CHAPTER IX
THE ADVENTURES OF RED RIDING HOOD
It is Sunday. The plaintive tinkle of the schoolroom bell at the Missionhas rung the Christianized Indians to the short service which is heldthere.
"Indian Mission." The name conveys a sense of peace. Yet the missionhistories of the Indian Reservations would make bloody reading. From thefirst the Christian teacher has been the pitiable prey of the warlikesavage. He bears the brunt of every rising. It is only in recent yearsthat his work has attained the smallest semblance of safety. The soldierfights an open foe. The man in charge of an Indian mission does not fightat all. He stands ever in the slaughter-yard, living only at the pleasureof the reigning chief. He is a brave man.
The service is over. It is perforce brief. The grown men and women comeout of the building. The spacious interior is cleared of all but thechildren and a few grown-up folk who remain to hold a sort ofSunday-school.
There are Wanaha and Seth. Rosebud, too, helps, and Charlie Rankin and hisyoung wife, who have a farm some two miles east of White River Farm. Thenthere is the missionary, Mr. Hargreaves, a large man with gray hair andrugged, bearded face, whose blue eyes look straight at those he isaddressing with a mild, invincible bravery. And the Agent, James Parker, ashort, abrupt man, with a bulldog chest and neck, and a sharp, alertmanner.
These are the workers in this most important branch of the civilizingprocess. They are striking at the root of their object. The children canbe molded where the parents prove impossible. Once these black-eyed littleones have mastered the English language the rest is not so difficult. Theyhave to be weaned from their own tongue if their Christian teachers wouldmake headway. A small, harmless bribery works wonders in this direction.And all these children have learned to speak and understand the Englishlanguage.
Seth attempts no Bible instruction, and his is a class much in favor. Hispockets always contain the most home-made taffy. He has a method purelyhis own; and it is a secular method. Only to the brightest and mostadvanced children is the honor of promotion to his class awarded.
He is holding his class outside the building. His children sit round himin a semicircle. He is sitting on an upturned box with his back againstthe lateral logs of the building. There is a pleasant shade here, also thepungent odor from the bright green bluff which faces him. The Indianchildren are very quiet, but they are agog with interest. They have notedthe bulging pockets of Seth's Sunday jacket, and are more than ready togive him their best attention in consequence. Besides they like histeaching.
Seth's method is quite simple. Last Sunday he told them a little,old-fashioned children's fairy story with a moral. Now he takes each childin turn, and questions him or her on the teaching he then conveyed. But inthis direction they are not very apt, these little heathens.
The singing inside the Mission had died out, and the last chords on thesmall organ had wheezed themselves into silence. Seth, having finished hispreliminaries, began serious business.
He deposited a large packet of treacle taffy upon the ground at his feet,cut the string of it with his sheath-knife, opened it, and examined thecontents with a finely critical air. Having satisfied himself he set itdown again and smiled on his twelve pupils, all ranging from ten to twelveyears of age, sitting round him. He produced a well-thumbed volume fromhis pocket, and, opening it, laid it upon his knee. It was there in casehe should stumble, for Seth was not a natural born teacher. He did it forthe sake of the little ones themselves.
Next he handed each child a piece of taffy, and waited while it wasadjusted in the cheek.
"Guess you've all located your dollops o' candy?" he said, after a while."I allow you ken get right at it and fix it in. This camp ain't goin' tobe struck till the sweet food's done. Guess you'll mostly need physic'fore you're through, sure. Howsum, your mam's 'll see to it."
The last remarks were said more to himself than to the children, who satstaring up into his dark, earnest face with eyes as solemn as those of themoose calf, and their little cheeks bulging dangerously. Seth cleared histhroat.
"Guess you ain't heard tell o' that Injun gal that used to go around in ared blanket same as any of you might. I'm jest going to tell you abouther. Ah, more candy?" as a small hand was held out appealingly toward him."Guess we'll have another round before I get going right." He doled outmore of the sticky stuff, and then propped his face upon his hands andproceeded.
"Wal, as I was goin' to say, that little squaw lived away there by thehills in a snug tepee with her gran'ma. They were jest two squaws bythemselves, an old one, and a young one. And they hadn't no brave to help'em, nor nothin'. The young squaw was jest like any of you. Jest a neat,spry little gal, pretty as a picture and real good.
"She kind o' looked after her gran'ma who was sick. Sick as a mule withthe botts. Did the chores around that tepee, bucked a lot of cord-wood,fixed up moccasins, an' did the cookin', same as you gals 'll mebbe dolater on. She was a slick young squaw, she was. Knew a caribou from ajack-rabbit, an' could sit a bucking broncho to beat the band. Guess itwas doin' all these things so easy she kind o' got feelin'independent--sort o' wanted to do everything herself. And she just used togo right down to the store for food an' things by herself.
"Now I don't know how it rightly come about, but somewheres around thattepee a wolf got busy. A timber wolf, most as big as--as--the Missionhouse. An' he was savage. Gee, but he was real savage! Guess he was one o'them fellers always ready to scare squaws an' papooses an' things. Ther'slots o' that sort around."
Wanaha, quite unobserved by Seth, had come round the corner of thebuilding, and stood watching the earnest face of the man who was sodeliberately propounding his somewhat garbled version of Little Red RidingHood. While she listened to his words she smiled pensively.
"Yes, they git themselves up fancy an' come sneakin' around, an' they'rejest that fierce there ain't no chance for you. Say, them things would eatyou right up, same as you've eaten that taffy. Wal, this young squaw wasgoin' off on her broncho when this timber wolf comes up smilin', an' hesays, 'Good-day.' An' he shakes hands with her same as grown folks do. Allthem timber wolves are like that, 'cause they think you won't see they'regoing to eat you then. You see he was hungry. He'd been out on thewar-path--which is real bad--an' he'd been fightin', and the folks hadbeaten him off, and he couldn't get food, 'cause he'd left the Reservationwhere there's always plenty to eat an' drink, and there was none anywhereelse.
"Wal, he sizes up that squaw, and sees her blanket's good an' thick, andher moccasins is made of moose hide, and her beads is pretty, and hethinks she'll make a good meal, but he thinks, thinks he, he'll eat thesquaw's sick gran'ma first. So he says 'Good-bye,' an' waits till she'swell away on the trail, and then hurries back to the tepee an' eats up theold squaw. Say wolves is ter'ble--'specially timber wolves.
"Now, when that squaw gits home----" Seth paused and doled out more taffy.The children were wonderfully intent on the story, but the sweets helpedtheir attention. For there was much of what he said that was hard on theirunderstandings. The drama of the story was plain enough, but the moralappealed to them less.
"When that squaw gits home she lifts the flap of the tepee, and she seeswhat she thinks is her gran'ma lying covered up on the skins on theground. The fire is still burnin', and everything is jest as she left it.She feels good an' chirpy, and sits right down by her gran'ma's side. Andthen she sees what she thinks looks kind o' queer. Says she, 'Gee,gran'ma, what a pesky long nose you've got!' You see that wolf had comealong an' eaten her gran'ma, and fixed himself up in her clothes an'things, and was lying right there ready to eat her, too, when she comealong. So master timber wolf, he says, 'That's so I ken smell out thingswhen I'm hunting.' Then that squaw, bein' curious-like, which is the waywith wimminfolk, says, 'Shucks, gran'ma, but your tongue's that long youain't room for it in your mouth.' That wolf gits riled then. Says he,'That's so I ken taste the good things I eat.' Guess the squaw was plumbscared at that. She'd never heard her gran'ma say things like that.
Butshe goes on, says she, 'Your teeth's fine an' long an' white, maybe you'vecleaned 'em some.' Then says the wolf, 'That's so I ken eat folks like youright up.' With that he springs out of the blankets an' pounces sheer onthat poor little squaw and swallows her up at one gulp, same as you kenswaller this taffy."
Seth suddenly sprang from his seat, held the bag of candy out at arm'slength, and finally dropped it on the ground in the midst of the children.There was a rush; a chorus of childish glee, and the whole twelve fellinto a struggling heap upon the ground, wildly fighting for the feast.
With a gentle smile Seth looked on at the fierce scramble. To judge fromhis manner it would have been hard to assert which was the happier, thechildren or their teacher. Though Seth found them a tax on his imaginativepowers, and though he was a man unused to many words, he loved theseSunday afternoons with his young charges.
His thoughtful contemplation was broken by Wanaha. Her moccasins gave outno sound as she stepped up to him from behind and touched him on theshoulder. Her grave smile had passed; and when he turned he found himselflooking into a pair of steady, serious, inscrutable eyes. No white womancan hide her thoughts behind such an impenetrable mask as the squaw.Surely the Indian face might well have served as a model for the Sphinx.
"The white teacher makes much happy," she said in her labored English.
Seth promptly answered her in her own tongue.
"The papooses of the Indian make the white man happy," he said simply.
There was a long pause. Suddenly one dusky urchin rose with a whoop ofdelight, bearing aloft the torn paper with several lumps of sweet stuff,discolored with dirt, sticking to it. With one accord the little mobbroke. The triumphant child fled away to the bluff pursued by the rest ofher howling companions. The man and the squaw were left alone.
"The white man tells a story of a wolf and a squaw," Wanaha said,returning to her own language. The children were still shrieking in thedistance.
Seth nodded assent. He had nothing to add to her statement.
"And the wolf eats the squaw," the woman went on, quite seriously. Itsounded strange, her literal manner of discussing this children's story.
A look of interest came into the man's thoughtful eyes. But he turnedaway, not wishing to display any curiosity. He understood the Indiannature as few men do.
"There was no one by to warn the squaw?" she went on in a tone of simpleinquiry. "No brave to help her?"
"No one to help," answered the man.
There was another pause. The children still inside the Mission house werehelping to chant the Doxology, and the woman appeared to listen to it withinterest. When it was finished she went on----
"Where the wolf is there is much danger for the squaw. Indian squaw--orwhite. I, too, learn these things. I learn from much that I hear--andsee."
"I know," Seth nodded.
"You know?"
"Yes."
"Wanaha is glad. The white brave will watch over the young squaw." Thewoman smiled again. Seth thought he detected a sigh of relief. Heunderstood this woman as well as it is given to man to understand anywoman--even an Indian woman.
"This wolf won't bother about the gran'ma," said Seth, looking straightinto Wanaha's eyes. "He's after the young squaw."
"And he will have the young squaw soon."
Wanaha abruptly turned away and hurried round to the entrance of theMission. The sound of people moving within the building told her that theSunday-school was over. Her silent going suggested that she had no wish tobe seen talking in private to Seth.
Seth remained where he was. His delay may have been intentional, yet hehad the appearance of deep preoccupation. He quite understood thatWanaha's presence during his story had been deliberate. She had left herown class on some trifling excuse and come out to warn him, knowing thathe would be alone with his children. There was no smile on his face whilehe stood thinking, only a pucker between his dark brows, and an odd bitingof his under-lip.
At last he shook himself as though he found the shade chilly, and, amoment later, sauntered round to the front of the building in time to meetthe others coming out.
He joined the group which included Wanaha, and they talked a few minuteswith the Agent and Mr. Hargreaves. Then Mrs. Rankin and Rosebud moved offto the two waiting buckboards, and Wanaha disappeared down a by-paththrough the trees. Seth and Charlie Rankin followed their womenfolk.
Seth was the only silent member of the party, but this was hardlynoticeable, for he rarely had much to say for himself.
On the way home Rosebud at last found reason to grumble at his silence.She had chattered away the whole time in her light-hearted, inconsequentfashion, and at last asked him a question to which she required more thana nod of the head in reply. And she had to ask it three times, a matterwhich ruffled her patience.
"Why are you so grumpy with me, Seth?" she asked, with a little frown. Shealways accused Seth of being "grumpy" when he was more than usuallysilent.
"Eh?" The man turned from the contemplation of the horses' tails.
"I asked you three times if you saw the Agent talking to two of hisscouts--Jim Crow and Rainmaker--before service."
Seth flicked his whip over the backs of the horses.
"Sure," he said indifferently.
"Jim Crow is the head of his Indian police."
The girl spoke significantly, and Seth glanced round at her in surprise.
"I know," he observed.
"Do you think there is anything--moving? Oh, look, Seth, there's a lovelyjack-rabbit." Rosebud pointed ahead. A large jack-rabbit was loping slowlyout of the way of the buckboard. Seth leant forward with unnecessaryinterest, and so was saved a direct answer to the girl's question.