CHAPTER III
LOUISE
It was raining when she left Wind City, but the rain had soon beendistanced. Perhaps the Judge was right when he said it never rainednorth or west of Wind City. But the Judge had not wanted her to go.Neither had the Judge's wife.
Full twenty minutes, only day before yesterday, the Judge had delayedhis day's outing at the mill where the Jim River doubles right around onits tracks, in order to make it perfectly clear to her that it wasabsolutely outside of the bounds of her duty, that it was altogether anaffair on the side, that she could not be expected to go, and that theprosecuting attorney up there had merely asked her out of courtesy, indeference to her position. Of course he would be glad enough to get her,but let him get some one nearer home, or do without. It wasn't at allnecessary for the court reporter to hold herself in readiness to answerthe call of anything outside her prescribed circuit duties. To be sureshe would earn a trifle, but it was a hard trip, a hard country, and shehad much better postpone her initial journey into the unknown until theregular term of court, when he could be with her. He had then thrown hisminnow seine over his shoulders, taken his minnow pail in one hand andhis reel case and lunch box in the other, and walked out to the roadwagon awaiting him at the gate, and so off to his frolic, leaving her tofight it out for herself.
The Judge's wife had not been so diplomatic, not by any means. She haddwelt long and earnestly, and no doubt to a large extent truly, on theuncivilized condition of their neighbors up the line; the roughness ofaccommodation, the boldness and license of the cowboys, the daring andinsolence of the cattle thieves, the cunning and dishonesty of theIndians, and the uncouthness and viciousness of the half-breeds. She hadended by declaring eloquently that Louise would die of lonesomeness if,by God's good providence, she escaped a worse fate at the hands of oneor all of the many evils she had enumerated. Yes, it was very evidentAunt Helen had not wanted her to go. But Aunt Helen's real reason hadbeen that she held it so dizzily unconventional for her niece to go outto that wild and unholy land alone. She did not actually fear for herniece's personal safety, and Louise more than half suspected the truth.
She had heard all the arguments before. They had little or no terrorsfor her now. They were the arguments used by the people back in hereastern home, those dear, dear people, her people--how far away shewas!--when they had schemed and plotted so pathetically to keep her withthem, the second one to break away from the slow, safe, and calmtraditions of her kin in the place where generation after generation ofher people had lived and died, and now lay waiting the Great Judgment inthe peaceful country burying-ground.
She had listened to them dutifully, half-believingly, swallowed hard andfollowed her uncle, her father's youngest brother, to the "Land of theDakotahs," the fair land of promise, right in the face of her fears andthe loneliness that loomed before her--a thing with smirks and horns anddevil's eyes that would not be suppressed, but perched itself insolentlybefore her, a heart-choking presence, magnified by the mist in her eyes,through all the long, long journey to the west country. It had left herfor a while when she had crossed the Sioux and was on Dakota soil atlast. It was such a glorious land through which she was passing, thefair region of the corn-belt, and such a prosperous land, and the fieldsspread so broadly. It had been a sunny day with clear skies, one ofthose days when distances are so infinite in South Dakota, the land ofwidespread spaces. It was indeed a fertile valley through which she waspassing. There is none better on earth.
When her train had pulled out of Yankton, she reflected with awhimsical smile that she had not yet seen an Indian. To be sure, shehad not really expected to see one in feathers and war-paint, butsurely an Indian of some description--did not the traditions of heryouth run that Dakota was the land of Indians and blizzards? She wellremembered--indeed, could she ever forget?--when, a tot of seven or eight,she had run out into the road to gaze after the carry-all that wastaking her well-beloved young uncle away, away, into that dreadful landwhere blood ran like rivers and where people trimmed their clothes withscalps. She even remembered the feel of the warm, yellow dust up to herbare ankles and the dreadful lump that she couldn't swallow when heruncle leaned out and waved his hat vigorously, crying out gayly:--
"Good-bye, little girl, good-bye. If they take my scalp, I'll beg themas a special favor to send it back to you as a keepsake. Don't forget totake good care of it. I was always rather proud of my yaller mop."
He had said more; he had kept on calling to her till the big woodsswallowed him. But she had understood nothing after that last awfulcharge. It had happened more than fifteen years before, but for many andmany a day thereafter, sensitive mite that she had been, she would runand hide in the hay-mow whenever she saw her father or the boys comingfrom town with the mail. It was years before the horror of the expectedpacket containing the fair hair of her young uncle, dabbled with blood,fell away from her.
Gradually the awfulness of that dread expectation passed away. Now, thatsame dear uncle was a man of power and position in the new land that hadgraciously permitted him his scalp. Only last November he had beenreelected to his third term on the bench of his circuit with a big,heart-stirring majority. In the day of his prosperity he had notforgotten the little, tangle-haired girl who had cried so inconsolablywhen he went away, and the unaccountable horror in whose eyes he hadtried to laugh away on that never-to-be-forgotten day when he hadwrenched his heartstrings from their safe abiding-place and gone forthin quest of the pot of gold at the rainbow's end--the first of manygenerations. Tradition knew no other since his ancestors had felledforests and built homes of hewn logs. Now he had sent for Louise. Hiscourt reporter had recently left him for other fields of labor.
There was commotion among her people on receipt of the astoundingproposition. She lived over again the dark days of the first flitting.It might well be her uncle had exaggerated the dangers of life in thenew land. It was great fun to shock his credulous relatives. He hadsurely written them some enormous tales during those fifteen years andmore. He used to chuckle heartily to himself at reading some of thesympathizing replies. But these tales were held in evidence against himnow that he dared to want Louise. Every letter was brought out byLouise's dear old grandmother and read to her over again. Louise did nothalf believe them, but they were gospel truth to her grandmother andalmost so to her father and mother as well. She remembered the oldspirit of fun rampant in her favorite uncle, and while his vividpictures took all the color from her sensitive face, deep down in herheart she recognized them for what they were worth. The letters were astrange medley of grasshoppers, blizzards, and Indians. But a ten-dollarper diem was a great temptation over a five-dollar per diem, and timeswere pretty hard on the old farm. More than all, the inexplicablesomething that had led her uncle to throw tradition to the four winds ofheaven was calling her persistently and would not be denied. So she hadwritten to him for the truth.
"My dear child," he had answered, "I live in a little city whosecivilization would make some of our good friends in the old home stare.As for grasshoppers, I believe there was some crazy talk ages ago, butin my day I do well to corner enough scrawny, scared specimens to land afish in midsummer. Their appalling scarcity is a constant sorrow to me.Makes me plumb mad even yet to think of the hopeless hours I used tospend blistering my nose on White River, dangling for my finny favoritewith dough-balls. Dough-balls--ugh! 'Send us more grasshoppers, oh,Lord,' is my daily prayer. As for your last question, I cannot answer itso well. Not enjoying the personal acquaintance of many Indians I cannottell you much about them. I believe there are a few over on the CrowCreek Reservation and perhaps as many on Lower Brule. I wouldn't bepositive, but I think so. Occasionally I meet one coming from thatdirection. I have heard--mind, this is only hearsay--that there are ahandful or so down on the Rosebud Reservation. I wouldn't vouch for it.You can hear most anything in this day and generation. The few I havemet seem mild enough. They appear to be rather afraid of me. Their chiefoccupations seem to be dog-eating and d
ivorce-getting, so you can seefor yourself how highly modern and civilized they are becoming. I amsure you will have no trouble."
Louise had not altogether believed this rollicking letter, but it hadhelped her to her decision.
Wind City and still no Indians; but there was the dear hero of herchildhood. He was much changed to be sure; his big joints had taken onmore flesh and he had gained in dignity of deportment what he had lostin ease of movement. His once merry eyes had grown keen with the yearsof just judging. The lips that had laughed so much in the old days wereset in lines of sternness. Judge Hammond Dale was a man who would liveup to the tenets of his high calling without fear or favor, through goodand evil report. Yet through all his gravity of demeanor and the prideof his integrity, Louise instinctively felt his kindliness and loved himfor it. The loneliness fell away from her and a measure of content hadcome in its place, until the letter had come from the State's attorneyup in the Kemah County:--
My dear Miss Dale:--The eighteenth of August is the date set for the preliminary hearing of Jesse Black. Will you come and take the testimony? I am very anxious that the testimony be taken by a competent reporter and shall be grateful to you if you decide to come.
The Judge will tell you about our poor accommodations. Let me recommend to your consideration some good friends of mine, the Willistons, father and daughter. They live three miles northwest of Kemah. The Judge will remember Williston, George Williston of the Lazy S. They are cultured people, though their way of living is necessarily primitive. I am sure you will like it better there than at our shabby little hotel, which is a rendezvous for a pretty rough class of men, especially at court time.
If you decide to come, Mary Williston will meet you at Velpen. Please let me know your decision.
Very sincerely, Richard Gordon.
So here she was, going into the Indian country at last. A big State,South Dakota, and the phases of its civilization manifold. Having comeso far, to refuse to go on seemed like turning back with her handalready on the plough, so with a stout heart she had wired RichardGordon that she would go. But it was pretty hard now, to be sure, andpretty dreary, coming into Velpen knowing that she would see no one sheknew in all the wide, wide world. The thought choked her and the impishdemon, Loneliness, he of the smirk and horns and devil's eyes, loomedleeringly before her again. Blindly, she picked up her umbrella,suit-case, and rain-coat.
"Homesick?" asked the kindly brakeman, with a consolatory grin as hecame to assist her with her baggage.
She bit her lip in mortification to think she had carried her feelingsso palpably on her sleeve. But she nodded honestly.
"Maybe it won't be so bad," sympathized the brakeman. His rough hearthad gone out to the slim, fair-haired young creature with the vaguetrouble in her eyes.
"Thank you," said Louise, gratefully.
There was a moment's bewilderment on the station platform. There was noone anywhere who seemed to be Mary--no one who might be looking for her.It was evening, too, the lonesome evening to those away from home, whenthoughts stab and memories sap the courage. Some one pushed her rudelyaside. She was in the way of the trucks.
"Chuck it! None o' your sass, my lad! There's my fist. Heft it if youdon't put no stock in its looks. Git out o' this, I say!"
The voice was big and convincing. The man wasn't so big, but some way helooked convincing, too. The truckman stepped aside, but with pluckytemerity answered back.
"Get out yourself! Think you own the whole cattle country jest 'causeyou herd a few ornery, pink-eyed, slab-sided critters for your salt?Well, the railroad ain't the range, le' me tell you that. Jest you runyour own affairs, will you?"
"Thanky. Glad to. And as my affairs is at present a lady, I'll thank youto jest trundle this here railroad offspring to the back o' this herelady--the back, I say--back ain't front, is it? Wasn't where I waseddicated. That's better. And ef you ain't satisfied, why, I belong tothe Three Bars. Ever hear o' the Three Bars? Ef I'm out, jest leave wordwith the Boss, will you? He'll see I git the word. Yes, sir, you ol' hossthief, I belong to the Three Bars."
The encounter was not without interested spectators. Louise's brakemanwas grinning broadly at the discomfiture of his fellow-employee. Louiseherself had forgotten her predicament in the sudden whirlwind of whichshe was the innocent storm-centre.
The cowboy with the temper, having completely routed the enemy to theimmense satisfaction of the onlookers, though why, no one knew exactly,nor what the merits of the case, turned abruptly to Louise.
"Are you her?" he asked, with a perceptible cooling of his assertivebravado.
"I don't know," said Louise, smiling fearlessly at her champion, thoughinwardly quaking at the intuition that had flashed upon her that thisstrange, uncouth man had come to take the place of Mary. "The boldnessand license of the cowboys," her aunt had argued. There could be nodoubt of the boldness. Would the rest of the statement hold good?
"I think maybe I am, though I am Louise Dale, the new court reporter. Iexpected Miss Mary Williston to meet me."
"Then you are her," said the man, with renewed cheerfulness, seizing hersuit-case and striding off. "Come along. We'll git some supper afore westart. You're dead tired, more'n likely. It'll be moonlight so't won'tmatter ef we are late a gittin' home."
"Court reporter! I'll be doggoned!" muttered the brakeman. "The new girlfrom down East. A pore little white lamb among a pack o' wolves andcoyotes, and homesick a'ready. No wonder! I'll be takin' you backto-morrow, I'm thinkin', young lady."
He didn't know the "little white lamb" who had come to help PaulLangford and Dick Gordon in their big fight.