CHAPTER XXVIII.
AGAIN ON THE KOOTENAI.
Another canoe, with a woman in it, skimmed over the waters in the twilight
that evening--a woman with all the gladness of youth in her bright eyes,
and an eagerness for the north country that far outstripped the speed of
the boat.
Each dark tree-trunk as it loomed up from the shores, each glint of the
after-glow as it lighted the ripples, each whisper of the fresh, soft wind
of the mountains, was to her as a special welcome. All of them touched her
with the sense of a friendship that had been faithful. That she was no
more to them than any of the strangers who came and went on the current,
she could not believe; for they all meant so much, so very much to her.
She asked for a paddle, that she might once more feel against her strength
the strong rush of the mountain river. She caressed its waves and reached
out her hands to the bending boughs, and laughter and sighs touched her
lips.
"Never again!" she whispered, as if a promise was being made; "never
again! my wilderness!"
The man who had charge of the canoe--a stalwart, red-whiskered man of
perhaps forty-five--looked at her a good deal in a cautious way. She was
so unlike any of the girls he had ever seen--so gay, so free of speech
with each stranger or Indian who came their way; so daintily garbed in a
very correct creation of some city tailor; and, above all, so tenderly
careful of a child who slept among the rugs at her feet, and looked like a
bit of pink blossom against the dark furs.
"You are a stranger here, aren't you?" she asked the man. "I saw no one
like you running a boat here last summer."
"No, no," he said, slowly; "I didn't then. My camp is east of Bonner's
Ferry, quite a ways; but I get around here sometimes, too. I don't run a
boat only for myself; but when they told me a lady wanted to get to Twin
Springs, I didn't allow no scrub Indians to take her if my boat was good
enough."
"It is a lovely boat," she said, admiringly; "the prettiest I ever saw on
this river, and it is very good of you to bring me yourself. That is one
of the things makes me realize I am in the West once more--to be helped
simply because I am a girl alone. And you didn't even know my name when
you offered to bring me."
"No, but I did before I left shore," he answered; "and then I counted
myself kind of lucky. I--I've heard so much about you, miss, from folks up
at Twin Springs; from one lady there in particular--Mrs. Huzzard."
"Oh! so you know her, do you?" she asked, and wondered at the
self-conscious look with which he owned up that he did--a little.
"A little? Oh, that is not nearly enough," she said, good-naturedly.
"Lorena Jane is worth knowing a good deal of."
"That's my opinion, too," he agreed; "but a fellow needs some help
sometimes, if he ain't over handy with the gift of gab."
"Well, now, I should not think you would need much help," she answered.
"You ought to be the sort she would make friends with quick enough."
"Oh, yes--friends," he said, and sent the canoe on with swifter, stronger
strokes. The other boat, paddled by Indians and carrying baggage, was left
far behind.
"You make this run often?" she asked, with a little wonder as to who the
man was. His dress was much above the average, his boat was a beautiful
and costly thing, and she had not learned, in the haste of her departure,
who her boatman was.
"Not very often. Haven't been up this way for two weeks now."
"But that is often," she said. "Are you located in this country?"
"Well--yes, I have been. I struck a silver lode across the hills in yon
direction. I've sold out and am only prospecting around just now, not
settled anywhere yet. My name is McCoy."
"McCoy!" and like a flash she remembered the post-script of Mrs. Huzzard's
letter. "Oh, yes--I've heard of you."
"You have? Well, that's funny. I didn't know my name had got beyond the
ranges."
"Didn't you? Well, it got across the country to Manhattan Island--that's
where I was when it reached me," and she smiled quizzically. "You know
Mrs. Huzzard writes me letters sometimes."
"And do you mean--did she--"
"Yes, she did--mentioned your name very kindly, too," she said, as he
hesitated in a confused way. Then, with all the gladness of home-coming in
her heart and her desire that no heart should be left heavy, she added:
"And, really, as I told you before, I don't think you need much help."
The kindly, smiling eyes of the man thanked her, as he drove the canoe
through the clear waters. Above them the stars were commencing to gleam
faintly, and all the sweet odors of the dusk floated by them, and the
sweetest seemed to come to her from the north.
"We will not stop over--let us go on," she said, when he spoke of Sinna
Ferry. "I can paddle while you rest at times, or we can float there on the
current if we both grow tired; but let us keep going."
But ere they reached the little settlement, a canoe swept into sight ahead
of them and when it came near, Captain Leek very nearly fell over the side
of it in his anxiety to make himself known to Miss Rivers.
"Strangest thing in the world!" he declared. "Here I am, sent down to
telegraph you and wait a week if need be until an answer comes; and
half-way on my journey I meet you just as if the message had reached you
in some way before it was even put on paper. Extraordinary thing--very!"
"You were going to telegraph me? What for?" and the lightness of her heart
was chased away by fear. "Is--is any one hurt?"
"Hurt? Not a bit of it. But Harris thinks he is worse and wanted you,
until Dan concluded to ask you to come. I have the message here
somewhere," and he drew out a pocket-book.
"Dan asked me to come? Let me see it, please," and she unfolded the paper
and read the words he had written--the only time she had ever seen his
writing in a message to her.
A lighted match threw a flickering light over the page, on which he said:
"Joe is worse. He wants you. Will you come back?
"DAN OVERTON."
She folded it up and held it tight in her hand under the cloak she wore.
He had sent for her! Ah! how long the night would be, for not until dawn
could she answer his message.
"We will go on," she said. "Can't you spare us a boatman? Mr. McCoy has
outstripped our Indian extras who have our outfit, and he needs a little
rest, though he won't own up."
"Why, of course! Our errand is over, too, so we'll turn back with you. I
just passed Akkomi a few miles back. He is coming North with the season,
as usual. I thought the old fellow would freeze out with the winter; but
there he was drifting North to a camping-place he wanted to reach before
stopping. I suppose we'll have him for a neighbor all summer again."
The girl, remembering his antipathy to all of the red race, laughed and
raised in her arms the child, that had awakened.
"All I needed to perfect my return to the Kootenai country was the
presence of Akkomi," she confessed. "I should have missed him, for he was
my first friend in the valley. And it may be, Mr. McCoy, that if he is
inclined to be friendly to-night, I may ask him to take me the rest of the
way. I want to talk to him. He is an old friend."
"Certainly," agreed McCoy; but he evidently thought her desire was a very
peculiar one.
"But you will have a friend at court just the same--whether I go all the
way with you or not," she said and smiled across at him knowingly.
Captain Leek heard the words, too, and must have understood them, for he
stared stonily at the big, good-looking miner. Their greeting had been
very brief; evidently they were not congenial spirits.
"Is that a--a child?" asked the captain, as the little creature drooped
drowsily with its face against 'Tana's neck; "really a child?"
"Really a child," returned the girl, "and the sweetest, prettiest little
thing in the world when her eyes are open." As he continued to stare at
her in astonishment while their boats kept opposite each other, she added:
"You would have sooner expected to see me with a pet bear, or wolf,
wouldn't you?"
"Yes; I think I would," he confessed, and she drew the child closer and
kissed it and laughed happily.
"That is because you only know one side of me," she said.
The stars were thick overhead, and their clear light made the night
beautiful. When they reached the boats of Akkomi, only a short parley was
held, and then an Indian canoe darted out ahead of the others. Two dark
experts bent to the paddles and old Akkomi sat near the girl and the
child. Looking in their dusky faces, 'Tana realized more fully that she
was again in the land of the Kootenais.
It was just as she would have chosen to come back, and close against her
heart was pressed the message by which he had called her.
The child slept, but she and the old Indian talked now and then in low
tones all through the night. She felt no weariness. The air she breathed
was as a tonic against fatigue, and when the canoe veered to the left
and entered the creek leading to camp, she knew her journey was almost
over.
The dusk was yet over the land, a faint whiteness touched the eastern edge
of the night and told of the dawn to come, but it had not arrived.
The camp was wrapped in silence. Only the watch-man of the ore-sheds was
awake, and came tramping down to the shore when their paddles dipped in
the water and told him a boat was near. It was the man Saunders.
"Miss Rivers!" he exclaimed, incredulously. "Well, if this isn't luck!
Harris will about drop dead with joy when he sees you. He took worse just
after dark last night. He says he is worse, though he can talk yet. I was
with him a little while, and how he did worry because you wouldn't get
here before he was done for! Overton has been with him all night; went to
bed only an hour ago. I'll call the folks up for you."
"No," said the girl, hastily; "call no one yet. I will go to Joe if you
will take me. If he is so bad, that will be best. Let the rest sleep."
"Can I carry the--the baby?" he asked, doubtfully, and took the child in
his arms with a sort of fear lest it should break. He was not the sort of
man to be needlessly curious, so he showed no surprise at the rather
strange adjunct to her outfit, but carried the little sleeper into the
pretty sitting room, where he deposited it on a couch, and the girl
arranged it comfortably, that it might at last have undisturbed rest.
A man in an adjoining room heard their voices and came to the door.
"You can come out for a while, Kelly," said Saunders. "This is Miss
Rivers. She will want to see him."
A minute later the man in charge had left 'Tana alone beside Harris.
All the life in him seemed to gather in his eyes as he looked at her.
"You have come! I told him you would--I told Dan," he whispered,
excitedly. "Come close; turn up the light; I want to see you plain. Just
the same girl; but happier--a heap happier, ain't you?"
"A heap happier," she agreed.
"And I helped you about it some--about the mine, I mean. I like to think
of that, to think I made some return for the harm I done you."
"But you never did me any harm, Joe."
"Yes, I did--lots. You didn't know--but I did. That's why I wanted you to
come so bad. I wanted to square things--before I had to go."
"But you are all right, Joe. You are not going to die. You are much better
than when I saw you last."
"Because I can talk, you think so," he answered. "But I am cold to my
waist--I know what that means; and I ain't grumbling. It's all right, now
that you have come. Queer that all the time we've known each other, this
is the first time I've talked to you! 'Tana, you must let me tell Dan
Overton all--"
"All! All what?"
"Where I saw you first, and--"
"No--no, I can't do that," she said, shrinking back. "Joe, I've tried
often to think of it--of telling him, but I never could. He will have to
trust or distrust me, but I can't tell him."
"I know how you feel; but you wrong yourself. Any one would give you
credit instead of blaming you--don't you ever think of that? And
then--then, 'Tana, I tried to tell him down at the Ferry, because I
thought you were in some game against him. I managed to tell him you were
Holly's partner, but hadn't got any farther when the paralysis caught me.
I hadn't time to tell him that Holly was your father, and that he made you
go where he said; or that you dressed as a boy and was called 'Monte,'
because that disguise was the only safety possible for you in the gambling
dens where he took you. Part of it I didn't understand clearly at that
time. I didn't know you really thought he was dead, and that you tramped
alone into this region in your boy's clothes, so you could get a new start
where no white folks knew you. I told him just enough to wrong you in his
eyes, and then could not tell him enough to right you again. Now do you
know why I want you to let me tell him all--while I can?"
It had taken him a long time to say the words; his articulation had grown
indistinct at times, and the excitement was wearing on him.
Once the door into the room where the child lay swung open noiselessly,
and he had turned his eyes in that direction; but the girl's head was
bowed on the arm of his chair, and she did not notice it.
"And then--there are other things," he continued. "He don't know you were
the boy Fannie spoke of in that letter; or that she gave you the plot of
this land; or, more--far more to me!--that you took care of her till she
died. All that must give him many a worried thought, 'Tana, that you never
counted on, for he liked you--and yet all along he has been made to think
wrong of you."
"I know," she assented. "He blamed me for--for a man being in my cabin
that night, and I--I wanted him to--think well of me; but I could not tell
him the truth, I was ashamed of it all my life. And the shame has got in
my blood till I can't change it. I want him to know, but I can't tell
him."
"You don't need to," said a voice back of her, and she arose to see
Overton standing in the door. "I did not mean to listen; but I stopped to
look at the child, and I heard. I hope you are not sorry," and he came
over to her with outstretched hand.
She could not speak at first. She had dreamed of so many ways in which she
would meet him--of what she would say to him; and now she stood before him
without a word.
"Don't be sorry, 'Tana," he said, and tightened his hand over her own. "I
honor you for what I heard just now. You were wrong not to tell me; I
might have saved you some troubles."
"I was ashamed--ashamed!" she said, and turned away.
"But it is not to me all this should be told," he said, more coldly. "Max
is the one to know; or, maybe, he does know."
"He knows a little--not much. Seldon and Haydon recognized--Holly. So the
family knew that, but no more."
It was so hard for her to talk to him there, where Harris looked from one
to the other expectantly.
And then the child slipped from the couch and came toddling into the light
and to the girl.
"Tana--bek-fas!" she lisped, imperatively. "Bek-fas."
"Yes, you shall have your breakfast very soon," promised the girl. "But
come and shake hands with these gentlemen."
She surveyed them each with baby scrutiny, and refused. "Bek-fas" was all
the world contained that she would give attention to just then.
"You with a baby, 'Tana?" said Harris. "Have you adopted one?"
"Not quite," and she wished--how she wished it was all over! "Her mother,
who is dead, gave her to me. But she has a father. I have come up here to
see what he will say."
"Up here!"
"Yes. But I must go and find some one to get her breakfast. Then--Dan--I
would like to see you."
He bowed and started to follow her, but Harris called him back.
"This spurt of strength has about done for me," he said. "The cold is
creeping up fast. I want to tell you something else. Don't tell her till I
am gone, for she wouldn't touch my hand if she knew it. I killed Lee
Holly!"
"You didn't--you couldn't!"
"I did. I was able to walk long before you knew it, but I lay low. I knew
if he was living, he would come where she was, sooner or later, and I knew
the gold would fetch him, so I waited. I could hardly keep from killing
him as he left her cabin that first night, but she had told him to come
back, and I knew that would be my time. She thought once it might be me,
but changed her mind. Don't tell her till I am gone, Dan. And--listen! You
are everything to her, and you don't know it. I knew it before she left,
but--Oh, well, it's all square now, I guess. She won't blame me--after
I'm dead. She knows he deserved it. She knew I meant to kill him, if ever
I was able."
"But why?"
"Don't you know? He was the man--my partner--who took Fannie away. Don't
you--understand?"
"Yes," and Overton, after a moment, shook hands with him.
"I didn't want 'Tana to go back on me--while I lived," he whispered. It
was his one reason for keeping silence--the dread that she could never
talk to him freely, nor ever clasp his hand again; and Overton promised
his wish should be regarded.
When he went to find 'Tana, Mrs. Huzzard had possession of her, and the
two women were seeing that the baby got her "bek-fas," and doing some
talking at the same time.
"And he's got his new boat, has he?" she was saying. "Well, now! And it's
to be a new house next, and a fine one, he says, if he can only get the
right woman to live in it," and she smoothed her hair complacently. "He
thinks a heap of fine manners in a woman, too; and right enough, for he'll
have an elegant home to put one in and she never to wet her hands in
dish-water! But he is so backward like; but maybe this time--"
"Oh, you must cure him of that," laughed the girl. "He is a splendid
fellow, and I won't forgive you if you don't marry him before the summer
is over."
At that instant Overton opened the door.
"If you are ready now to see me--" he began, and she nodded her head and
went toward him, her face a little pale and visibly embarrassed.
Then she turned and went back.
"Come, Toddles," she said; "you come with 'Tana."
A faint flush was tingeing the east, and over the water-courses a silvery
mist was spread. She looked out from the window and then up the mountain.
"Let us go out--up on the bluff," she suggested. "I have been shut up in
houses so long! I want to feel that the trees are close to me again."
He assented in silence and the child, having appeased its hunger, was
disposed to be more gracious, and the little hands were reached to him
while she said:
"Up."
He lifted her to his shoulder, where she laughed down in high glee at the
girl who walked beside in silence. It was so much easier to plan, while
far away from him, what she would say, than to say it.
But he himself broke the silence.
"You call her Toddles," he remarked. "It is not a pretty name for so
pretty a child. Has she no other one?"
They had reached the bluff above the camp that was almost a town now. She
sat down on a log and wished she could keep from trembling so.
"Yes--she has another one--a pretty one, I think," she said, at last. "It
is Gracie--Grace--"
She looked up at him appealingly.
But the emotion in her face made his lips tighten. He had heard so many
revelations of her that morning. What was this last to be?
"Well," he said, coldly, "that is a pretty name, so far as it goes; but
what is the rest of it?"
"Overton," she said, in a low voice, and his face flushed scarlet.
"What do you mean?" he asked, harshly, and the little one, disliking his
tone, reached her arms to 'Tana. "Whose child is this?"
"Your child."
"It is not true."
"It is true," she answered, as decidedly as himself. "Her mother--the
woman you married--told me so when she was dying."
He stared at her incredulously.
"I wouldn't believe her even then," he answered. "But how does it come
that you--"
"You don't need to claim her, if you don't want to," she said, ignoring
all his astonishment. "Her mother gave her to me. She is mine, unless you
claim her. I don't care who her father was--or her mother, either. She is
a helpless, innocent little child, thrown on the world--that is all the
certificate of parentage I am asking for. She shall have what I never
had--a childhood."
He walked back and forth several times, turning sometimes to look at the
girl, whom the child was patting on the cheek while she put up her little
red mouth every now and then for kisses.
"Her mother is dead?" he asked at last, halting and looking down at her.
She thought his face was very hard and stern, and did not know it was
because he, too, longed to take her in his arms and ask for kisses.
"Her mother is dead."
"Then--I will take the child, if you will let me."
"I don't know," she said, and tried to smile up at him. "You don't seem
very eager."
"And you came back here for that?" he said, slowly, regarding her. "'Tana,
what of Max? What of your school?"
"Well, I guess I have money enough to have private teachers out here for
the things I don't know--and there are several of them! And as for Max--he
didn't say much. I saw Mr. Seldon in Chicago and he scolded me when I told
him I was coming back to the woods to stay--"
"To stay?" and he took a step nearer to her. "'Tana!"
"Don't you want me to?" she asked. "I thought maybe--after what you said
to me in the cabin--that day--"
"You'd better be careful!" he said. "Don't make me remember that
unless--unless you are willing to tell me what I told you that day--unless
you are willing to say that you--care for me--that you will be my wife.
God knows I never hoped to say this to you. I have fought myself into the
idea that you belong to Max. But now that it is said--answer me!"
She smiled up at him and kissed the child happily.
"What shall I say?" she asked. "You should know without words. I told you
once I would make coffee for no man but you. Do you remember? Well, I have
come back to you for that. And see! I don't wear Max's ring any longer.
Don't you understand?"
"That you have come back to _me_--'Tana!"
"Now don't eat me! I may not always be a blessing, so don't be too
jubilant. I have bad blood in my veins, but you have had fair warning."
He only laughed and drew her to him, and she could never again say no man
had kissed her.
"'Tana!" said the child, "'ook."
She looked where the little hand pointed and saw all the clouds of the
east flooded with gold, and higher up they lay blushing above the far
hills.
A new day was creeping over the mountains to banish shadows from the
Kootenai land.
THE END
FLORENCE L. BARCLAY'S
NOVELS
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THE WHITE LADIES OF WORCESTER
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THE UPAS TREE
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THROUGH THE POSTERN GATE
The story of a seven day courtship, in which the discrepancy in ages
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THE ROSARY
The story of a young artist who is reputed to love beauty above all else
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THE MISTRESS OF SHENSTONE
The lovely young Lady Ingleby, recently widowed by the death of a husband
who never understood her, meets a fine, clean young chap who is ignorant
of her title and they fall deeply in love with each other. When he learns
her real identity a situation of singular power is developed.
THE BROKEN HALO
The story of a young man whose religious belief was shattered in childhood
and restored to him by the little white lady, many years older than
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THE FOLLOWING OF THE STAR
The story of a young missionary, who, about to start for Africa, marries
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Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York
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THE LAMP IN THE DESERT
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GREATHEART
The story of a cripple whose deformed body conceals a noble soul.
THE HUNDREDTH CHANCE
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THE SWINDLER
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THE TIDAL WAVE
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JUST DAVID
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THE ROAD TO UNDERSTANDING
A compelling romance of love and marriage.
OH, MONEY! MONEY!
Stanley Fulton, a wealthy bachelor, to test the dispositions of his
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SIX STAR RANCH
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DAWN
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of blind soldiers.
ACROSS THE YEARS
Short stories of our own kind and of our own people. Contains some of the
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THE TANGLED THREADS
In these stories we find the concentrated charm and tenderness of all her
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THE TIE THAT BINDS
Intensely human stories told with Mrs. Porter's wonderful talent for warm
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Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York
"STORM COUNTRY" BOOKS BY
GRACE MILLER WHITE
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JUDY OF ROGUES' HARBOR
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TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY
It was as Tess, beautiful, wild, impetuous, that Mary Pickford made her
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THE SECRET OF THE STORM COUNTRY
The sequel to "Tess of the Storm Country," with the same wild background,
with its half-gypsy life of the squatters--tempestuous, passionate,
brooding. Tess learns the "secret" of her birth and finds happiness and
love through her boundless faith in life.
FROM THE VALLEY OF THE MISSING
A haunting story with its scene laid near the Country familiar to readers
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ROSE O' PARADISE
"Jinny" Singleton, wild, lovely, lonely, but with a passionate yearning
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JOHN FOX, JR'S.
STORIES OF THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS
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THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE.
Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
The "lonesome pine" from which the story takes its name was a tall tree
that stood in solitary splendor on a mountain top. The fame of the pine
lured a young engineer through Kentucky to catch the trail, and when he
finally climbed to its shelter he found not only the pine but the
_footprints of a girl_. And the girl proved to be lovely, piquant, and the
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THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME
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This is a story of Kentucky, in a settlement known as "Kingdom Come." It
is a life rude, semi-barbarous; but natural and honest, from which often
springs the flower of civilization.
"Chad," the "little shepherd" did not know who he was nor whence he
came--he had just wandered from door to door since early childhood,
seeking shelter with kindly mountaineers who gladly fathered and mothered
this waif about whom there was such a mystery--a charming waif, by the
way, who could play the banjo better that anyone else in the mountains.
A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND.
Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
The scenes are laid along the waters of the Cumberland; the lair of
moonshiner and feudsman. The knight is a moonshiner's son, and the heroine
a beautiful girl perversely christened "The Blight." Two impetuous young
Southerners' fall under the spell of "The Blight's" charms and she learns
what a large part jealousy and pistols have in the love making of the
mountaineers.
Included in this volume is "Hell fer-Sartain" and other stories, some of
Mr. Fox's most entertaining Cumberland valley narratives.
Ask for complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction
Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
ZANE GREY'S NOVELS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
THE MAN OF THE FOREST
THE DESERT OF WHEAT
THE U. P. TRAIL
WILDFIRE
THE BORDER LEGION
THE RAINBOW TRAIL
THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT
RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE
THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS
THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN
THE LONE STAR RANGER
DESERT GOLD
BETTY ZANE
LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS
The life story of "Buffalo Bill" by his sister
Helen Cody Wetmore, with Foreword and Conclusion
by Zane Grey.
ZANE GREY'S BOOKS FOR BOYS
KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLE
THE YOUNG LION HUNTER
THE YOUNG FORESTER
THE YOUNG PITCHER
THE SHORT STOP
THE RED-HEADED OUTFIELD AND
OTHER BASEBALL STORIES
Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York