Told In The Hills Part 39

PART FOURTH

ONE SQUAW MAN

CHAPTER I.

LAMONTI.

The next morning awoke with the balmy air of spring following the sunrise over the snow--a fair, soft day, with treachery back of its smiles; for along in the afternoon the sky gathered in gray drifts, and the weather-wise prophesied a big snow-fall.

All the morning Genesee wrote. One page after another was torn up, and it was the middle of the afternoon before he finally finished the work to his satisfaction, did it up in a flat, square package, and having sealed it securely, called Kalitan.

"You take this to the express office at the station," he said; "get a paper for it--receipt; then go to Holland's--to the bank store; give them this," and he handed a slip of written paper. "If they give you letter, keep it carefully--so," and he took from his shirt-pocket a rubber case the size of an ordinary envelope. Evidently Kalitan had carried it before, for he opened a rather intricate clasp and slipped the bit of paper into it.

"All good--not get wet," he said, picking up the larger package. "The Arrow fly down; come back how soon?"

"Send this," pointing to the package, "the first thing in the morning; then wait until night for the stage from Pacific that brings the mail--may be if road is bad it will not come till next morning."

"Kalitan wait?"

"Yes, wait till the stage comes, then ask for letter, and keep your eyes open; watch for bad whites. Klahowya!"

Watching Kalitan start off with that package, he drew a long breath of relief, like a man who had laid down some burden; and leaving the avenue and the camp behind, he struck out over the trail toward Hardy's, not even stopping to saddle a horse. He was going to have a "wau-wau" with Mowitza.

He had barely entered the stable door when Tillie came across the yard, with a shawl thrown over her head and looking disturbed.

"Oh, is it you, Mr. Genesee?" she said, with a little sigh of disappointment; "I thought it was Hen or one of the others come back.

Did you meet them?"

"Yes; going up the west valley after stock."

"The west valley! Then they won't get back before dark, and I--I don't know what to do!" and the worried look reached utter despair as she spoke.

"What's up? I can ride after them if you say so."

"I don't know what to say. I should have told Hen at noon; but I knew it would put him out of patience with Rachel, and I trusted to her getting back all right; but now, if the snow sets in quickly, and it threatens to, she may get lost, and I--"

"Where is she?"

"Gone to Scot's Mountain."

An energetic expletive broke from his lips, unchecked even by the presence of the little woman who had seemed a sort of Madonna to him in the days a year old. The Madonna did not look much shocked. She had an idea that the occasion was a warrant for condemnation, and she felt rather guilty herself.

"One of the Kootenai tribe came here this morning, and after jabbering Chinook with him, she told me Davy MacDougall was sick, and she was going to ride up there. Hen was out, and she wouldn't listen to Miss Fred and me--just told us to keep quiet and not tell him where she was, and that she would get back for supper; so we haven't said a word; and now the snow is coming, she may get lost."

Tillie was almost in tears; it was easy to see she was terribly frightened, and very remorseful for keeping Rachel's command to say nothing to Hardy.

"Did that Indian go with her?"

"No; and she started him back first, up over that hill, to be sure he would not go over to the camp. I can't see what her idea was for that."

Genesee could--it was to prevent him from knowing she was going up into the hills despite his caution.

"There is not a man left on the place, except Jim," continued Tillie, "or I would send them after her. But Jim does not know the short-cut trail that I've heard Rachel speak of, and he might miss her in the hills; and--oh, dear! oh, dear!"

Genesee reached to the wooden peg where his saddle hung, and threw it across Mowitza's back.

In a moment Tillie understood what it meant, and felt that, capable as he might be, he was not the person she should send as guardian for a young girl. To be sure, he had once before filled that position, and brought her in safety; but that was before his real character was known.

Tillie thought of what the rest would say, of what Stuart would think for she had already bracketed Rachel and Stuart in her match-making calendar. She was between several fires of anxiety and indecision, as she noted the quick buckling of straps and the appropriation of two blankets from the hanging shelf above them.

"Are you--can you get someone to go for me--from the camp?" she asked hurriedly. He turned and looked at her with a smile in his eyes.

"I reckon so," he answered briefly; and then, seeing her face flushed and embarra.s.sed, the smile died out as he felt what her thoughts were.

"Who do you want?" he added, leading Mowitza out and standing beside her, ready to mount.

She did not even look up. She felt exactly as she had when she told Hen that she knew she was right, and yet felt ashamed of herself.

"I thought if you could spare Kalitan--" she hesitated. "She knows him, and he has been with her so often up there, no one else would know so well where to look for her--that is, if you could spare him," she added helplessly.

"The chances are that I can," he said in a business-like way; "and if I was you I'd just keep quiet about the trip, or else tell them she has an Indian guide--and she will have. Can you give me a bottle of brandy and some biscuits?"

She ran into the house, and came back with them at once. He was mounted and a-waiting her.

"Kalitan has left the camp--gone over that hill;" and he motioned rather vaguely toward the ridge across the valley. "I'll just ride over and start him from there, so he won't need to go back to camp for rations.

Don't you worry; just keep quiet, and she'll come back all right with Kalitan."

He turned without further words, and rode away through the soft flakes of snow that were already beginning to fall. He did not even say a good-bye; and Tillie, hedged in by her convictions and her anxiety, let him go without even a word of thanks.

"I simply did not dare to say 'thank you' to him," she thought, as he disappeared. And then she went into the house and eased Fred's heart and her own conscience with the statement that Kalitan, the best guide Rachel could have, had gone to meet her. She made no mention of the objectionable character who had sent Kalitan.

By the time of sunset, Scot's Mountain was smothered in the white cloud that had closed over it so suddenly, and the snow was still falling straight down, and so steadily that one could not retrace steps and find tracks ten minutes after they were made. Through the banked-up ma.s.ses a white-coated unrecognizable individual plowed his way to MacDougall's door, and without ceremony opened it and floundered in, carrying with him what looked enough snow to smother a man; but his eyes were clear of it, and a glance told him the cabin had but one occupant.

"When did she leave?" was the salutation MacDougall received, after a separation of six weeks.

"Why, Jack, my lad!"

"Yes, that's who it is, and little time to talk. Has she been here?"

"The la.s.s--Rachel? She has that--a sight for sore eyes--and set all things neat and tidy for me in no time;" and he waved his hand toward the clean-swept hearth, and the table with clean dishes, and a basket with a loaf of new bread showing through. "But she did na stay long wi'

me. The clouds were comin' up heavy, she said, and she must get home before the snow fell; an' it snows now?"

"Well, rather. Can't you see out?"