The Claim Jumpers Part 16

"Let's sit here and watch them," she said. "I want to look at them, and _feel_ them."

They sat on the moss, and stared solemnly across at the great spires of stone.

"They are waiting for something there," she observed; "for something that has not come to pa.s.s, and they are looking for it always toward the East. Don't you see how they are waiting?"

"Yes, like Indian warriors wrapped each in his blanket. They might be the Manitous. They say there are lots of them in the Hills."

"Yes, of course!" she cried, on fire with the idea. "They are the G.o.ds of the people, and they are waiting for something that is coming--something from the East. What is it?"

"Civilization," he suggested.

"Yes! And when this something, this Civilization, comes, then the Indians are to be destroyed, and so their G.o.ds are always watching for it toward the East."

"And," he went on, "when it comes at last, then the Manitous will have to die, and so the Indians know that their hour has struck when these great stone needles fall."

"Why, we have made a legend," she exclaimed with wonder.

They stretched out on their backs along the slope, and stared up at the newly dignified Manitous in delicious silence.

"There was a legend once, you remember?" he began hesitatingly, "the first day we were on the Rock together. It was about a Spirit Mountain."

"Yes, I remember, the day we saw the Shadow."

"You said you'd tell it to me some time."

"Did I?"

"Don't you think now is a good time?"

She considered a moment idly.

"Why, yes, I suppose so," she a.s.sented, after a pause. "It isn't much of a legend though." She clasped her hands back of her head. "It goes like this," she began comfortably:

"Once upon a time, when the world was very young, there was an evil Manitou named _Ne-naw-bo-shoo_. He was a very wicked Manitou, but he was also very accomplished, for he could change himself into any shape he wished to a.s.sume, and he could travel swifter than the wind. But he was also very wicked. In old times the centres of all the trees were fat, and people could get food from them, but _Ne-naw-bo-shoo_ walked through the forest and pushed his staff down through the middle of the trunks, and that is why the cores of the trees are dark-coloured. Maple sap used to be pure sirup once, too, but _Ne-naw-bo-shoo_ diluted it with rain water just out of spite. But there was one peculiar thing about _Ne-naw-bo-shoo_. He could not cross a vein of gold or of silver.

There was some sort of magic in them that turned him back--repelled him.

"Now, one day two lovers were wandering about on the prairie away east of here. One of them was named _Mon-e-dowa_, or the Bird Lover, and the other was _Muj-e-ah-je-wan_, or Rippling Water. And as these two walked over the plains talking together, along came the evil spirit, _Ne-naw-bo-shoo_, and as soon as he saw them he chased them, intending to kill them and drink their blood, as was his custom.

"They fled far over the prairie. Everywhere that _Muj-e-ah-je-wan_ stepped, prairie violets grew up; and everywhere that _Mon-e-dowa_ stepped, a lark sprang up and began to sing. But the wicked _Ne-naw-bo-shoo_ gained on them fast, for he could run very swiftly.

"Then suddenly they saw in front of them a great mountain, grown with pines and seamed with fissures. This astonished them greatly, for they knew there were no mountains in the prairie country at all; but they had no time to spare, so they climbed quickly up a broad canon and concealed themselves.

"Now, when the wicked Manitou came along he tried to enter the canon too, but he had to stop, because down in the depths of the mountain were veins of gold and silver which he could not cross. For many days he raged back and forth, but in vain. At last he got tired and went away.

"Then _Mon-e-dowa_ and _Muj-e-ah-je-wan_, who had been living quite peacefully on the game with which the mountain swarmed, came out of the canon and turned toward home. But as soon as they had set foot on the level prairie again, the mountain vanished like a cloud, and then they knew they had been aided by _Man-a-boo-sho_, the good Manitou."

The girl arose and shook her skirt free of the pine needles that clung to it.

"Ever since then," she went on, eyeing Bennington saucily sideways, "the mountain has been invisible except to a very few. The legend says that when a maid and a warrior see it together they will be----"

"What?" asked Bennington as she paused.

"Dead within the year!" she cried gaily, and ran lightly to her pony.

"Did you like my legend?" she asked, as the ponies, foot-bunched, minced down the steepest of the trail.

"Very much; all but the moral."

"Don't you want to die?"

"Not a bit."

"Then I'll have to."

"That would be the same thing."

And Bennington dared talk in this way, for the next day began the Pioneer's Picnic, and lately she had been very kind.

CHAPTER XIV

THE PIONEER'S PICNIC

The Lawtons were not going to the picnic. Bennington was to take Mary down to Rapid, where the girl was to stay with a certain Dr. McPherson of the School of Mines.

An early start was accomplished. They rode down the gulch through the dwarf oaks, past the farthermost point, and so out into the hard level dirt road of Battle Creek canon. Beyond were the pines, and a rugged road, flint-edged, full of dips and rises, turns and twists, hovering on edges, or bosoming itself in deep rock-strewn cuts. Mary's little pony cantered recklessly through it all, scampering along like a playful dog after a stone, leading Bennington's larger animal by several feet. He had full leisure to notice the regular flop of the Tam o'Shanter over the lighter dance of the hair, the increasing rosiness of the cheeks dimpled into almost continual laughter, to catch stray s.n.a.t.c.hes of gay little remarks thrown out at random as they tore along.

After a time they drew out from the shadow of the pines into the clearing at Rockerville, where the hydraulic "giants" had eaten away the hill-sides, and left in them ugly unhealed sores. Then more rough pine-shadowed roads, from which occasionally would open for a moment broad vistas of endless glades, clear as parks, breathless descents, or sharp steep cuts at the bottom of which Spring Creek, or as much of it as was not turned into the Rockerville sluices, brawled or idled along.

It was time for lunch, so they dismounted near a deep still pool and ate. The ponies cropped the spa.r.s.e gra.s.ses, or twisted on their backs, all four legs in the air. Squirrels chattered and scolded overhead.

Some of the indigo-coloured jays of the lowlands shot in long level flight between the trees. The girl and the boy helped each other, hindered each other, playing here and there near the Question, but swerving always deliciously just in time.

After lunch, more riding through more pines. The road dipped strongly once, then again; and then abruptly the forest ceased, and they found themselves cantering over broad rolling meadows knee-high with gra.s.ses, from which meadow larks rose in all directions like gra.s.shoppers. Soon after they pa.s.sed the canvas "schooners" of some who had started the evening before. Down the next long slope the ponies dropped cautiously with bunched feet and tentative steps. Spring Creek was forded for the last time, another steep gra.s.sy hill was surmounted, and they looked abroad into Rapid Valley and over to the prairie beyond.

Behind them the Hills lay, dark with the everlasting greenery of the North--even, low, with only sun-browned Harney to raise its cliff-like front above the rest of the range. As though by a common impulse they reined in their horses and looked back.

"I wonder just where the Rock is?" she mused.

They tried to guess at its location.

The treeless ridge on which they were now standing ran like a belt outside the Hills. They journeyed along its summit until late in the afternoon, and then all at once found the city of Rapid lying below them at the mouth of a mighty canon, like a toy village on fine velvet brown.

In the city they separated, Mary going to the McPhersons', Bennington to the hotel. It was now near to sunset, so it was agreed that Bennington was to come round the following morning to get her. At the hotel Bennington spent an interesting evening viewing the pioneers with their variety of costume, manners, and speech. He heard many good stories, humorous and blood-curdling, and it was very late before he finally got to bed.

The immediate consequence was that he was equally late to breakfast. He hurried through that meal and stepped out into the street, with the intention of hastening to Dr. McPherson's for Mary, but this he found to be impossible because of the overcrowded condition of the streets.

The sports of the day had already begun. From curb to curb the way was jammed with a dense ma.s.s of men, women, and children, through whom he had to worm his way. After ten feet of this, he heard his name called, and looking up, caught sight of Mary herself, perched on a dry-goods box, frantically waving a handkerchief in his direction.

"You're a nice one!" she cried in mock reproach as he struggled toward her. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks flew red signals of enjoyment.