CHAPTER I.

A STRANGE GIRL.

"Well, by the help of either her red gods or devils, she can swim,

anyway!"

This explosive statement was made one June morning on the banks of the

Kootenai, and the speaker, after a steady gaze, relinquished his

field-glass to the man beside him.

"Can she make it?" he asked.

A grunt was the only reply given him. The silent watcher was too much

interested in the scene across the water.

Shouts came to them--the yells of frightened Indian children; and from the

cone-shaped dwellings, up from the water, the Indian women were hurrying.

One, reaching the shore first, sent up a shrill cry, as she perceived

that, from the canoe where the children played, one had fallen over, and

was being swept away by that swift-rushing, chill water, far out from the

reaching hands of the others.

Then a figure lolling on the shore farther down stream than the canoe

sprang erect at the frightened scream.

One quick glance showed the helplessness of those above, and another the

struggling little form there in the water--the little one who turned such

wild eyes toward the shore, and was the only one of them all who was not

making some outcry.

The white men, who were watching from the opposite side, could see shoes

flung aside quickly; a jacket dropped on the shore; and then down into the

water a slight figure darted with the swiftness of a kingfisher, and swam

out to the little fellow who had struggled to keep his head above water,

but was fast growing helpless in the chill of the mountain river.

Then it was that Mr. Maxwell Lyster commented on the physical help lent by

the gods of the red people, as the ability of any female to swim thus

lustily in spite of that icy current seemed to his civilized understanding

a thing superhuman. Of course, bears and other animals of the woods swam

it at all seasons, when it was open; but to see a woman dash into it like

that! Well, it sent a shiver over him to think of it.

"They'll both get chilled and drop to the bottom!" he remarked, with

irritated concern. "Of course there are enough of the red vagabonds in

this new El Dorado of yours, without that particular squaw. But it would

be a pity that so plucky a one should be translated."

Then a yell of triumph came from the other shore. A canoe had been

loosened, and was fairly flying over the water to where the child had been

dragged to the surface, and the rescuer was holding herself up by the slow

efforts of one arm, but could make no progress with her burden.

"That's no squaw!" commented the other man, who had been looking through

the glass.

"Why, Dan!"

"It's no squaw, I tell you," insisted the other, with the superior

knowledge of a native. "Thought so the minute I saw her drop the shoes and

jacket that way. She didn't make a single Indian move. It's a white

woman!"

"Queer place for a white woman, isn't it?"

The man called Dan did not answer. The canoe had reached that figure in

the water and the squaw in it lifted the now senseless child and laid him

in the bottom of the light craft.

A slight altercation seemed going on between the woman in the water and

the one in the boat. The former was protesting against being helped on

board--the men could see that by their gestures. She finally gained her

point, for the squaw seized the paddle and sent the boat shoreward with

all the strength of her brown arms, while the one in the water held on to

the canoe and was thus towed back, where half the Indian village had now

swarmed to receive them.

"She's got sand and sense," and Dan nodded his appreciation of the towing

process; "for, chilled as she must be, the canoe would more than likely

have turned over if she had tried to climb into it. Look at the pow-wow

they are kicking up! That little red devil must count for big stakes with

them."

"But the woman who swam after him. See! they try to stand her on her feet,

but she can't walk. There! she's on the ground again. I'd give half my

supper to know if she has killed herself with that ice-bath."

"Maybe you can eat all your supper and find out, too," observed the other,

with a shrug of his shoulders, and a quizzical glance at his companion,

"unless even the glimpse of a petticoat has chased away your appetite. You

had better take some advice from an old man, Max, and swear off

approaching females in this country, for the specimens you'll find here

aren't things to make you proud they're human."

"An old man!" repeated Mr. Lyster with a smile of derision. "You must be

pretty near twenty-eight years old--aren't you, Dan? and just about five

years older than myself. And what airs you do assume in consequence! With

all the weight of those years," he added, slowly, "I doubt, Mr. Dan

Overton, if you have really _lived_ as much as I have."

One glance of the dark eyes was turned on the speaker for an instant, and

then the old felt hat again shaded them as he continued watching the group

on the far shore. The swimmer had been picked up by a stalwart Indian

woman, and was carried bodily up to one of the lodges, while another

squaw--evidently the mother--carried the little redskin who had caused all

the commotion.

"I suppose, by living, you mean the life of settlements--or, to condense

the question still more, the life of cities," continued Overton,

stretching himself lazily on the bank. "You mean the life of a certain set

in one certain city--New York, for instance," and he grinned at the

expression of impatience on the face of the other. "Yes, I reckon New York

is about the one, and a certain part of the town to live in. A certain

gang of partners, who have a certain man to make their clothes and boots

and hats, and stamp his name on the inside of them, so that other folks

can see, when you take off your coat, or your hat, or your gloves, that

they were made at just the right place. This makes you a man worth

knowing--isn't that about the idea? And in the afternoon, at just about

the right hour, you rig yourself out in a certain cut of coat, and stroll

for an hour or so on a certain street! In the evening--if a man wants to

understand just what it is to live--he must get into other clothes and

drop into the theater, making a point of being introduced to any heavy

swell within reach, so you can speak of it afterward, you know. Just as

your chums like to say they had a supper with a pretty actress, after

the curtain went down; but they don't go into details, and own up that the

'actress' maybe never did anything on a stage but walk on in armor and

carry a banner. Oh, scowl if you want to! Of course it sounds shoddy when

a trapper outlines it; but it doesn't seem shoddy to the people who live

like that. Then, about the time that all good girls are asleep, it is just

the hour for a supper to be ordered, at just the right place for the wine

to be good, and the dishes served in A1 shape, with a convenient waiter

who knows how dim to make the lights, and how to efface himself, and let

you wait on your 'lady' with your own hands. And she'll go home wearing a

ring of yours--two, if you have them; and you'll wake up at noon next day,

and think what a jolly time you had, but with your head so muddled that

you can't remember where it was you were to meet her the next night, or

whether it was the next night that her husband was to be home, and she

couldn't see you at all." Overton rolled over on his face and grunted

disdainfully, saying: "That's about the style of thing you call _living_,

don't you, sonny?"

"Great Scott, Dan!" and the "sonny" addressed stared at him in perplexity,

"one never knows what to expect of you. Of course there is _some_ truth in

the sketch you make; but--but I thought you had never ranged to the

East?"

"Did you? Well, I don't look as if I'd ever ranged beyond the timber, do

I?" and he stretched out his long legs with their shabby coverings, and

stuck his fingers through a hole in his hat. "This outfit doesn't look as

if the hands of a Broadway tailor had ever touched it. But, my boy, the

sketch you speak of would be just as true to life among a certain set in

any large city of the States; only in the West, or even in the South,

those ambitious sports would know enough to buy a horse on their own

judgment, if they wanted to ride. Or would bet on the races without

hustling around to find some played-out jockey who would give them tips."

"Well, to say the least, your opinion is not very flattering to us,"

remarked the young man, moodily. "You've got some grudge against the East,

I guess."

"Grudge? Not any. And you're all right, Max. You will find thousands

willing to keep to your idea of life, so we won't split on that wedge. My

old stepdad would chime in with you if he were here. He prates about

civilization and Eastern culture till I get weary sometimes. Culture! Wait

till you see him. He's all right in his way, of course; but as I cut loose

from home when only fifteen, and never ran across the old man again until

two years ago--well, you see, I can make my estimates in that direction

without being biased by family feeling. And I reckon he does the same

thing. I don't know what to expect when I go back this time; but, from

signs around camp when I left, I wouldn't be surprised if he presented me

with a stepmother on my return."

"A stepmother? Whew!" whistled the other. "Well, that shows there are some

white women in your region, anyway."

"Oh, yes, we have several. This particular one is a Pennsylvania product;

talks through her nose, and eats with her knife, and will maybe try to

make eyes at you and keep you in practice. But she is a good, square

woman; simply one of the many specimens that drift out here. Came up from

Helena with the 'boom,' and started a milliner store--a milliner store in

the bush, mind you! But after the Indians had bought all the bright

feathers and artificial flowers, she changed her sign, and keeps an

eating-house now. It is the high-toned corner of the camp. She can cook

some; and I reckon that's what catches the old man."

"Any more interesting specimens like that?"

"Not like that," returned Overton; "but there are some more."

Then he arose, and stood listening to sounds back in the wild forests.

"I hear the 'cayuse' bell," he remarked; "so the others are coming. We'll

go back up to the camp, and, after 'chuck,' we'll go over and give you a

nearer view of the tribe on the other shore, if you want to add them to

the list of your sight-seeing."

"Certainly I do. They'll be a relief after the squads of railroad section

hands we've been having for company lately. They knocked all the romance

out of the wildly beautiful country we've been coming through since we

left the Columbia River."

"Come back next year; then a boat will be puffing up here to the landing,

and you can cross to the Columbia in a few hours, for the road will be

completed then."

"And you--will you be here then?"

"Well--yes; I reckon so. I never anchor anywhere very long; but this

country suits me, and the company seems to need me."

The young fellow looked at him and laughed, and dropped his hand on the

broad shoulder with a certain degree of affection.

"Seems to need you?" he repeated. "Well, Mr. Dan Overton, if the day ever

comes when _I'm_ necessary to the welfare of a section as large as a

good-sized State, I hope I'll know enough to appreciate my own

importance."

"Hope you will," said Overton, with a kindly smile. "No reason why you

should not be of use. Every man with a fair share of health and strength

ought to be of use somewhere."

"Yes, that sounds all right and is easy to grasp, if you have been brought

up with the idea. But suppose you had been trained by a couple of maiden

aunts who only thought to give you the manners of a gentleman, and leave

you their money to get through the world with? I guess, under such

circumstances, you, too, might have settled into the feathery nest

prepared for you, and thought you were doing your duty to the world if you

were only ornamental," and the dubious smile on his really handsome face

robbed the speech of any vanity.

"You're all right, I tell you," returned the other. "Don't growl at

yourself so much. You'll find your work and buckle down to it, some of

these days. Maybe you'll find it out here--who knows? Of course Mr. Seldon

would see to it that you got any post you would want in this district."

"Yes, he's a jolly old fellow, and has shown me a lot of favors. Seems to

me relatives mean more to folks out here than they do East, because so few

have their families or relatives along, I guess. If it had not been for

Seldon, I rather think I would not have had the chance of this wild trip

with you."

"Likely not. I don't generally want a tenderfoot along when I've work to

do. No offense, Max; but they are too often a hindrance. Now that you have

come, though, I'll confess I'm glad of it. The lonely trips over this wild

region tend to make a man silent--a bear among people when he does reach a

camp. But we've talked most of the time, and I reckon I feel the better of

it. I know I'll miss you when I go over this route again. You'll be on

your way East by that time."

The "cayuse" bell sounded nearer and nearer, and directly from the dense

forest a packhorse came stepping with care over the fallen logs, where the

sign of a trail was yet dim to any eyes but those of a woodsman. A bell at

its neck tinkled as it walked, and after it four others followed, all with

heavy loads bound to their backs. It looked strange to see the patient

animals thus walk without guide or driver through the dense timber of the

mountains; but a little later voices were heard, and two horsemen came out

of the shadows of the wood, and followed the horses upward along the bank

of the river to where a little stream of fresh water tumbled down to the

Kootenai. There a little camp was located, an insignificant gathering of

tents, but one that meant a promising event to the country, for it was to

be the connecting point of the boats that would one day float from the

States on the river, and the railroad that would erelong lead westward

over the trail from which the packhorses were bringing supplies.

The sun was setting and all the ripples of the river shone red in its

reflected light. Forests of pine loomed up black and shadowy above the

shores; and there, higher up--up where the snow was, all tips of the river

range were tinged a warm pink, and where the shadows lay, the lavender and

faint purples drifted into each other, and bit by bit crowded the pink

line higher and higher until it dared touch only the topmost peaks with

its lingering kiss.

Lyster halted to look over the wild beauty of the wilderness, and from the

harmony of river and hills and sky his eyes turned to Overton.

"You are right, Dan," he said, with an appreciative smile, a smile that

opened his lips and showed how perfect the mouth was under the brown

mustache--"you are right enough to keep close to all these beauties. You

seem in some way to belong to them--not that you are so much 'a thing of

beauty' yourself," and the smile widened a little; "but you have in you

all the strength of the hills and the patience of the wilderness. You know

what I mean."

"Yes, I guess so," answered Overton. "You want some one to spout verses to

or make love to, and there is no subject handy. I can make allowances for

you, though. Those tendencies are apt to stick to a man for about a year

after a trip to Southern California. I don't know whether it's the girls

down there, or the wine that is accountable for it; but whatever it is,

you have been back from there only three months. You've three-quarters of

a year to run yet--maybe more; for I've a notion that you have a leaning

in that direction even in your most sensible moments."

"H'm! You must have made a trip to that wine country yourself sometime,"

observed Lyster. "Your theory suggests practice. Were there girls and wine

there then?"

"Plenty," returned Overton, briefly. "Come on. There's the cook shouting

supper."

"And after supper we're to go over to the Kootenai camp. Say! what is the

meaning of that name, anyway? You know all their jargons up here; do you

know that, too?"

"Nobody does, I reckon; there are lots of theories flying around. The

generally accepted one is that they were called the '_Court Nez_' by the

French trappers long ago, and that Kootenai is the result, after

generations of Indian pronunciation. They named the '_Nez Perces_,'

too--the 'pierced noses,' you know; but that name has kept its meaning

better. You'll find the trail of the French all through the Indian tribes

up here."

"Think that was a Frenchwoman in the river back there? You said she was

white."

"Yes, I did. But it's generally the Frenchmen you find among the reds, and

not the women; though I do know some square white women across the line

who have married educated Indians."

"But they are generally a lazy, shiftless set?"

The tone was half inquiring, and Overton grimaced and smiled.

"They are not behind the rest, when it comes to a fight," he answered.

"And as to lazy--well, there are several colors of people who are that,

under some circumstances. I have an Indian friend across in the States,

who made eight thousand dollars in a cattle deal last year, and didn't

sell out, either. Now, when you and I can do as well on capital we've

earned ourselves, then maybe we'll have a right to criticise some of the

rest for indolence. But you can't do much to improve Indians, or any one

else, by penning them up in so many square miles and bribing them to be

good. The Indian cattleman I speak of kept clear of the reservation, and

after drifting around for a while, settled down to the most natural

civilized calling possible to an Indian--stock-raising. Dig in the ground?

No; they won't do much of that, just at first. But I've eaten some pretty

good garden truck they've raised."

Lyster whistled and arched his handsome brows significantly.

"So your sympathies run in that direction, do they? Is there a Kootenai

Pocahontas somewhere in the wilderness accountable for your ideas? That is

about the only ground I could excuse you on, for I think they are beastly,

except in pictures."

They had reached a gathering of men who were seated at a table in the open

air--some long boards laid on trestles.

Overton and his friend were called to seats at the head of the table,

where the "boss" of the construction gang sat. The rough pleasantries of

the men, and the way they made room for him, showed that the big bronzed

ranger was a favorite visitor along the "works."

They looked with some curiosity at his more finely garbed companion, but

he returned their regard with a good deal of careless audacity, and won

their liking by his independence. But in the midst of the social studies

he was making of them, he heard Overton say:

"And you have not heard of a white girl in this vicinity?"

"Never a girl. Are you looking for one? Old Akkomi, the Indian, has gone

into camp across the river, and he might have a red one to spare."

"Perhaps," agreed Overton. "He's an old acquaintance of mine--a year old.

But I'm not looking for red girls just now, and I'm going to tell the old

man to keep the families clear of your gang, too." Then to Lyster he

remarked:

"Whether these people know it or not, there is a white girl in the Indian

camp--a young girl, too; and before we sleep, we'll see who she is."