too--go way--never come back. This one go away, too;
but he come back."
"And that is all you know of them?"
"All. Joe not like Indian friends," and the old fellow's eyes wrinkled up
in the semblance of laughter; "too much tenderfoot, maybe."
"But Joe's partner," persisted Overton, "he was not tenderfoot? He had
Indian friends on the Columbia River."
"Maybe," agreed the old fellow, and his sly, bead-like eyes turned toward
his questioner sharply and were as quickly withdrawn, "maybe so. They hunt
silver over there. No good."
Just inside the door Harris sat straining his ears to catch every word,
and Akkomi's assumption of bland ignorance brought a rather sardonic smile
to his face, while his lips moved in voiceless mutterings of anger.
Impatience was clearly to be read in his face as he waited for Overton to
question further, and his right hand opened and closed in his eagerness.
But no other questions were asked just then; for Overton suddenly walked
away, leaving the crafty-eyed Akkomi alone in his apparent innocence of
Joe's past or Joe's partner.
The old fellow looked after him kindly enough, but shook his head and
smoked his dirty black pipe, while an expression of undivulged knowledge
adorned his withered physiognomy.
"No, Dan, no," he murmured. "Akkomi good friend to little sick squaw and
to you; but he not tell--not tell all things."
Then his ears, not so keen as in years gone by, heard sounds on the water,
sounds coming closer and closer. But Dan's younger ears had heard them
first, and it was to learn the cause that he had left so abruptly and
walked to the edge of the stream.
It was the doctor and the Indian boatman who came in sight first around
the bend of the creek. Back of them was another canoe, but a much larger,
much more pretentious one. In this was Lyster and a middle-aged
gentleman of rather portly build, who dressed in a fashion very fine when
compared with the average garb of the wilderness.
Overton watched with some surprise the approach of the man, who was an
utter stranger to him, and yet who bore a resemblance to some one seen
before. A certain something about the shape of the nose and general
contour of the face seemed slightly familiar. He had time to notice, also,
that the hair was auburn in color, and inclined to curl, and that back of
him sat a female form. By the time he had made these observations, their
boat had touched the shore, and Lyster was shaking his hand vigorously.
"I got your letter, telling me of your big strike. It caught me before I
was quite started for Helena, so I just did some talking for you where I
thought it would do the most good, old fellow, and turned right around and
came back. I've been wild to hear about 'Tana. How is she? This is my
friend, Mr. T. J. Haydon, my uncle's partner, you know. He has made this
trip to talk a little business with you, and when I learned you were not
at the settlement, but up here in camp, I thought it would be all right to
fetch him along."
"Of course it is all right," answered Overton, assuringly. "Our camp has a
welcome for your friend even if we haven't first-class accommodations for
him. And is this lady also a friend?"
For Lyster, forgetful of his usual gallantry, had allowed the doctor to
assist the other voyager from the canoe--a rather tall lady of the age
generally expressed as "uncertain," although the certainty of it was an
indisputable fact.
A rather childish hat was perched upon her thin but carefully frizzed
hair, and over her face floated a white veil, that was on a drawing string
around the crown of the hat and drooped gracefully and chastely over the
features beneath, after the fashion of 1860. A string of beads adorned the
thin throat, and the rest of her array was after the same order of
elegance.
The doctor and Lyster exchanged glances, and Lyster was silently
proclaimed master of ceremonies.
"Oh, yes," he said, easily. "Pardon me that I am neglectful, and let me
introduce you to Miss Slocum--Miss Lavina Slocum of Cherry Run, Ohio. She
is the cousin of our friend, Mrs. Huzzard, and was in despair when she
found her relative had left the settlement; so we had the pleasure of her
company when she heard we were coming direct to the place where Mrs.
Huzzard was located."
"She will be glad to see you, miss," said Overton, holding out his hand to
her in very hearty greeting. "Nothing could be more welcome to this camp
just now than the arrival of a lady, for poor Mrs. Huzzard has been having
a sorry siege of care for the last week. If you will come along, I will
take you to her at once."
Gathering up her shawl, parasol, a fluffy, pale pink "cloud," and a
homemade and embroidered traveling bag, he escorted her with the utmost
deference to the door of the log cabin, leaving Lyster without another
word.
That easily amused gentleman stared after the couple with keen
appreciation of the picture they presented. Miss Slocum had a queer,
mincing gait which her long limbs appeared averse to, and the result was a
little hitchy. But she kept up with Overton, and surveyed him with weak
blue eyes of gratitude. He appeared to her a very admirable personage--a
veritable knight of the frontier, possibly a border hero such as every
natural woman has an ideal of.
But to Lyster, Dan with his arms filled with female trappings and a lot of
pink zephyr blown about his face and streaming over his shoulder, like a
veritable banner of Love's color, was a picture too ludicrous to be lost.
He gazed after them in a fit of delight that seemed likely to end in
apoplexy, because he was obliged to keep his hilarity silent.
"Just look at him!" he advised, in tones akin to a stage whisper. "Isn't
he a great old Dan? And maybe you think he would not promenade beside that
make-up just as readily on Broadway, New York, or on Chestnut street,
Philadelphia? Well, sir, he would! If it was necessary that some man
should go with her, he would be the man to go, and Heaven help anybody he
saw laughing! If you knew Dan Overton twenty years you would not see
anything that would give you a better key to his nature than just his
manner of acting cavalier to that--wonder."
But Mr. Haydon did not appear to appreciate the scene with the same degree
of fervor.
"Ah!" he said, turning his eyes with indifference to the two figures, and
with scrutiny over the little camp-site and primitive dwellings. "Am I to
understand, then, that your friend, the ranger, is a sort of modern Don
Juan, to whom any order of femininity is acceptable?"
"No," said Lyster, facing about suddenly. "And if my thoughtless manner of
speech would convey such an idea of Dan Overton, then (to borrow one of
Dan's own expressions) I deserve to be kicked around God's footstool for
a while."
"Well, when you speak of his devotion to any sort of specimen--"
"Of course," agreed Lyster. "I see my words were misleading--especially to
one unaccustomed to the life and people out here. But Dan, as Don Juan, is
one of the most unimaginable things! Why, he does not seem to know women
exist as individuals. This is the only fault I have to find with him; for
the man who does not care for some woman, or never has cared for any
woman, is, according to my philosophy, no good on earth. But Dan just
looks the other way if they commence to give him sweet glances--and they
do, too! though he thinks that collectively they are all angels. Yes, sir!
let the worst old harridan that ever was come to Overton with a tale of
virtue and misfortune, and he will take off his hat and divide up his
money, giving her a good share, just because she happens to be a woman.
That is the sort of devotion to women I had reference to when I spoke
first; the wonder to me is that he has not been caught in a matrimonial