CHAPTER X
CROSS PURPOSES
OLIVE was not so unconscious of the Indian boy's attitude toward her asJack believed. Indeed she could not well be. And now as the three ofthem drove together to the station she was pondering on whether or notshe should confide her experience to Jack. But Jack was not sympathetictoward Carlos, for with her intense and forceful nature it was hard forher to understand the boy's idleness and dreaming. Therefore to tell herwhat had recently occurred would doubtless make her prejudice thedeeper. For she was almost sure to regard the boy's behavior asimpertinence and to wish to send him at once away from the ranch.
Yet though Olive herself was annoyed, she did not wish matters to go sofar as that. For she had a peculiar appreciation and pity for the Indianboy's difficulties which no one else could so readily have. Had she notbeen raised among the Indian people and did she not comprehend theirshy, proud natures? For white people to realize that the Indian, even inthe midst of his overthrow and degradation, still considers himselftheir superior is an almost impossible conception. Nevertheless Oliveknew this to be true. The white man's religion is to the Indian lessfull of visions and of dreams. An educated Indian writes:
"When we plant our plumes where the shrines are, our first prayer is forgood thoughts--that our children may be wise and strong, and that theGod of the sky may be glad of us. I have listened to the mission talkmany days, and nothing in the words of the missionary is more white thanthe thought which we plant with the prayer plumes on our shrines."
Neither does the Indian, though of course there are exceptions in hisrace as in all other things, have the respect that we feel he shouldhave for the advantages of our education. What more does it teach him ofthe woods and the fields, of the beauty and imagery of nature, of allthat he cares to know? Of a boy who had been to a government school anIndian says:
"He comes back to his people and knows that if he lives there it must beas his father lived--except that now he has more cultivated tastes tosatisfy, and no further means or methods of earning the price of them.To plant the corn, herd the sheep, hunt the rabbits, take care of hisshare of his own village--these are the life-work of the Indian. Theschools teach him to do that no better than his fathers did it beforehim. He is taught to read and write, and he asks 'for what?'
"The cities of the mesa have no books, and have never felt the need ofthem. Why should he read of the American life he lives apart from?"
Therefore Olive understood that though the boy Carlos might not be ableto express himself in this fashion, in his heart of hearts this wasexactly the way that he felt. Why should he study what Jim Colter andthe girls wished him to learn? Books and figures had no possibleinterest for him or relation to the life which he meant to lead. Hisworld was the outdoor one, among the animals and birds, under the newmoons of each succeeding month, and lifting up his eyes and his heart tothe sun when he wished to be glad.
To work like the other men did about the ranch, digging under the earthor plowing in the fields! This was not for the son and the grandson ofmany chieftains! It was not merely laziness on Carlos' part that kepthim from making himself useful, but the feeling that any such labor ashe might be expected to do was beneath his dignity. Therefore the boycould never really get into his mind the idea that the white people werehis masters, although in a vague way he knew that they felt themselvesto be. It was this thought that was always the foundation of Carlos'sullenness and lack of gratitude.
So Olive realized that the Indian boy's letter to her, which she hadfound at her door one day hidden among a bunch of prairie roses, had notbeen written in any spirit of presumption or audacity. Had she not atone time seemed to be an Indian like himself? Had she not lived amongthem, eaten their food and spoken their speech? And was it not for hersake that Carlos had left his own tribe and taken upon himself many ofthe ways of the white man? The boy had cared for his "Princess Olilie"always, but in years past he had been a boy and felt as one. Now he wasa man!
All this and more Carlos had put into his note. Olive remembered it atthe present moment almost word for word, for it had touched and hurt herat the same time. Although Carlos was too young to mean all that he hadsaid, she knew that with his queer nature he must suffer from her reply.
For he had written:
MY LADY OF THE LONE TRAIL:
Are you not weary of the life and the ways of the white women and men? Are you not tired of having your soul shut up between four walls of wood with no vision for your eyes by day and no night wind to touch your cheek as you lay asleep? You and I have grown older now; there is no one in any Indian tribe to hurt us. Have I not stayed quietly here waiting and watching for you, learning many things which I have hated, that we might not fail to understand each other? For my love for you is as the Tu-wa-ni-ne-ma, the sand of the desert.
Therefore will you not come away with me back to the wonderful, free outdoor world, where we lived together for a little while when both of us were children. Under a tree in a dim forest I shall build for you such a nest as only a man shall build for his mate. Then in the day time I shall plant corn while you weave the beautiful Indian blanket, which the Indian Laska taught you to make. And in the night we shall listen to the little night bird of the desert, the Hoetska. But both day and night we shall be alone and away from these people who do not understand me as you do and who will never love you as I do.
Whenever you will come with me, I shall have two horses waiting.
Olive stole a glimpse at Jacqueline's face. For a quarter of an hourthey had been sitting beside each other, and yet neither one of them haduttered a word. But certainly she should not tell Jack of Carlos'unhappy and impossible letter. For Jack might be amused, she might beangry, and certainly she would be resentful.
No, Olive decided that she must keep the boy's secret inviolate. Someday she would have a chance to see him alone. Then she might be able toexplain how far she herself had traveled from the old Indian days--howshe could never again love the things that the boy did, nor endure thelife which he wished to lead. Besides, Carlos was only a boy, while shewas almost a woman--at least a good many years his senior! Perhaps shemight even tell Carlos that it would be best for him to go away fromRainbow Ranch, back to his own people where he could live with Indianboys and girls of his own age. There was the Indian village not far offto which she herself might return after a few years. For one of thesedays the Indians were to have a teacher who _could_ understand theirpoint of view as well as that of the white people. Perhaps Carlos mightby that time be married to a girl of his own race and be able to helpher with her chosen work.
But she must not speak of this idea to Jacqueline either, for thesuggestion always made her friend unhappy. It was odd how utterlydevoted she and Jack were and how intimate; yet they did not often speakof the deepest desires of their hearts to each other. Not once had Jackvoluntarily mentioned Frank Kent's name since their return from thevisit to Lord and Lady Kent the year before.
Was Jack in love with Frank? Olive could not make up her mind. Becauseif she were, what was standing in the way of their engagement? Of courseJack could never have dreamed of her foolish, impossible affection forFrank, who had never been anything except her good friend. Olive wasquite certain that she had never by any sign betrayed herself. Shebelieved that she had entirely recovered from her former feeling, andwas hoping with all her heart that Jack and Frank would now find outthat they truly loved each other.
But what was making Jacqueline so unusually quiet? Olive's slender handslipped into her friend's larger and firmer one, and Jack's fingersclosed over it lovingly.
They were now almost at the depot and Frank Kent's train would be due inanother quarter of an hour. If only Jack would not look so pale andreserved--she was not nearly so pretty as usual! H
er face was white andher eyes had dark shadows under them. Jean and Frieda had insisted thatJack wear a new silk suit that had recently been made for her, but itwas not half so becoming as her old brown corduroys or faded khaki;neither was her cream-colored straw hat with its single brown rose sopicturesque as the ranch hat in which Frank had first seen her.
Olive sighed, and the sigh attracted the other girl's attention.
"I have been a dreadfully stupid companion, Olive dear. Forgive me,"Jack murmured penitently. And then: "How pretty you are looking! Frankwill be so glad to see you, I know!"
At this moment Carlos stopped the carriage and pair of horses before thestation platform, where both girls got out without time for furtherspeech. Yet all this while Jacqueline had been thinking: "If Olive stillcares for Frank after this year of absence I am sure that her feelingwill never change. So if this be true I shall tell Frank that I do notcare for him enough to marry him. Olive has had too unhappy a life forme to add to her unhappiness. Surely when Frank believes that I do notlove him, he will find out what Olive means to him and how immeasurablyshe is my superior, in beauty, brains, sweetness and everything thatcounts. Then he will know that he has liked her best all along!"
Nevertheless and in spite of all her excellent reasoning as the whistleblew announcing the approaching train, Jack caught her breath. She hopedthat Frank would not be angry with her for having refused to let himcome to Rainbow Ranch for almost a year. Could she dare to pretend thatshe had forgotten the conversation which they had had in that last ridetogether between the hawthorn hedges of an English lane?
When Frank Kent came down the steps of the train with his grave,handsome face flushed with eagerness--and something else--it was OliveVan Mater whom he found waiting for him alone on the platform. With allhis old delightful friendliness and charm of manner he greeted her,dropping his luggage to hold both her hands close for a moment.
Yet Olive to save her life could not at once be equally friendly andnatural. For what in heaven's name had become of Jacqueline Ralston atthis critical moment? As the train drew in, she had been standing closeby her side. Here she was approaching them at last, holding out her handstiffly, with a frozen smile on her face.
"Awfully glad to see you, Frank; you are looking very fit after a tripacross the continent. Sorry not to be here when your train got in, but Ihad to attend to something about the horses. Give me your check and letme see after your trunk. Everybody at the ranch is well and tremendouslyanxious to see you."
Frank smiled. Holding on to his trunk check he followed the girl a fewyards to the spot where his trunk had been thrown out. Olive waitedalone to watch his bags.
"Hope you will be more enthusiastic over seeing me yourself, dear, whenI have a chance to talk to you," Frank remarked in the quiet fashionthat always had its effect on the girl's ardent nature. "You are glad,aren't you?"
And while Jack nodded, not entirely trusting herself to speak, Franklaughed, saying: "Here comes a porter. I'll have him carry my stuff tothe carriage. It is like you, Miss America, to wish to start out bytaking care of me. But if I am an Englishman and too much accustomed tobeing waited upon, at least I won't endure that!"