Told In The Hills Part 49

The defiant face did not relax, even at that intelligence. Her eyes were on the commander, her judge. And he was looking with decided interest at her.

"Yours is a very grave offense, Miss Rachel," he said, with deliberation that struck added terrors to Tillie's heart. "The penalty of contriving the escape of prisoners is one I do not like to mention to you; but since the man in this case was innocent, and I take your evidence in proof--well, that might be some extenuation of the act."

"I didn't know he was innocent when I helped him," she broke in; "I thought the horses were stolen after he left me."

"That makes it more serious, certainly;" but his eyes were not at all serious. "And since you seem determined to allow nothing in extenuation of your own actions, I can only say that--that I value very highly the forty men whose lives were saved to us by that escape; and when I see Mr. Genesee, I will thank him in the warmest way at my command;" and he held out his hand to the very erect, very defiant rebel.

She could scarcely believe it when she heard the words of praise about her; when one man after another of that rescued crowd came forward to shake hands with her--and Hardy almost lifted her off her feet to kiss her. "By George! I'm proud of you, Rachel," he said impulsively. "You are plucky enough to--to be Genesee himself."

The praise seemed a very little thing to her. Her bravado was over; she felt as if she must cry if they did not leave her alone. Of what use were words, if he should never come back--never know that he was cleared of suspicion? If they had so many kind words now, why had they not found some for him when he needed them? She did not know the uncompromising surliness that made him so difficult of approach to many people, especially any who showed their own feeling of superiority, as most of them did, to a squaw man.

She heard that term from the Major, a moment after he had shaken hands with her. He had asked what were the other suspicions mentioned against Genesee; she could not hear the answer--they had moved a little apart from her--but she could hear the impatience with which he broke in on their speech.

"A squaw man!--well, what if he is?" he asked, with a serene indifference to the social side of the question. "What difference does it make whether the man's wife has been red, or white, or black, so long as she suited him? There are two cla.s.ses of squaw men, as there are of other men on the frontier--the renegades and the usual percentage of honest and dishonest citizens. You've all apparently been willing to understand only the renegades. I've been along the border for thirty years, and some of the bravest white men I've ever seen had Indian wives. Some of the men whose a.s.sistance in Indian wars has been invaluable to us are ranchmen whose children are half-breeds, and who have taught their squaws housework and English at the same time, and made them a credit to any nation. There's a heap of uncalled-for prejudice against a certain cla.s.s of those men; and, so far as I've noticed, the sneak who abandons his wife and children back in the States, or borrows the wife of someone else to make the trip out here with, is the specimen that is first to curl his lip at the squaw man.

That girl over there strikes me as showing more common sense than the whole community; she gave him the valuation of a man."

The Major's blood was up. It was seldom that he made so long a speech; but the question was one against which he had clashed often, and to find the old prejudice was so strong a factor in the disorganizing of an outpost was enraging.

"And do you realize what that man did when he took that trail north?" he demanded impressively. "He knew that he carried his life in his hand as surely as he carried that body. And he went up there to play it against big odds for the sake of a lot of people who had a contemptible contempt for him."

"And cursed us soundly while he did it," added one of the men, in an aside; but the Major overheard it.

"Yes, that's like him, too," he agreed. "But, if any of you can show me so great a courage and conscientiousness in a more refined citizen, I'm waiting to see it."

Then there was the quick fall of hoofs outside the shack, hurried questions and brief answers. One of the scouts from the north ridge rushed in and reported to Major Dreyer.

"A gang o' hostiles are in sight--not many; they've got our horses.

Think they carry a flag o' truce, but couldn't spot it for sure. They're not a fighten' gang, any way, fur they're comen' slow and carryen'

somethen'."

"A flag of truce? That means peace. Thank G.o.d!" said Tillie, fervently.

"And Genesee," added the Major.

As for Rachel, her heart seemed in her throat. She tried to speak, to rush out and learn their message, but she could not move. An awful presentiment bound her. "Carrying something!"

CHAPTER VIII.

"WHEN THE SUN GOETH DOWN."

"Opitsah!--Klahowya."

They brought him--his dark, sad-faced brothers--bearing him on a bed of elastic poles and the skins of beasts; and walking through the lines of blue-coats as if not seeing them, they laid him on the floor of the shack, and grouped themselves clannishly in one corner, near his head.

Stuart knelt with trembling hands to examine the cruel wound in the throat, and turned away, shaking his head. He could not speak. There was a slow, inward hemorrhage. He was bleeding to death.

"Determination has kept him alive," decided the Major, when the spokesman of the Kootenais told of the shot on the mountain, and how they had to carry him, with Snowcap in his arms, to the wigwam of Grey Eagle; of the council through which he kept up, and then told them he would live until he reached camp--he was so sure of it! For the body of Snowcap he had asked the horses left in the gulch, and was given them--and much more, because of the sorrow of their nation. He did not try to speak at first, only looked about, drinking in the strange kindness in all the faces; then he reached out his hand toward Rachel.

"Opitsah!" he whispered, with that smile of triumph in his eyes. "I told you I'd live--till I got back to you;" and then his eyes turned to the Major. "I got a stand-off on the hostilities--till your return--inside my coat--I wrote it." He ceased, gasping, while they drew out the "talking-paper" with the mark of Grey Eagle at the foot, and on it also were their murderous stains.

"You--treat with them now," he continued, "but--be careful. Don't shirk promises. They're easy managed now--like a lot of children, just because they shot me--when I was carrying Snowcap home. But they'll get over--that, and then--be careful. They were ready for the war-path--when I got there."

He saw Captain Holt not far from him, and through the pallor of his face a faint flush crept.

"Well, I've come back for my trial," he scowled, with something of his old defiance; and the Major knelt down and took his hand.

"That's all over, Genesee," he said gently. "It was a big mistake. There is not a soul here with anything but grat.i.tude and admiration for you.

It was your own fault you were suspected; Miss Rachel has explained. Why did you not?"

He did not answer--only looked at her, and seemed gathering his strength for some final effort.

"I want someone--to write."

He was still holding Rachel's hand. She had not said a word; only her eyes seemed to tell him enough.

Stuart came forward. "Will I do, Jack?"

Jack nodded, and more than one was astonished at the signs of grief in Stuart's face. Rachel was past speculation.

"This lady, here," said Genesee, motioning to her, "has done a heap for me--more than she knows--I reckon--and I want--to square things."

Rachel attempted to speak; but he raised his hand.

"Don't," he whispered. "Let me say it--tillik.u.m." Then he turned to Stuart. "There's a bit of ground up in the hills; it's mine, and I want her to have it--it's Tamahnous Hill--and the old mine--write it."

She thought of that other woman, and tried to protest. Again he saw it, and pressed her hand for silence.

"I want her to have it--for she likes these hills, and--she's been mighty good to me. No one will interfere--with her claim--I reckon."

"No one shall interfere," said Stuart, toward whom he looked. Genesee smiled.

"That's right--that's all right. She won't be afraid of the--witches.

And she'll tell you where I want to go--she knows." His voice was growing fainter; they could see he was almost done with the Kootenai valley.

"In my pocket is something--from the mine," he said, looking at Rachel; "it will show you--and there's another will in the bank--at Holland's--it is--for Annie."

Stuart guided his hand for the signature to the paper. Stuart wrote his own, and Hardy followed, his eyes opening in wonder at something written there.

A slight rustle in the group at the door drew the Major's attention, and a young face coming forward made him turn to Stuart.

"I had altogether forgotten that I brought someone from Holland's for you--a boy sent there to find J. S. Stuart. I knew it must be C. S.

Stuart, though, and brought him along."

A dark-faced little fellow, with a st.u.r.dy, bright look, walked forward at the commander's motion; but his wondering gaze was on the man lying there with such an eager look in his eyes.

"This is Mr. Stuart," said the Major, and then turned to Genesee.