THE MAN OF YESTERDAY
 
 "SHE WAS A CHICKASAW FOR THE HOUR" PdgC 66
 
 THE MAN 
 OF YESTERDAY 
 
 A Romance of a 
 Vanishing Race 
 
 BY 
 
 MARY HOLLAND KINKAID 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR BY 
 VOLNEY A. RICHARDSON 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
 TBag^JK g. _j ^ . o n <i n r'lgpgEaf
 
 Copyright, 1908, by 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 March, 1908
 
 To the Memory of My Father 
 
 202GSSO
 
 CONTENTS 
 BOOK I 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. SPRINGTIME ......... 13 
 
 II. MOMA BINNA .... . . . . 20 
 
 III. THE DOGWOOD CALENDAR ..... 28 
 
 IV. ARNOLD STUART'S MISSION 39 
 
 V. PAKALI TELLS A STORY 50 
 
 VI. THE RIDE TO WAUCHULA 57 
 
 VII. NEW HOPES AND OLD PREJUDICES . . 63 
 
 VIII. HATTAKOWA SAYS FAREWELL .... 71 
 
 IX. A GALA DAY AT TISHOMINGO .... 76 
 
 X. JOY WAITS BUT AN HOUR 86 
 
 XI. THE LONG JOURNEY 96 
 
 XII. FATHER AND DAUGHTER ..... 103 
 
 XIII. THE LITTLE CHIEFTAIN 109 
 
 XIV. CLOSING THE GATES .* .. ... . . . 115 
 
 BOOK II 
 
 XV. SUMMERTIME . 123 
 
 XVI. AN EXPERIMENT IN FRIENDSHIP . . . 130 
 
 XVII. THE CYCLONE 135 
 
 XVIII. BLIKENS MAKES A BARGAIN .... 148 
 
 XIX. THE CANDIDATE FOR GOVERNOR . . . 159 
 
 XX. MARCH AND MAKES A VISIT . . . . 164 
 
 XXI. THE CONTEST FOR POWER 172 
 
 XXII. THE SIEGE OF THE CAPITAL .... 179 
 
 XXIII. DEFEAT 185 
 
 XXIV. MIKO'S EDUCATION BEGINS 189 
 
 7
 
 8 CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK III 
 
 CHAPTER PAGB 
 
 XXV. AUTUMN 195 
 
 XXVI. HATTAKOWA AT MOMA BINNA . . 205 
 
 XXVII. STUART RETURNS TO THE TERRITORY . 211 
 
 XXVIII. MIKO AND His NEW FRIEND . . .217 
 
 XXIX. HATTAKOWA AND STUART .... 226 
 
 XXX. A CHANCE MEETING 232 
 
 XXXI. THE PRICE OF FORGETFULNESS . . 242 
 
 XXXII. BEHIND STONE WALLS 248 
 
 XXXIII. THE WAY OF A WOMAN .... 258 
 
 XXXIV. MARCHAND OFFERS AID .... 266 
 XXXV. THE LAW'S DELAYS 271 
 
 XXXVI. MIKO ASKS QUESTIONS 277 
 
 XXXVII. RESPITE 285 
 
 XXXVIII. THE HOUR OF CLEAR VISION ... 295 
 
 XXXIX. WAITING 303 
 
 XL. SUNSET 308
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "She was a Chickasaw for the hour" . . Frontispiece 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 "I wonder if Indian maids often love white men now" . 54 
 
 "One solemn moment they stood there, forgetting all the 
 
 world" 314
 
 BOOK I
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 SPRINGTIME 
 
 IT was springtime in the Indian Territory. The month 
 was March, but the rolling prairies were freshly green and 
 the low mountains were newly clothed with verdure. Mock- 
 ing birds sang in the trees that skirted the running streams. 
 The cotton fields lay brown and damp after the early plough- 
 ing. The roads, deep grooved and muddy, were so nearly 
 impassable that Tishomingo, the capital of the Chickasaw 
 Nation, counted not a stranger among its few inhabitants 
 who waited impatiently for the arrival of the governor and 
 his staff. 
 
 In the last decade of the nineteenth century Tishomingo 
 had been for nearly forty years the Chickasaw seat of govern- 
 ment, but it had grown little beyond the few houses built 
 at the foot of the hill upon which the capitol was erected 
 the year after the Nation had purchased its independence 
 from the Choctaws. Far removed from the railways, Tisho- 
 mingo had escaped invasion by tourists and white settlers. 
 Shielded by low mountains the village lay in a tiny valley. 
 Past it flowed the deep and turbulent waters of Pennington 
 Creek, which, at its source, gushed in full volume from the 
 earth and then hastened with many a curve and eddy to the 
 Washita River. The creek had worn in the granite rocks 
 many strange nooks and pleasant glens. Here and there it ' 
 had torn away mighty boulders and chiselled majestic forms 
 from the face of the overhanging cliffs. 
 
 In all Indian Territory there was not a more fertile valley 
 or a more sheltered spot than that which had been chosen 
 as the sit? of Tishomingo. When George Beaumont, a
 
 i 4 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 young halfbreed, had come hither with the six Chickasaws 
 to whom had been entrusted the work of choosing a place 
 for the meeting of the legislature, he had straightway de- 
 cided to build himself a cabin high up on a rocky ledge over- 
 looking the creek. This cabin had expanded into a long, 
 rambling house, surrounded by broad galleries. The old 
 stone chimney still served for the fireplace of the living room, 
 which was allowed to retain much of the primitive character 
 of the log dwelling. Other chimneys rose at intervals on 
 either side of the large house, which, clapboarded and painted, 
 enjoyed the distinction of being one of the most imposing 
 residences in the Nation. 
 
 From the front gallery of this house a young girl, looking 
 through an archway of budding vines, beheld the coming 
 of the springtime to the quiet valley. She was leaning against 
 a white pillar that brought out the rich colour of her dark 
 complexion and emphasised its exquisite tint. The face, 
 lighted by large eyes with a haunting steadfastness of gaze, 
 had a delicacy of outline and a regularity of feature that 
 betokened a fine heredity. Lounging upon the steps at the 
 girl's feet was a young man, broad-shouldered and deep- 
 chested, long of limb and strong of arm. Like his com- 
 panion he had a dark skin, but in place of the olive his face 
 showed a deep brown that was burnished by exposure to the 
 fierce sun. 
 
 " You are silent, Pakali," said the young man. " It seems 
 that you have little to say to me since your return from that 
 St. Louis school this last time." 
 
 He spoke in full tones with the slightest trace of a gut- 
 tural accent, and turned to her a face the strength of which 
 was emphasised by the straight lines of hair brushed back 
 from the forehead. 
 
 " Have I been different, Joe? " the girl asked with a note 
 of surprise in her voice. 
 
 " Different? Surely you must know that you have been
 
 SPRINGTIME 15 
 
 made into a white woman with .all the graces and all the 
 manners that belong to what is called civilisation," the man 
 answered slowly, as if he weighed his words. " You do not 
 even call me by my Indian name. I suppose you wish me 
 to address you as Lenore, or perhaps you would prefer 
 Miss Beaumont." 
 
 Pakali seated herself upon the step and, putting a slender 
 hand upon her accuser's wrist, answered gently: 
 
 " You will always be my old playmate, Hattak-Owa- 
 Hushi-Osh, The Man Looking for the Sun. I called you 
 ' Joe ' because I thought it seemed foolish for us to cling to 
 any of our Indian customs when in all the Nation, your 
 family and mine are almost the only ones that try to per- 
 petuate the tribal names." 
 
 " To you I must be Hattakowa or nothing," the man 
 insisted. " Two or three generations back my grandmother, 
 or my great-grandmother, married a white man, and I have 
 inherited the white man's name, Joe Dixon, but somehow 
 I feel that I do not belong to this halfbreed race of Chicka- 
 saws and Choctaws. The spirit of my kinsman, the old 
 A-push-a-ma-ta-hah, is often in me, I believe, for I hate the 
 white man's ways." 
 
 " A-push-a-ma-ta-hah, the Choctaw chief, was the frien3 
 of the white man," Pakali said with a smile. " He knew 
 that many of the white man's ways are better than the red 
 man's ways. I cannot understand why you rebel against 
 the progress of our race. Dear Hattakowa, you are often 
 unreasonable." 
 
 " Perhaps I am." The young man answered smile with 
 smile. " The truth is, Pakali, that I am unhappy because, 
 since the old days when we went to the Boggy Depot school 
 together, you have become so much wiser than I that I can 
 no longer touch your heart with any words of mine. I can 
 speak only of the common things of life. Once you loved 
 the forest lore, and you liked to hear of the hunt. You
 
 16 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 listened long to the legends handed down from that far-off 
 time before the white man came to steal our country from us. 
 Now when I am with you there is often a stillness while 
 you search for some speech that means nothing." 
 
 " We are boy and girl no longer. It is natural we should 
 find each other changed." Pakali dropped her eyes beneath 
 the searching gaze of Hattakowa, who waited a moment be- 
 fore he spoke again. 
 
 " Since you came home I have reasoned about our relation 
 to each other," he said, looking away from her, and with 
 an effort steadying his voice. " I have found out that Pakali, 
 the Flower, has become to me, Aiahnichih-Choyoh, a woman 
 to prefer above all others." Having spoken he turned again 
 to her and he saw the red blood dye her cheek. 
 
 " Hush, Hattakowa. Make no more gallant speeches," 
 Pakali made haste to answer. 
 
 " You know I am still so much a savage that I cannot lie 
 to a woman," he retorted, as an angry light came into his 
 eyes. " I have loved you always, ever since we were poor, 
 lonely little children, who walked miles together to that 
 terrible school Uncle Sam had sold to a cruel Yankee. Yet 
 that school, where we were abused so shamefully, is the only 
 one I ever liked. The Texas college, where they gave me 
 what is called an education, is said to be a pleasant place, 
 but I hated the years of confinement there. I know now 
 that I missed you every day, and that even in the first year 
 I dreaded the discovery I have made since you came back 
 to Tishomingo." 
 
 " What discovery have you made? " Pakali inquired with 
 a challenge in her voice. 
 
 " You and I, who mingle in our veins the blood of the 
 white man and the red man, must give allegiance to one 
 race or the other. You have risen to the white man's stand- 
 ard, and I have answered to the backward call. You are an 
 American, I am an Indian."
 
 SPRINGTIME 17 
 
 Hattakowa left his seat beside Pakali and paced up and 
 down the wide path which led from the house to the road 
 along the ledge that overlooked the creek and the village 
 beyond. The girl was quiet for several moments, and then 
 when Hattakowa came near to her in his restless walk she 
 stopped him. 
 
 " Surely, you do not think me disloyal to my people," 
 she said, with a little quiver of the lip. " I am proud of every 
 drop of my Indian blood. Always I have remembered that 
 ' I am a Chickasaw ' was the highest boast of my warrior 
 ancestors." 
 
 " And I can add to the Chickasaw watchword ' Chahtah- 
 siah/ " Hattakowa answered. 
 
 " Yes, you are a Choctaw-Chickasaw and more Indian 
 than I. Perhaps that is the reason you are inclined to judge 
 me severely." The girl rose, and walking beside him added : 
 " All of us Chickasaws and Choctaws are as one family. 
 Because I have passed many years in the white man's school 
 the ties of kindred are not loosened." 
 
 " I love you with a love that is above the feeling of kin- 
 ship. I love you with the great love that covets you," the 
 man replied. " Through my boyhood and youth you have 
 always been in my heart. You need not tell me that you will 
 never be the Star Woman who rules my destiny, for a power 
 above you has made you that." 
 
 Pakali clasped her hands together and her bosom rose as 
 if she were choking back her sobs. 
 
 " I do not mean to cause you pain, Pakali. You need not 
 tell me that you never can belong to my home. I know what 
 you would say. There is between us a chasm greater than 
 any Pennington has cleft in the rocks, for I am an Indian 
 and you are almost a white woman." 
 
 They were standing at the end of the path whence they 
 could look down the road which wound up from the village. 
 Before Pakali could find words with which to soften the
 
 1 8 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 truth spoken by Hattakowa, he called her attention to the 
 approach of two horsemen. 
 
 " Your father is bringing a stranger home with him," he 
 said. 
 
 Pakali glanced down the road. Then, impulsively, she 
 gave both her hands to Hattakowa, who held them for a 
 moment, while his heart swelled with the rising tide of his 
 great passion. 
 
 " Hattakowa, we have been foolish in trying to under- 
 stand ourselves," Pakali said, brushing away a tear. " You 
 know as long as I live I shall need your friendship." 
 
 " As long as I live you will have more than friendship 
 from me." 
 
 The two horsemen came near. George Beaumont, Pakali's 
 father, rode ahead of the stranger. Seated upon his ornately 
 carved Mexican saddle he showed that, despite a growing 
 stoutness, he retained much of his youthful vigour. His 
 long hair, untouched by grey, fell about his ears. He was 
 a halfbreed who retained the colour of the fullblood. Be- 
 neath bushy brows, keen eyes looked out with a restless 
 glance. In repose the face was stern, and across the left 
 cheek a long scar made by a knife-cut bore witness to at 
 least one fight for his life. Like most Indians he was beard- 
 less. When he smiled upon his daughter his grave face 
 softened so that the stranger, who had reined his horse, 
 gained an added confidence in his new friend. Beaumont 
 said: 
 
 " Pakali, I found a traveller lost in the mud of Tisho- 
 mingo. Let me introduce Mr. Stuart of Chicago." 
 
 The stranger was on the ground in an instant. He bowed 
 very low before the girl, who saw that the white man was 
 young and good-looking. 
 
 " Mr. Stuart, my distant kinsman, Mr. Dixon," said 
 Beaumont, who had dismounted with a slowness that showed 
 his weight was troublesome. Hattakowa and the stranger
 
 SPRINGTIME 19 
 
 shook hands. The Indian gazed upon the white man with 
 forbidding hauteur. Stuart's corduroy costume, with cart- 
 ridge belt and pistols in plain sight, aroused the Indian's 
 contempt, although the corduroys clothed an athletic body. 
 The stranger belonged to the extreme Saxon type. His 
 closely-cropped light hair waved where it was parted near 
 the middle of the forehead. His fair skin was slightly in- 
 clined to ruddiness. He wore glasses to help the sight of 
 blue eyes, deep in colour, clear and well set. A small mous- 
 tache hid the outline of lips, full and firmly closed. A cleft 
 chin weakened a face that suggested good humour and frank- 
 ness. 
 
 " Lem! Pete! Si! Isn't there a nigger on the place to 
 take these horses? " called Beaumont in tones that aroused 
 the servants in the whitewashed quarters back of the house. 
 Two black boys ran across the wide, stony space that ex- 
 tended beyond the little patch of green lawn. Their master 
 scolded them, and then tossed each a quarter as he led the 
 way to the house. At the front door there waited a slender 
 little white woman of middle age. She had a stately car- 
 riage and a sweet dignity. 
 
 " Welcome to Tishomingo," said Mrs. Beaumont, ex- 
 tending a delicate hand to the stranger. 
 
 " I feel as if I were intruding upon your hospitality," said 
 Stuart. 
 
 " This is Moma Binna, a lodge for all," answered his 
 hostess. " It is our privilege to give you welcome."
 
 CHAPTER II 
 MOMA BINNA 
 
 THE large living room of Moma Binna retained the mud- 
 chinked log walls that marked the boundaries of Beaumont's 
 pioneer cabin, but they were almost hidden beneath bright 
 blankets, skilfully tanned deer skins, and feathered war- 
 bonnets, collected by the owner from the wild tribes of Okla- 
 homa. Over the high mantel shelf on the stone chimney 
 hung a buffalo head, and there was a gun rack in one corner. 
 Several splint-bottomed rockers and a number of straight 
 chairs with seats made of cowhide thongs were drawn up 
 near the hearth upon which blazed a log fire. The heat was 
 pleasant in the chill of the early spring evening. A shaded 
 lamp, placed in the centre of a large, round table, shed a glow 
 that, even when mingled with the firelight, failed to illumi- 
 nate the distant corners of the high-raftered ceiling. 
 
 Into this living room Mrs. Beaumont ushered her guest, 
 who could not disguise his quick scrutiny of the interior of 
 the house, for folding doors revealed a handsomely furnished 
 parlour, in which burned a second open fire. 
 
 " Is supper about ready?" asked Beaumont, seating him- 
 self upon a wooden settle while a negro boy took off his 
 spurs. " We are as hungry as wolves." 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont gave assurance that the bell would ring 
 in a few minutes. Calling a neat mulatto maid, she di- 
 rected that Stuart be taken to a room on the south gallery. 
 Pakali and Hattakowa went into the parlour, where they 
 stood before the fire. 
 
 " You are frowning, Hattakowa," said Pakali. " You 
 act as if you wished the stranger had not come." 
 
 20
 
 MOMA BINNA 21 
 
 " I do not like him," answered Hattakowa. " Something 
 tells me he will bring trouble to Moma Binna." 
 
 " Did you see a crow flying over his head? Or did 
 the dogs of Tishomingo howl, as he came up the hill?" 
 Pakali asked the questions with a smile. " Hattakowa, 
 you are trying to be too much an Indian when you pretend 
 to be superstitious." 
 
 " You know I am what you call superstitious," Hatta- 
 kowa answered. " My mother keeps me watching all the 
 signs that used to guide the old squaws, and many of them 
 I have found full of meaning." 
 
 " I like the stranger's looks," declared Pakali, and, when 
 she saw that Hattakowa set his lips as if her words hurt 
 him, she went to the piano. Touching the keys, softly she 
 began to play, and presently, looking over her shoulder, she 
 saw that there was no longer any resentment in the grave 
 face of the man who loved her. 
 
 The supper gong rang twice before the stranger came 
 into the parlour where Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont were wait- 
 ing with Pakali and Hattakowa. When Stuart crossed 
 the threshold he showed some embarrassment, for he noticed 
 that his host had made a change of clothing, and that the 
 younger Indian wore a well-cut coat and immaculate linen. 
 Mrs. Beaumont's silk gown rustled as she turned to greet 
 her guest. 
 
 " I must apologise for my corduroys," Stuart said. " I 
 did not expect to need much luggage down here in the 
 Territory." 
 
 Beaumont laughed good-naturedly. 
 
 " You thought we wore war paint in summer and red 
 blankets in winter, didn't you? " he replied. " Well, we are 
 accustomed to the Easterner's ideas that we are still savages." 
 
 " We have had visitors who asked to see the family toma- 
 hawk," Pakali remarked, lifting her pretty head proudly 
 and showing her even teeth in a smile that was half
 
 22 
 
 disdainful. She wore a white gown of soft material 
 which brought out her rich colouring, and, even to a man's 
 eye, it was evident that the costume was costly and fashion- 
 able. 
 
 A negro boy, in white coat and apron, threw open the door 
 into the dining-room. When the party was seated at a wide 
 table Stuart's attention was first attracted to a profusion 
 of silver, oddly chased in a design of water lilies. A great 
 bowl filled with crocuses occupied the centre of the damask 
 cloth. Large china plates were heaped with hot biscuits, 
 and an immense platter was laden with fried chicken. The 
 negro boy served the food deftly, and Stuart, who prided 
 himself upon his correctness of dress and manner, felt un- 
 comfortable in his rough clothing, even though his host and 
 hostess exercised the most delicate tact. Hattakowa, who 
 sat opposite him, was moody and silent. The flash of a 
 brilliant ruby, set in an odd gold ring, drew the stranger's 
 attention to the young Indian's well-shaped hand. Again 
 and again Stuart found himself gazing at the ring, and once 
 or twice Hattakowa, detecting his frequent glances, gave 
 him an unfriendly look. 
 
 " Eastern men know little about this part of the country," 
 Stuart said, apologetically. " When my friend, a congress- 
 man from one of our middle western States, suggested that 
 I should come down here to gather statistics for him, I was 
 glad of the mission because I imagined I might have a taste 
 of life in tents and tepees." 
 
 " You are more than half a century too late to behold us 
 of the Five Nations in our barbaric state. The mission- 
 aries helped to civilise us Chickasaws and Choctaws long 
 before we left Mississippi," Beaumont replied. 
 
 " I liked the missionary work here in the Territory so well 
 that I decided to devote my entire life to one Indian," added 
 Mrs. Beaumont, pausing to look over the silver teapot from 
 which she was pouring a steaming draught.
 
 MOMA BINNA 23 
 
 " Mother has become a thorough Chickasaw," explained 
 Pakali. " Not even Hattakowa is more proud of our tribal 
 traditions." 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Beaumont's chief regret is that she has no 
 house name to bequeath to Pakali," Mr. Beaumont an- 
 nounced in jesting tones. 
 
 " House name? " questioned the stranger. 
 
 " According to the old Chickasaw custom the children of 
 a family inherited the house name of the mother instead of 
 that of the father." Beaumont picked up a silver salver and 
 pointed to the engraved border. 
 
 " My mother's house name was Poncha-Toula, which 
 meant water lily. According to the old order of things it 
 would come down to me, but since we are civilised I bear 
 the name of a French forefather, George Beaumont." 
 
 " Mr. Stuart probably will miss some of the luxuries of 
 civilisation here in the Territory," Hattakowa said when the 
 servant had removed the plates and had passed dishes con- 
 taining fruits and cakes. " The white man has deprived the 
 Indian of o-ka humma, the fire water that my people love 
 too well." 
 
 "Can't you buy any liquor in the Territory?" Stuart 
 asked in surprise. 
 
 " No, the government puts a heavy penalty upon the sale 
 of any intoxicating beverage," explained Beaumont; "but 
 there is a great deal of whisky smuggled in from Texas, 
 and even from prohibition Kansas." 
 
 " The drug stores do an immense business in patent medi- 
 cines," commented Hattakowa. " We have many chronic 
 invalids most of them white men who buy remedies which 
 contain alcohol." 
 
 Stuart studied Hattakowa's face, which was hard to read. 
 Again the ring flashed as the brown left hand was raised to 
 push back a long lock of hair. 
 
 " It was a disappointment to me to find that the Governor
 
 24 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 of the Chickasaws does not live in Tishomingo," the 
 stranger remarked presently. " I suppose it will be impossi- 
 ble to get at any of the records of the Nation unless he is 
 here." 
 
 " All our officials live upon their farms, or ranches," Beau- 
 mont said. " The capitol is locked a greater part of the 
 time, for the business of the Nation is not often urgent. 
 But the Governor comes to Tishomingo at least once in 
 three months." 
 
 " While you are waiting for the Governor you will have 
 time to learn something about Chickasaw ways." It was 
 Mrs. Beaumont who spoke. " I am always desirous that 
 Eastern visitors shall have a chance to know the Indians of 
 the Territory." 
 
 " It hurts Little Mother's feelings to have us classed as 
 savages," said Pakali, who had taken small part in the con- 
 versation. Her manner was one of deference to her parents, 
 to whom she accorded the privilege of monopolising their 
 guest's attention. 
 
 " You must ride about the country as soon as the mud 
 dries," her father remarked hospitably. " We have some 
 good horses here at Moma Binna, although we do not say 
 much about our stables when Hattakowa is with us." 
 
 " Hattakowa has the fastest horses in the whole Ter- 
 ritory," Pakali said with much enthusiasm. 
 
 " I shall be pleased to show you over my place." Hatta- 
 kowa saw that he was expected to extend an invitation to 
 Stuart, and he gave it with ill-concealed reluctance. 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont rose from the table and passed into the 
 living room. There she directed a servant to bring pipes 
 and cigars from a cupboard which projected from the log 
 wall. 
 
 " Our men always smoke here," she said. She motioned 
 Stuart to one of the rocking chairs and Pakali put before 
 him a finely woven flat basket which held cigars. Beaumont,
 
 MOMA BINNA 25 
 
 half reclining upon a well-worn leather sofa, lighted a pipe. 
 Hattakowa leaned against the high mantel shelf. When 
 Pakali brought the cigars to him he declined them. 
 
 The girl drew a wooden stool to the hearth. " If you 
 have no objection I shall stay here," she said. " I always 
 like the after supper talks with father." 
 
 The stranger expressed his pleasure in her company so 
 effusively that Hattakowa scowled at him and a constraint 
 fell upon the little group. During one of the pauses in the 
 conversation the young Indian's ring, upon which the fire 
 played, concentrated the stranger's attention so insistently 
 that almost before he thought of what he was saying Stuart 
 spoke of the gem. 
 
 " Mr. Dixon, may I see your ring? " he asked. " It is 
 so unusual in colour and setting that I want to examine it." 
 
 Hattakowa did not offer to remove the ring from his 
 finger. He simply held his hand near the lamp where the 
 pale yellow gold of the setting and the depth of the stone 
 could be seen. 
 
 " It is a ruby of great beauty. I covet it," said Stuart. 
 
 The Indian snatched his hand away. Proudly he drew 
 himself to his full height. 
 
 " This is not one of the beads the white man can buy 
 from the red man," he replied. 
 
 The stranger made a quick apology. Hattakowa gave but 
 scant acknowledgment. The Indian soon requested the 
 privilege of calling for a servant to bring his horse. 
 
 " You are not going home to-night," insisted Mrs. 
 Beaumont, but Hattakowa would not be persuaded to stay. 
 He found his hat, which hung upon a pair of antlers. Lem, 
 the negro boy, came into the room, and, kneeling before 
 Hattakowa, buckled on a pair of leggins. The young 
 Indian commanded the servant to carry his saddlebags 
 from a distant bedroom. Then he said good-night. 
 
 Pakali followed him out upon the gallery.
 
 26 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " Come again soon, very soon, Hattakowa," she called 
 as he vaulted into the saddle. 
 
 At the sound of her soft southern voice, Hattakowa 
 wheeled his horse, jumped to the ground, and was at her 
 side in a moment. 
 
 " Pakali, to-day I told you that I love you. Will you 
 not let me kiss you upon your lips? " he begged. 
 
 The girl trembled before him, for she felt a power in the 
 man that made her afraid. She did not answer. She looked 
 up into his face with questioning eyes. 
 
 " See how my love humbles me," he said. " It is my 
 nature to take by force what I crave, yet I stand here before 
 you pleading that you will permit me to touch your lips. 
 Let the first kiss you give to any man be mine, Pakali, and 
 in the years to come I will pay for it." 
 
 Hattakowa held out his arms to her, and, swayed by his 
 earnestness, Pakali lifted her face to his. He drew her to 
 him and, holding her close to his heart, kissed her. Gently 
 he put her from him and went away, leaving her strangely 
 agitated. She stood motionless until she was aroused by 
 her mother's voice. 
 
 " Mr. Stuart is worried for fear he has offended Hatta- 
 kowa, and I want you to tell him the story of the ring," 
 Mrs. Beaumont said, when Pakali had returned to the 
 living room. 
 
 The girl sought a seat in the shadow of the deep chimney, 
 and, in an unsteady voice, protested that her father knew 
 the story better than anyone else. 
 
 " The ruby is an heirloom," Beaumont said, refilling his 
 pipe. " It came to Hattakowa from his great uncle Apush- 
 amatahah, the illustrious Choctaw chief. The ring has a 
 queer history, for it was a gift from Edwin Forrest, the tra- 
 gedian. It appears that when Forrest was less than twenty 
 years old he was playing in New Orleans, where he fell 
 in love with the company's leading lady, Miss Placide. It
 
 MOMA BINNA 27 
 
 was a desperate infatuation, and the ardent young suitor had 
 a celebrated goldsmith make the ring that was to be the token 
 of betrothal. Miss Placide refused the actor's heart and his 
 ruby. Then Forrest sought to hide his grief in the woods. 
 He made a friend of Apushamatahah and he fled to the In- 
 dian lodge in the wilderness of Mississippi, where he passed 
 part of the summer of 1825. When he went away he gave 
 the old chief the ruby, which is said to bring ill luck in love 
 to all who possess it." 
 
 " I am glad it is impossible for me to own it then," Stuart 
 asserted with emphasis, glancing involuntarily toward 
 Pakali's corner. 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont rang for lights; and, after candles, placed 
 in silver candlesticks, had been brought, she and Pakali said 
 good-night.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE DOGWOOD CALENDAR 
 
 STUART was awakened the next morning by the blowing 
 of a wind that rocked the house. It was some time before 
 he could remember just where he was and he lay lazily in 
 the big oak bedstead, whence he looked about the well-fur- 
 nished guest room of Moma Binna. His one candle had 
 lighted the chamber but dimly the night before, and a picture 
 that he had not then noticed caught his eye. It was a large 
 crayon portrait of Pakali, and had been made when she was 
 a child. The man studied the features, which were drawn 
 with the hard lines employed by the artist of little skill, yet 
 even the indifferent portrait showed the blending of two 
 antagonistic races. The eyes had the solemn gaze that marks 
 the Indian, and the corners of the mouth drooped with the 
 serious curve which gives the look of sadness to the faces of 
 the descendants of the North American aborigines. The 
 hair was parted and hung in two braids that fell upon the 
 sloping shoulders. The Pakali whom the white man had 
 seen the evening before gave little hint of her descent from 
 a savage people, but in the strangely prophetic way in which 
 an infant face will sometimes foretell the adult character- 
 istics, Pakali's portrait suggested tragedy. 
 
 Lem, who came in to build a fire upon the big andirons, 
 interrupted Stuart's speculations concerning the Indian girl. 
 The negro boy placed a pitcher of hot water upon the stand 
 and asked if he could black " massa's " shoes. Stuart was 
 again brought to an unpleasant remembrance of the limita- 
 tions of his wardrobe. He sent away his one pair of boots 
 with the injunction that they should be returned to him 
 
 28
 
 THE DOGWOOD CALENDAR 29 
 
 immediately, and, after he had dressed hastily, he wrote a 
 note ordering a trunkful of clothes to be sent to him with- 
 out delay. 
 
 Breakfast was announced by Lem before Stuart was 
 ready, and in the dining room the stranger found two guests 
 waiting with the family. Mrs. Beaumont introduced him 
 to Virginia Mattison, an Indian girl about Pakali's age, but 
 of a much more pronounced Chickasaw type, and to her 
 brother, Cole Mattison, a stalwart young man with a skin 
 darker than that of the mulatto boy who stood behind Mrs. 
 Beaumont's chair. Looking intently at Pakali when she 
 gave him a cordial good-morning, Stuart thought he saw 
 her lineage written upon her face, which was fascinating in 
 its sweetness and freshness. The girl wore a red cloth 
 waist, and the colour, so much in favour among barbaric peo- 
 ples, made more striking her peculiar beauty. She turned to 
 speak to one of her guests, and he noticed the symmetrical out- 
 lines of her small head upon which the heavy black hair 
 was arranged with the simplicity of unconscious art. The 
 soft tresses were parted in the middle and drawn loosely back 
 to the crown of the head, where the shining coils were 
 caught with an amber comb. 
 
 The servant brought a Bible to Mrs. Beaumont, who read 
 a chapter, after which all knelt while she prayed. The 
 stranger from civilisation was little accustomed to religious 
 observances, and he dropped awkwardly to his knees. His 
 thoughts wandered while his hostess offered a few simple 
 petitions for divine guidance. 
 
 Breakfast was a merry meal, for Virginia Mattison had 
 a vivacious wit. She paid little attention to the presence 
 of the stranger. The brother and sister had been passing a 
 fortnight in the Choctaw Nation, and they had much to say 
 about the consternation among the fullbloods who had heard 
 the rumour that the United States would soon apportion the 
 land held in common by Indian citizens.
 
 30 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " The apportionment cannot come any too soon to please 
 me," declared Cole Mattison. " I am tired of being a ward 
 of Uncle Sam." 
 
 " Don't be too impatient, young man," cautioned Beau- 
 mont. " You may be sure that the Indians somehow will 
 get the worst of it when Uncle Sam begins to divide the 
 property he bestowed upon the Five Nations to be held by 
 them, according to the terms of the treaty, ' As long as 
 water runs and grass grows.' ' 
 
 " Don't you want to hold your property in your own 
 name? " inquired Stuart. 
 
 Beaumont's face assumed a stern look. 
 
 " My young friend touches me upon a sore spot," he said. 
 " I have seen the corruption of the government representa- 
 tives sent here to the Territory for too many years to believe 
 that we Indians can receive anything like justice when our 
 tribal inheritance is apportioned to us." 
 
 Stuart moved in his chair uneasily. He had a guilty feel- 
 ing that he might be abusing the Indian's hospitality, inas- 
 much as his mission had a direct bearing upon the future 
 allotment of lands. His patron, the congressman, was a 
 man who could look a long way ahead, and, while the states- 
 man had not explained his exact reason for wanting informa- 
 tion gleaned from the records of the Five Nations, it was 
 quite certain it would not be used in a manner altogether 
 philanthropic. The congressman had not made a reputation 
 for unselfish statesmanship. Fortunately Virginia turned 
 the conversation away from a subject that suggested possible 
 embarrassment. 
 
 " I want you all to come to Wauchula for our big 
 church fair. It wouldn't be a success without Mrs. Beau- 
 mont, and none of you can make any acceptable excuses," she 
 declared decidedly. " We have arranged it so that Pakali 
 is to have the Tishomingo booth, and Mr. Beaumont is to 
 serve as the auctioneer of Indian relics."
 
 THE DOGWOOD CALENDAR 31 
 
 "Where will you get your Indian relics?" asked Beau- 
 mont, with a laugh that shook his heavy body. 
 
 " Oh, the relics are going to be jokes," Virginia explained. 
 " We'll collect some worn out ready-made suits of clothes, 
 some tin cans, and empty whisky flasks." 
 
 " Don't jest upon such a serious subject, Virginia," said 
 Mrs. Beaumont, shaking her head. " What can you have 
 in your relic booth ? " 
 
 " Remnants of broken treaties with our white brothers," 
 suggested Beaumont. 
 
 " Never mind, we shall have something for you to do. 
 And you must bring Mr. Stuart with you," Virginia 
 answered. 
 
 " Thanks for the invitation," said the stranger, " but I 
 shall be gone long before your church fair opens." 
 
 ' You will be here a month from now, if you stay to 
 procure any figures from our public records," prophesied 
 Beaumont. " I will promise you a trip to be remembered 
 if you go to Wauchula with us." 
 
 The stranger smiled politely and murmured something 
 about engagements in Chicago. 
 
 " You don't look like a man to give up any quest of im- 
 portance," remarked his host. " When I asked you to 
 come to my house I expected you to stay a month. You can 
 make Moma Binna your headquarters and arrange your 
 trips to Muscogee, Tahlequah, and other capitals so that 
 you can return here at least once a week." 
 
 A maid servant whispered something to Beaumont, and 
 he hastily drank his coffee. 
 
 " There is a delegation of fullbloods out in the living 
 room," he said. " The Indians have come to see me about 
 some trouble they are having in taking the census of Pon- 
 totoc county. If Mr. Stuart wants to meet the Honourable 
 Jimmy Sunfish, a member of the legislature, here is his 
 chance."
 
 32 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 The family and guests followed Beaumont into the living 
 room, where five fullbloods sat solemnly waiting. They 
 were all introduced. Mr. Sunfish, evidently the spokesman, 
 was stricken dumb at the sight of the stranger, and his com- 
 panions, following his example, also were silent. One of the 
 Indians was old. He leaned upon a stout cane, but his big 
 head was held high, and his deeply lined face was grim in 
 expression. 
 
 " This is John Oaktree, a descendant of Tushkaapela, the 
 Warrior Helper," said Beaumont. 
 
 The old Chickasaw held out a shrivelled hand to Stuart, 
 who spoke a few words and found that he was not under- 
 stood. 
 
 All the fullbloods were comfortably dressed in the ill- 
 fitting clothes that the white man sends to frontier merchants. 
 Around their necks in place of collars they wore bright- 
 coloured silk handkerchiefs. It was evident that the 
 stranger embarrassed the Pontotoc delegation and Pakali 
 took her friends out upon the wide gallery. 
 
 The wind still blew. The young trees were bending al- 
 most to the ground. The birds sought shelter, and over the 
 outdoor world brooded a quiet broken only by the sound of 
 the " norther " as it rushed through the pines and shook the 
 windows of Moma Binna. 
 
 " See how the mud has dried," said Cole Mattison. 
 " Virginia and I must start for Wauchula. We can make 
 the halfway house long before sundown." 
 
 Virginia showed no indication of haste to leave Tisho- 
 mingo. She drew Pakali aside so that she could speak alone 
 with the girl. 
 
 " You men must excuse me," she said, with a wave of her 
 hand. " I cannot go home without telling Lenore the very 
 latest gossip about Mrs. Maury, who is trying to lead Wau- 
 chula society." 
 
 " Cannot you tell us, too? " Stuart asked. " I confess it
 
 THE DOGWOOD CALENDAR 33 
 
 is a disappointment to hear that even in the Territory so- 
 ciety has its rivalries." 
 
 The girls shook their heads, and Stuart was left to talk 
 with Cole Mattison, who lighted a cigar and responded 
 briefly to remarks addressed to him. Stuart soon exhausted 
 the subject of the weather, but he found his companion so 
 uncommunicative concerning the affairs of the Nation that 
 he was glad to return to the subject of the " norther " and its 
 uncomfortable suggestion of a tornado. The two young 
 men were about the same age, but the Indian had so much 
 of the stolidity for which his race is noted that his sullen face 
 lacked the boyishness which was one of Stuart's chief charms. 
 The white man's genial manner was beginning to have a soft- 
 ening effect upon his companion, when Virginia announced 
 that she was ready to continue her journey to Wauchula. 
 
 Pakali and Stuart watched the brother and sister ride 
 away. Then for a moment an embarrassed silence fell upon 
 them. For the first time Pakali appeared to feel ill at ease 
 with the stranger, and Stuart was quick to note her mood. 
 
 " You must not let me interfere with any of your plans," 
 he said. " Although you have given me such cordial hos- 
 pitality I know I am a trespasser upon your kindness." Some- 
 thing like a blush deepened the ruddy hue on his cheeks as 
 he hastened to explain : " You see, you have taken me by 
 surprise here in Tishomingo. I don't want to intrude 
 indeed I do not." He hesitated a moment, and then added: 
 " But it is pleasant to have fallen into such good company." 
 
 " When the Indian opens his lodge to a stranger he does 
 not offer a grudging welcome," answered Pakali. She 
 looked up into his face and in a half-teasing tone said : 
 
 " We are quite accustomed to the white man's disappoint- 
 ment when he finds us living among some of the luxuries of 
 civilisation that he has provided for himself. I always feel 
 as if I owed an apology to such chance visitors as you be- 
 cause I am not a nineteenth-century Pocahontas."
 
 34 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " I beg your pardon. It was not courteous for me to 
 express surprise concerning Tishomingo." Stuart apolo- 
 gised with such evident appreciation of his lack of delicacy 
 that Pakali, smiling upon him indulgently, replied : 
 
 " The Indian maiden will show her forgiveness by taking 
 the white man to one of her woodland haunts. Come, I 
 want you to see how the water pours over the great boulders 
 in Pennington Creek." 
 
 From a rustic bench on the porch she took up a broad- 
 brimmed light felt hat and then led the way down the 
 garden path to the edge of the bluff, whence she and Hatta- 
 kowa had seen Stuart for the first time. 
 
 " Look down upon Tishomingo," she said, pausing to 
 gaze upon the little village. On a distant hill rose the red- 
 brick capitol, and along the main street an ox-team floun- 
 dered in the mud. The trees, that were touched with the 
 tender green of the early springtime, bent beneath the wind, 
 which sighed as it rushed from mountain clefts to prairie 
 wastes. The breeze ruffled the girl's dark hair and tossed 
 her hat down the trail. Stuart and Pakali pursued the roll- 
 ing sombrero until their descent became a romping game. 
 When the hat was finally recovered they paused for breath 
 upon the rustic bridge leading over Pennington Creek. 
 
 " From this point on we must proceed in true Indian 
 fashion," said Pakali. " I will pick the way through the 
 mud and you must follow in my exact footsteps." 
 
 " Will you give a warning war whoop, or something of 
 the kind, when you are in danger of being mired? " asked 
 the young man, gravely accepting Pakali's mood. 
 
 " We are not on the warpath," the girl answered. " This 
 trail leads to my place of peace, and it is a mark of special 
 favour for me to admit you to the little nook where I spend 
 restful hours when the Chickasaw within me calls for outdoor 
 life." 
 
 They had come to a sheltered spot where the rushing water
 
 THE DOGWOOD CALENDAR 35 
 
 at flood time had hollowed out a wide space and then left 
 it dry after many a large, round rock had been tossed aside. 
 Upon one of the boulders Pakali seated herself. It was so 
 high that she could look down upon Stuart, who leaned 
 against one of the big willows that overhung the stream. 
 
 "If the Territory were what you imagined it to be I 
 would be here grinding corn between two stones," remarked 
 Pakali. " As I pounded the grain perhaps I would be 
 dreaming of some red-skinned young brave off at the chase." 
 
 The girl leaned forward, resting her elbow upon her knee 
 and supporting her chin upon her hand. The rushing of 
 the waters made her voice seem far off, and, offering the 
 excuse that he could not hear, Stuart climbed up close to 
 her. 
 
 " Although you do not grind corn, there is nothing to pre- 
 vent you from dreaming of the young brave," he said. " Mr. 
 Dixon, whom you call by a strange Indian name, appears to 
 be a man any woman would remember." 
 
 " You mean Hattakowa ? He is my kinsman, almost my 
 brother." Her manner forbade further comments concern- 
 ing the Indian. Stuart waited for the girl to continue the 
 conversation, but Pakali, who still retained enough of the 
 Indian characteristics to be reticent when it best suited her 
 purpose, appeared to be listening to the song of a mock- 
 ing bird that dared to lift its voice above the sounding 
 waters. 
 
 " It is not strange that you call this your ' place of peace.' ' 
 Stuart said presently. " One could easily forget the whole 
 world here." 
 
 He was young, and his senses responded to the quickening 
 impulse of the spring day. The golden hour alone with 
 Pakali brought him near to nature in a strange way that 
 stirred his pulses. The girl's beauty had in it the same 
 mysterious charm that belongs to the early morning when the 
 earth seems to have been purified. He saw her face with
 
 36 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 its still childish outlines marked with an elusive sadness that 
 made its sudden lighting by a chance smile little less than a 
 transfiguration. 
 
 " I do not know much of your world to forget," answered 
 Pakali. " From a St. Louis boarding school I had few 
 glimpses of it. Twice I visited Kansas City just long enough 
 to be glad when it was time to return to the Territory. Most 
 of my knowledge has been gained from visitors like yourself 
 men who find us civilised Indians a rather astonishing 
 type." 
 
 Pakali's eyes looked straight into Stuart's with the un- 
 flinching gaze that was to him her most unusual character- 
 istic. He would have spoken, but she made a little gesture 
 that silenced him. 
 
 " You must not try to explain just what impression we 
 make upon you up there at Moma Binna," she hastened to 
 say. " I liked you last night or I would not have brought 
 you here to-day. If we are to be friends you must under- 
 stand that I am proud of my Indian blood, that I have 
 always in my heart a great pride that I am one of the Chick- 
 asaws." She smiled, and added, mischievously: " You know 
 we, who are descended from the aborigines, are the only real 
 American aristocrats." 
 
 Stuart slipped down to where he could stand before Pakali 
 and, with uncovered head, he waited while she continued: 
 
 " We who mingle in our veins the blood of the Indian and 
 the blood of the white man belong to neither race. Many 
 of us have your education; we are trained in all your artifi- 
 cial manners, and we have some of the advantages that belong 
 to civilisation, but there is the tragedy of it all! Only last 
 night Hattakowa accused me of having become altogether a 
 white woman in my feelings, yet if I were really a white 
 woman I should not speak thus to you. I would pretend 
 that I do not know just how much we puzzle you." 
 
 " You do puzzle me," answered Stuart, " but you do more.
 
 THE DOGWOOD CALENDAR 37 
 
 You make me give you the best homage a man can offer a 
 woman. I shall be happy indeed if you will let me be your 
 friend." 
 
 Pakali's clear eyes again met his, but she saw in the man's 
 face something that made her look away from him. 
 
 " At first I thought I would make you uncomfortable by 
 keeping before you the fact that I am an Indian, but now I 
 want you to understand my people," she continued. " Some 
 days you will hardly remember that I am not one of the 
 girls you know in Chicago, but at other times you will find 
 me a Chickasaw, and I mean to make you like the Chickasaw 
 better than the other girl." 
 
 " I am sure I shall like the Chickasaw better than any 
 other girl I have ever seen," declared Stuart. 
 
 Pakali descended from her high place. 
 
 " Don't make pretty speeches or we can never be friends," 
 she warned. " Go up there on the bank of the creek and 
 bring me some branches of dogwood. I want to show you 
 how the Indians used to count the days." 
 
 Stuart clambered to the top of the overhanging bank. 
 When he returned with the dogwood, Pakali broke the 
 slender branches into small pieces. 
 
 " Each of these is a day," she said. " With them we 
 shall mark the time you have to spend in the Chickasaw 
 Nation." 
 
 '' You are breaking too many," cautioned Stuart, who was 
 standing beside her as she arranged the sticks on a little ledge 
 of rock. " I wish there might be any number of days for 
 me here, but " 
 
 " You do not understand," explained Pakali. " It is 
 etiquette for me to prepare many sticks so that you shall 
 know we want you to stay a long time in our village. Here; 
 I mark the first day with this." 
 
 She put one stick on the ledge in a spot where the moss 
 grew.
 
 3 8 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " See, there is a flower on the branch," said Stuart. " That 
 must be a good omen." 
 
 Pakali put down a second stick. 
 
 " That should also bear a flower," the young man re- 
 marked, and, reaching over the girl's shoulder, he substi- 
 tuted a bit of branch that still bore a bud. " All my days in 
 w T hich you have a part must be marked by a special sign." 
 
 Their hands touched, and Pakali forgot to reprove him 
 for his pretty speech.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 ARNOLD STUART'S MISSION 
 
 ARNOLD STUART had passed a week in Tishomingo before 
 he began to think seriously of fulfilling his mission to the 
 Territory. The hospitality of Moma Binna was so perfect 
 that he was treated as if he belonged to the Chickasaw 
 Nation. He had the rare adaptability of character which 
 made him welcome everywhere. His was a nature that ex- 
 pected the best things of life. He was a man of wide exper- 
 ience, for he had lived much in his less than thirty years. 
 It was said of him that he was always lucky. While he had 
 not been born to great wealth, he belonged to the large class 
 of Americans which enjoys all the advantages that money 
 can buy. His father, while a member of the Chicago Board 
 of Trade, had provided lavishly for the wants, real and 
 fancied, of a son whose easy-going nature accepted what was 
 given 'him with the sort of gratitude which encouraged larger 
 indulgences. The elder Stuart had died suddenly, leaving 
 an estate that would support a widow who enjoyed, in a 
 dignified way, the gaiety of foreign capitals. 
 
 On leaving college Arnold had found that what he chose 
 to call his " career " opened in a promising manner, for he 
 was permitted to be the fourth member of an old and pros- 
 perous law firm, the senior partner of which was associated 
 in large speculations with a congressman of a middle western 
 State. During his first term in the House of Representa- 
 tives, Elisha Fordham had been a member of the committee 
 on Indian affairs. Congressman Fordham attracted national 
 attention by a speech advocating the speedier apportionment 
 of land to all Indian tribes. Statistics, gathered casually, 
 
 39
 
 40 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 had interested him in what he termed the " ultimate possi- 
 bilities " of the severally system. The fact that that system 
 enables the wards of the government gradually to dispose of 
 the remnant of their diminishing inheritance added to Judge 
 Fordham's interest, and he engaged Stuart's firm to make 
 certain investigations for him. 
 
 It seemed a wise move to obtain at first hand more exact 
 data concerning the Five Nations that had been exploited as 
 having more wealth per capita than any other class of people 
 in the United States. Therefore, Arnold Stuart had been 
 chosen to gather statistics which might be of great value at 
 some future time. Although there was nothing underhand 
 or irregular in the duty assigned to him, the young man, who 
 had started southward with much enthusiasm, soon began to 
 feel a certain amount of distaste for the task he had accepted. 
 He frankly told George Beaumont why he had come to the 
 Territory, and the fine old Indian was quick to make him 
 understand that much good might be done if the lawmakers 
 dealt fairly with the red man. 
 
 Even though Beaumont did all in his power to facilitate 
 any effort that might be made to gain information concern- 
 ing the Chickasaws, Arnold Stuart showed little inclination 
 to spend many hours a day with the men who had helped to 
 make history in the Indian Territory. Pakali lured him into 
 all sorts of pleasant pastimes. On the day when he could 
 have heard reminiscences of the enforced migration of the 
 tribes from Mississippi, a horseback ride made him forget 
 Congressman Fordham's anxiety to receive an extended re- 
 port from him. The day Sammy Hotgun, a fullblood, came 
 in to tell of a new grievance, a long walk up hill and down, 
 through little stretches of wood and over broad expanses of 
 grass, to the oldest building in the Chickasaw Nation, had 
 been planned. Although Hotgun, who was a member of the 
 Indian legislature, was in a most communicative mood, it
 
 ARNOLD STUART'S MISSION 41 
 
 was impossible for the young man to fix his attention upon 
 the subject of lost cattle and stolen horses. It happened that 
 the Governor of the Nation rode in to dine at Moma Binna 
 on the Sunday Stuart accompanied Mrs. Beaumont and her 
 daughter to the little wooden church, where they remained 
 during a luncheon that was served to the young Indians 
 who stayed to Sunday School. Ordinarily Arnold Stuart 
 was not inclined to attend religious services, but he responded 
 with much alacrity to Mrs. Beaumont's missionary efforts 
 in his behalf. He knew that Pakali played the melodeon, 
 and he was quite willing to sit for an hour or two where 
 he could enjoy the privilege of studying every movement of 
 the girl, who fascinated him more and more as he saw her 
 in the close association her home afforded him. It was a 
 little Methodis^: meetinghouse, and enjoyed the distinction 
 of being the only church in Tishomingo. It had no regular 
 minister, but once a month a Wauchula pastor came to preach 
 to the half-dozen families. 
 
 Stuart's ears were deaf to the minister's prayer. The 
 Scriptures failed to fix his attention. His eyes wandered from 
 face to face as he looked down upon the congregation from 
 a side seat, which served as the Beaumont pew. Among the 
 fifty persons was a large proportion of men, some of them 
 fullbloods. All the men were dressed in ill-fitting, ready- 
 made suits, but they wore clean linen. It was a surprise to 
 the stranger to notice that the women showed little of the 
 barbaric love of colour. Most of the girls had eyes of great 
 beauty that relieved the plainness of heavy-featured faces. 
 All the shades of colour, from the white of the Caucasian to 
 the reddish brown of the Indian, were to be seen in the con- 
 gregation. On a bench, occupied by one halfbreed family, a 
 golden-haired, pink-cheeked little girl sat beside her small 
 brother who had the deep, rich brown of a fullblood. For 
 the first time Stuart realised that in Indian Territory amal-
 
 42 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 gamation had reached a point where the solution of the 
 Indian problem, so far as the Territory was concerned, could 
 be easily foreseen. 
 
 Pakali led the first hymn. Her fresh young voice im- 
 parted to the droning tune a charm the young man had never 
 discovered in any sacred music. He listened with a rever- 
 ence new to his volatile nature. 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont shared her hymnbook with him, and 
 behind its cover whispered that he must sing. He scanned 
 the words of simple trustfulness in divine power, and then, 
 beholding in Pakali's eyes as they gazed upward, a look of 
 faith and holy aspiration that gave him a new revelation of 
 her character, it seemed a sacrilege to lift his voice in words 
 that meant nothing to him. 
 
 It was mid-afternoon when Mrs. Beaumont, Pakali, and 
 Stuart returned to Moma Binna, where they found Mr. 
 Beaumont and Henry Sands, the Governor of the Chickasaw 
 Nation, enjoying their pipes in a cool corner of the veranda. 
 Governor Sands was a short, compactly built fullblood, with 
 a broad, weatherbeaten face. He had the high cheek-bones 
 and the heavy jaw of the Indian. His small, black eyes 
 contradicted the stranger's first impression that the man was 
 stupid. The Chickasaw Governor gave Stuart a hearty 
 greeting, and w r as soon deeply engrossed in discussing the 
 object of the young man's visit to the Territory. After they 
 had passed an hour together in a conversation which made 
 Stuart realise that, after all, his errand to Tishomingo carried 
 with it tremendous possibilities, Pakali, who had sat silently 
 gazing out upon the hills, rose suddenly with the exclama- 
 tion: " There is Hattakowa!" She ran down the path to 
 meet her kinsman as he rode up the driveway. 
 
 " I am so glad you have come," the girl exclaimed, as 
 Hattakowa dismounted. 
 
 " I stayed away as long as I could, Pakali," the Indian 
 said in his low, solemn voice. " My reason told me to stay
 
 ARNOLD STUART'S MISSION 43 
 
 far from you, but my heart longed for you. I have not 
 counted the days since I last came to Moma Binna, but it 
 seems as if a twelvemonth had gone by." His eyes hungrily 
 scanned Pakali's face as he stood with his arm thrown over 
 the neck of his horse. 
 
 " And to me, too, the time has seemed long," the girl re- 
 sponded. " I have lived and learned much in the last fort- 
 night. The stranger has brought some of his world to me. 
 He is not like other white men, and I have wished that you 
 might know him well." 
 
 " Pakali, when a man is not like other men to a girl, he 
 is perhaps the one who will rule her life," Hattakowa 
 answered. 
 
 " Foolish cousin! To me you are different from all the 
 world and yet you will never rule my life. I mean to guide 
 my own destiny." She tossed her head with a pretty air 
 of independence. 
 
 " Remember that while you are guiding your destiny you 
 are controlling mine," warned Hattakowa. " Have I not 
 told you that you are my Star Woman ? " 
 
 " Come up on the porch, Hattakowa. They are talking 
 politics, and you cannot be sentimental any more," Pakali 
 commanded. 
 
 " How well you have learned the white woman's trick 
 of jesting with a man ! " the Indian exclaimed, as he led 
 his horse toward the house. " And yet, even though you 
 have the ways of the people I hate, still you are to be Aiah- 
 nichih-Choyoh." 
 
 Hattakowa met Stuart with a cold politeness that but 
 thinly veiled his hostility. He drew a chair close to Gov- 
 ernor Sands, and the contrast between the two Indians was 
 brought out strongly. The fullblood lacked the education 
 of the halfbreed. Governor Sands was twenty-five years 
 older than Hattakowa. He was a type of the Chickasaw of 
 an earlier time, and represented the results of a gradual
 
 44 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 evolution. He was a man of few words and he made it 
 plain that, while he cherished little bitterness concerning the 
 white man, he was ready to defend what he called his 
 rights. 
 
 " Like my friend, Mr. Beaumont, I belong to the Non- 
 progressive party here in the Chickasaw Nation," he ex- 
 plained. " My younger friend, Mr. Dixon, is also of our 
 party, but our political reasons are not the same. Mr. 
 Beaumont and I are two bridle-wise old horses that want to 
 trot along in the same old rough roads, because we know 
 they are safe. But Dixon is a thoroughbred who fears he 
 will be driven by the white men our Indian wit calls Break- 
 In-Rich, Tom-Needs-It, and Jay-Gouge-All." 
 
 " Tom-Needs-It cannot have my ranches if I can help it," 
 declared Hattakowa. " I know he has a big pull at Wash- 
 ington, for he sits in Congress, and no doubt is a member of 
 the Committee on Indian Affairs." 
 
 Stuart's face flushed an angry red. He cast an indignant 
 look at the young Chickasaw, but Hattakowa calmly lighted 
 a cigar. After an uncomfortable pause, the remark was 
 allowed to pass without a challenge, for Stuart was too well 
 bred to start an unpleasant argument with a relative of his 
 host. Instead, he did something that was a more severe 
 retaliation than any other he could have planned. He ex- 
 cused himself to Mr. Beaumont and Governor Sands and 
 took Pakali away to the garden, where there was a rustic 
 bench, whence they could watch the sunset together. 
 
 Pakali was silent, or spoke little, while she sat with Stuart 
 in the afterglow of the southern sunset. The young man 
 furtively watched her and wondered, with a pang of jeal- 
 ousy, whether a closer tie than that of kinship bound her 
 to the Chickasaw-Choctaw whose personality was evidently 
 forceful and magnetic, since even the taciturn Governor had 
 shown him respect and deference. Pakali's manner invari- 
 ably forbade any discussion of Hattakowa. She ignored the
 
 ARNOLD STUART'S MISSION 45 
 
 Indian's rudeness to the white man, appeared content 
 to pass a quiet half hour watching the sky, while she re- 
 plied at random to Stuart's questions concerning Governor 
 Sands. 
 
 As evening came on one horseman after another~rode up 
 the hill from the village, and two or three vehicles followed 
 them to Moma Binna. Stuart saw the negro servants lead 
 the horses away to the stables, and he guessed that the advent 
 of the tribal leader had brought together some of the princi- 
 pal men of the Nation. Presently light streamed from all 
 the windows of Moma Binna, and Lem came out to announce 
 that supper was served. 
 
 " You will have the chance to see all sorts of Chickasaws 
 to-night," said Pakali, rising quickly. " I quite forgot that 
 I should have helped mother welcome our self-invited guests. 
 You know we Indians always feel sure of ready hospitality 
 whenever we go to one another's houses, and so all who come 
 to see father expect to break bread with him." 
 
 When they entered the dining room Stuart saw that the 
 long table had been stretched out to accommodate twenty 
 persons. At the foot, behind the water-lily-chased tea set, 
 Mrs. Beaumont presided. At the head sat Mr. Beaumont, 
 with the Governor at his right. Opposite the Governor 
 Hattakowa had his place. Crystal bowls of roses decorated 
 the table, and candles set in handsome candelabra shed a 
 soft radiance upon as peculiar an assemblage as Stuart had 
 ever beheld. Among the Indians were men who were proud 
 to measure even one-thirty-second part of their blood as an 
 inheritance from aboriginal ancestry. Cole Mattison and 
 his father, Peter Mattison, sat on one side of the table with 
 a fullblood named Samuel Jenkins. The Honourable Jimmy 
 Sunfish was made conspicuous by his evident discomfort 
 while attired in best clothes, which included a very stiff 
 celluloid collar without a necktie. John Oaktree, the old 
 Indian who with Jimmy Sunfish had composed part of the
 
 46 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 Pontotoc delegation that came to Moma Binna the day after 
 Stuart's arrival, had the seat of honor next to Mrs. Beau- 
 mont. 
 
 For a moment or two after the appearance of Pakali and 
 Stuart there was evident constraint. The fullbloods most 
 ill at ease concealed their embarrassment by eating ravenously 
 of the good things offered them by the negro waiters. Con- 
 trary to the Eastern custom, most of the food was displayed 
 upon the table, but the service was as perfect as if it be- 
 longed to a fashionable country house on the Atlantic coast. 
 It is true that some of the fullbloods ignored the presence 
 of napkins, and used their knives with an expertness that was 
 now and then uncomfortably suggestive of unpleasant inci- 
 dents in United States history, but every man conducted him- 
 self with a dignity that was impressive to a stranger. John 
 Oaktree had spoken several sentences in the Chickasaw 
 language, and it was evident that only one or two at the table 
 could understand him. Governor Sands acted as his inter- 
 preter. 
 
 " The spirit of Tushkaapela, the Warrior Helper, causes 
 our friend, John Oaktree, to resent the growing power of the 
 squaw men," said the Governor. " He predicts that the 
 Choctaws will regret the day they let the squaw men sit in 
 their legislature. The squaw man will make it easy for 
 his white brothers to drive good bargains when the red man's 
 lands are divided." 
 
 " It is due to the squaw men who have come from the 
 South that we Indians will be compelled to share our heritage 
 with the negroes we once held as slaves," said Beaumont. 
 " Most of the squaw men belong to the class called ' poor 
 white trash,' and their forefathers never owned slaves. But 
 they have been willing to share their plantations with the 
 black men. We Chickasaws lost our slaves in the war, and 
 long ago we recognised the wisdom of emancipation. But 
 why should we give up a share of our property when we are
 
 ARNOLD STUART'S MISSION 47 
 
 the only former slaveholders from whom the government 
 demanded such a sacrifice? " 
 
 " ' Why ' is a question we Indians never should ask," said 
 Hattakowa, with a curl of his thin lips. " If we pondered 
 upon that question, we might become mad enough to rebel 
 against injustice, even though experience has taught us we 
 are forever vanquished." 
 
 " Dixon should have lived two hundred years ago," 
 laughed Cole Mattison. " When he talks, one expects to 
 see him begin to sharpen his scalping knife." 
 
 " You deserve to be counted out of the Chickasaw Na- 
 tion," Hattakowa retorted hotly, " for in feeling you do not 
 belong to us." 
 
 " I hope to be counted among those who are civilised," 
 Mattison said, tauntingly. 
 
 " Don't be too hasty, young man," cautioned the elder 
 Mattison. " My son and I acknowledge an ambition to 
 become full citizens of the United States. So, too, does 
 Samuel Jenkins. But why don't you speak for yourself, 
 Jenkins?" 
 
 The fullblood, to whom the appeal was made, was a 
 wrinkled, shrivelled man, past middle age. He had a shrewd 
 face, and he looked through half closed, watery eyes. 
 
 " It come natural for some to learn when they was 
 stamped on a few times," he said, brokenly. " I not one to 
 grunt and wait to be walked on more. I was teach that 
 white man must have the Territory." 
 
 " I have heard that Attorney See-My-Fee has argued much 
 with Jenkins," said Governor Sands. 
 
 All the Indians laughed heartily, except Peter and Cole 
 Mattison. 
 
 " When I was to Muscogee one lawyer was hold counsel 
 with me," admitted Jenkins, who evidently had the tradi- 
 tional lack of humour. 
 
 " And did you meet the lawyer's employers, Break-In-
 
 48 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 Rich, Tom-Needs-It, and Jay-Gouge-All? " inquired Mr. 
 Beaumont. 
 
 " I know none of those gentlemen," replied Jenkins, who 
 was beginning to look angry. 
 
 Again there was a laugh. 
 
 " Have some of my currant jam, Mr. Jenkins," Mrs. 
 Beaumont hastened to urge, from behind the silver urn. 
 
 The currant jam was passed, and the conversation drifted 
 to less inflammatory topfcs than land allotment. It was 
 Stuart who -drew out reminiscences of earlier days when few 
 white men trespassed upon the Territory. Mr. Beaumont 
 recalled childhood memories of the journey from Missis- 
 sippi, and Governor Sands translated John Oaktree's story 
 of his first buffalo hunt. When the candles were burning 
 low, Hattakowa, forgetting the presence of Stuart, told of 
 his first resentment against the white man. 
 
 " It was in the days when my cousin Lenore, whom we of 
 the family call Pakali, and I went to school together at 
 Boggy Depot," he said. Looking across the table his eyes 
 met Pakali's, but he went on as if she were not present. " We 
 were little children then. Pakali was eight and I five years 
 older. The white teachers had obtained the school contract 
 from the government because they had put in the highest 
 bids. The Chickasaw Nation paid for the education of its 
 boys and girls, and we were housed in a place that was not 
 fit for cattle. We were given little instruction, and we 
 were punished cruelly. Starved and beaten and neglected, I 
 learned to hate the idea of education. We boys, who had 
 negro servants at home, were compelled to work in the fields 
 when we ought to have been at our books. The girls, more 
 tenderly reared than many a white child, were put to the 
 most menial tasks. Pakali washed dishes and scrubbed 
 floors. They made her carry great pails of water from the 
 well, until one day I cursed the hypocrite who pretended 
 that he was civilising us. One of the girls' studies was em-
 
 ARNOLD STUART'S MISSION 49 
 
 broidery. More than half the days were passed over muslin 
 curtains which were sold for high prices in St. Louis shops. 
 There came a day when Pakali was discovered neglecting 
 her embroidery in order that she might read a book. The 
 woman who, by the way, was the wife of the white Pharisee 
 of a pedagogue struck the eight-year-old child over the 
 head and called her a ' lazy little savage, meaner than a 
 nigger.' I had been sent to the sewing room upon an errand 
 and heard this insult. Though I am an Indian, it was im- 
 possible even then for me to strike a woman. I threw a pail 
 of water upon the contemptible creature, and I made her 
 listen while I told her how she and her husband appeared to 
 a Chickasaw boy. The incident gave Pakali and me a vaca- 
 tion, but it eventually put an end to the rule of the two dis- 
 honest teachers who had made a great deal of money out of 
 their Boggy Depot venture." 
 
 Hattakowa had told his story with a simplicity which 
 showed much reserve feeling. A little pause followed its 
 close. The candles near the speaker were flickering, and his 
 face was in the shadow, but Stuart saw that his eyes were 
 fixed upon Pakali, as if he had forgotten the presence of all 
 except the girl. 
 
 " No one here will think I have meant to boast of boyish 
 chivalry," Hattakowa added suddenly. As he pushed back 
 the heavy hair from his forehead, Stuart caught the gleam of 
 the ruby ring on Hattakowa's hand, and he quickly turned 
 away lest the Indian might see that he noticed it again. 
 
 " The candles are burning out. Let us go into the living 
 room." It was Pakali who spoke to her mother. Mrs. 
 Beaumont rose from the table, and when the party had re- 
 assembled in the living room, the young girl was missing.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 PAKALI TELLS A STORY 
 
 FATE in the shape of a letter from Elisha Fordham, the 
 congressman who had caused Stuart's mission to the Terri- 
 tory, awoke the visitor at Moma Binna to a sense of his short- 
 comings as a confidential agent. From his middle western 
 State Mr. Fordham inquired why certain important data had 
 not been forwarded to him. Stuart was lounging upon the 
 veranda when a small negro boy brought the letter. He 
 was waiting for Pakali, who had promised to drive with him. 
 Looking back upon the last fortnight, the young man sud- 
 denly realised that he had passed most of his time waiting for 
 Pakali, when he was not actually with her. He had put off 
 a trip to Muscogee for no reason except that he was enjoy- 
 ing the weeks in Tishomingo. There were whole days when 
 he had forgotten everything except what pertained to Pakali 
 and Moma Binna. 
 
 Arnold Stuart threw away his cigar and paced up and 
 down the veranda. He had sent to the congressman some 
 valuable information concerning the Chickasaws. For a 
 moment he tried to make himself believe that it was at least 
 an honest return for four weeks' salary, which had been sent 
 punctually to him. He was inclined to indulge in self- 
 deception. In order to feel at peace with the world he liked 
 to justify himself. Although his mind dwelt upon the fact 
 that the reports he had written contained much which would 
 have been impossible to procure except through the friendship 
 of leading men of the Nation, he knew he could not safely 
 procrastinate another day. 
 
 " I must start for Muscogee this afternoon," he announced
 
 PAKALI TELLS A STORY 51 
 
 to Pakali, who drove a little basket phaeton up to the door, 
 and commanded Stuart to take his place beside her. 
 
 "Why are you so suddenly tired of this Indian tepee? " 
 she asked, glancing at him from beneath her broad-brimmed 
 hat. 
 
 " Why have I lingered so long in Moma Binna? is the 
 question," he replied, looking at her with a meaning she tried 
 to ignore by paying attention to her pony. 
 
 " I have just received a letter that made me realise how 
 nearly you have caused me to be unfaithful to a business 
 trust. Do you know that a congressman waits while you 
 lure me away from musty records and old documents ? " 
 
 " You do not mean that you must go ? " the girl said, 
 with a little tremble in her voice. " I I thought you were 
 only jesting, for, whenever I refuse to humour you in some 
 foolish whim, you threaten to go away." 
 
 Pakali held her chin very high and pretended to be in- 
 different. 
 
 " Threaten you, Miss Beaumont? I am not such an 
 egotist as to suppose that you would fear to know the time 
 of my going." 
 
 The pony, which had started out by trotting briskly, ex- 
 perimented with a slow walk, but Pakali paid no attention to 
 him, and instead amused herself by playing with the buckle 
 on the lines. 
 
 " I suppose you are never coming back to Tishomingo? " 
 The girl gained courage to look her companion in the face. 
 Stuart had taken off his hat, and for the first time in many 
 days she saw him as the white man, w 7 ho belonged not to her 
 race. His fair hair curled upon his broad, white brow. His 
 clear-cut features had a delicacy that was lacking in the In- 
 dian. His blue eyes looked through glasses, a distinguishing 
 mark of the civilised man. 
 
 " I will come if you will let me," Stuart promised. Look- 
 ing at Pakali, Stuart, who was an impulsive man, found it
 
 52 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 hard to keep back words which would let her know that she 
 had become much more than a passing acquaintance. 
 
 Pakali had had time to regain her self-possession. 
 
 " You tell me your coming back depends upon me," she 
 said, with a taunting smile. " The white man is not ruled 
 by the Indian. You know there will always be a wel- 
 come for you at Moma Binna, for is it not a ' lodge for 
 all'?" 
 
 " Moma Binna has become an enchanted palace to me," 
 Stuart answered. " One versed in magic dwells there." 
 
 " It has been said that Mammy 'Liza, my old nurse, is a 
 witch, but you have not even seen her, for she has been ill 
 ever since you came to Tishomingo." 
 
 Pakali whipped up the pony and added, with a little catch 
 in her breath: " Do you know Mammy 'Liza warned me 
 the night you arrived that a white chief came carrying trouble 
 to Moma Binna? " 
 
 " If I thought that my visit to the Territory would bring 
 anything but good to you and your people I should feel that 
 death was too good for me," the young man declared, fer- 
 vently. For a second they looked into each other's eyes, and 
 the girl read something in Stuart's that caused her to stop 
 the pony beneath a clump of trees. 
 
 " Let us gather some of the yellow sunflowers that grow 
 along the road," she said, jumping lightly from the phaeton, 
 and beginning to tie the pony to a drooping oak limb. 
 
 Before Stuart could reach her she was plucking the sun- 
 flowers. He stopped to watch her as she stood among the 
 yellow blossoms, which brought out the clear tones of her 
 dark skin. Afterward in his dreams he often saw her as 
 she looked that day. She wore a gown of cream white 
 material, simply made. Her broad-brimmed hat was 
 pushed back from the shining black hair parted over her 
 forehead. 
 
 " Please carry these flowers to the phaeton," Pakali said,
 
 PAKALI TELLS A STORY 53 
 
 " and then I will show you the swinging seat the grape- 
 vine has formed beneath the oak." 
 
 After Stuart had done her bidding, she made a place for 
 him on a log, which she brushed carefully with a bunch of 
 sunflowers. 
 
 " You must sit there while I enjoy my grape-vine swing," 
 she directed. Swaying gently among the vines, she began to 
 talk rapidly, as if she desired to prevent him from saying 
 something that might be embarrassing. 
 
 " Perhaps you do not know that the grape-vine is con- 
 nected with one of the Indian legends which accounts for our 
 first appearance in this outer world," she said. " Once the 
 red men lived in a large cavern under ground. A grape- 
 vine extended its roots down to their village, and one day a 
 little streak of sunshine appeared among the entangled off- 
 shoots of the giant roots. Some of the most adventurous 
 of the Indians climbed up the vine and were so delighted with 
 the sight of the bright outside world, which they found rich 
 in every kind of fruit, that they resolved to go forth into 
 the upper regions. Men, women, and children ascended 
 the vine until half the nation had reached the surface. Two 
 sisters, the most beautiful maidens in the tribe, started to 
 follow those who sought the light. Both were exceedingly 
 rich in the trinkets the primitive women used for personal 
 adornment. When the maidens began to climb, the vine that 
 had borne the weight of half the tribe swayed dangerously. 
 One of the maidens took off her stone anklets and armlets 
 and threw them away. Still the vine bent alarmingly. Then 
 she cast from her many necklaces made of rare pebbles. 
 Without any of her precious ornaments she reached the out- 
 side world, but her sister, who would not give up her trinkets, 
 climbed only part way, when the vine broke beneath her 
 weight, leaving her and half the nation forever imprisoned 
 in the earth." 
 
 " What became of the beautiful maiden ? " inquired Stuart.
 
 54 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " Does not the legend tell what happened to her after she 
 reached the sunlight? " 
 
 " Yes, she is said to have found great joy and great 
 sorrow." 
 
 Pakali glanced at her companion, who took the liberty of 
 leaving his place on the log in order to sit close to the 
 grapevine that had suggested the old legend to the Indian 
 girl. 
 
 " Tell me about the great joy that the maiden found," said 
 Stuart. " You know I don't like to hear about unpleasant 
 things, so you may omit what the legend says about the 
 sorrow." 
 
 " I cannot tell you about the joy without mentioning the 
 sorrow," Pakali answered, giving him a little questioning 
 glance. " You see, a white man brought both to the maiden, 
 and I think I would rather not finish the story." 
 
 '' You must tell me every word of it now," insisted Stuart, 
 " for my curiosity is aroused." 
 
 " Well, in the land of the sunlight the maiden one day 
 saw a white man whom she worshipped as a god, because 
 she believed him to be one of the children of the sun. When 
 she knelt before him, with her face to the ground, he raised 
 her up and told her that he was earth-born like herself. Then 
 the maiden loved him." 
 
 " Surely she set a good fashion to her people. I wonder 
 if Indian maids often love white men now," interrupted 
 Stuart. 
 
 " Not if they learn wisdom from the legend," declared 
 Pakali, " for when the maiden left her people to follow the 
 white man she was happy until they came to a wonderful 
 city, where the gates opened, and the white man went in 
 alone, leaving the Indian girl to die as she wandered back 
 through the forest in search of her tribe." 
 
 Stuart rose to his feet. Standing before Pakali, he said: 
 " Have you been thinking of this legend all these weeks
 
 J5 
 
 - 
 
 
 "l WONDER IF INDIAN MAIDS OFTEN LOVE WHITE MEN NO\v" Page 54
 
 PAKALI TELLS A STORY 55 
 
 that we have been together ? And now that I am going away 
 do you take this means of letting me know how little faith 
 you put in the friendship of a white man ? " 
 
 " When I began the legend I did not mean to tell it all, 
 but somehow it told itself." The girl left her grape-vine 
 seat and walked a few steps away. " As we drove out here 
 you made the pretty speeches that the white man uses when 
 he addresses the women of his own race. The Indian knows 
 that they mean nothing. It is easier for me to make you 
 understand that by telling you the legend." 
 
 " You shall not think so meanly of me. You must listen 
 to me now." Stuart advanced toward her and put out his 
 hand as if he would touch her, but she retreated from 
 him. 
 
 " There is nothing that you can say to me excepting good- 
 bye. You forget that I am an Indian, and therefore different 
 from the girls you have known all your life. Until to-day I 
 did not know how much your friendship had come to mean to 
 me." She held out her hand to him. " Good-bye. I thank 
 you for many pleasant hours. When I go down to my nook 
 on Pennington Creek I shall mark to-day with a shrivelled 
 stick." She laughed in a nervous way. 
 
 The young man took her hand and held it fast. " You 
 cannot get away now," he said. " You must hear that you 
 have made me hold you as one who is far above any girl in 
 all my world." 
 
 " Remember that every word you say now must be only 
 a humiliation," faltered Pakali, " for I shall know my legend 
 has made you feel the need of making protestations that I 
 should not hear. The Indian woman is more frank than 
 the white woman, therefore do not judge me harshly when 
 you measure me according to your standard." She proudly 
 drew away from him, and he saw that there were tears in 
 her eyes. 
 
 " Good-bye," she said again. " You must drive home
 
 56 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 alone, for I am going to the house of a friend who lives just 
 over the hill. They will take me back to Moma Binna after 
 you are gone." 
 
 Before Stuart could reply to her she had run up the hill. 
 He saw her stand for a moment at the crest of the hill to 
 look back at him. Then she disappeared.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 THE RIDE TO WAUCHULA 
 
 AFTER Stuart went away from Moma Binna Pakali found 
 that the days seemed dull and colourless. Every member of 
 the household appeared to miss the white man, who had be- 
 come so much a part of the family life that his absence made 
 a perceptible difference in the daily routine. In the evening, 
 when George Beaumont smoked his pipe out on the veranda, 
 he declared frequently that he missed the young man who had 
 shown a rare intelligence in discussing politics. With a sigh 
 Mrs. Beaumont said that he had brought a breath of her 
 girlhood home with him. " Not that I ever really long for 
 my old Eastern surroundings," she made haste to explain, 
 as she let her crocheting fall from her hand, " but it is re- 
 freshing now and then to meet a man who has the polish 
 of an older civilisation than ours here in the Territory." 
 
 Pakali listened to these remarks without adding any com- 
 ments. The summer evenings brought to her a sense of 
 loneliness never before experienced in the Territory she loved 
 because it was her birthplace. As she watched the crimson 
 afterglow fade from the cloudless sky, she wondered whether 
 she w r ould ever see Arnold Stuart again. Her reason told 
 her that he was not likely to return to Tishomingo, but in 
 her heart was the hope that in some way he would be brought 
 back to her. She did not try to analyse her feelings, for all 
 her life it had been impressed upon her that the white man 
 was treacherous, and that he belonged to a different race 
 from hers. 
 
 George Beaumont, whose spirit was the most liberal in the 
 whole Nation, had often preached this as the only safe creed 
 
 57
 
 58 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 for the Indian, but he had never failed to discriminate in 
 judging strangers from the States. He had shown an un- 
 usual confidence in Arnold Stuart, but when he bade fare- 
 well to the young man he had taken it for granted that the 
 acquaintance ended at the doorstep of Moma Binna. 
 
 Several days after Stuart's departure two brief notes from 
 the stranger came to Moma Binna. In one, addressed to Mr. 
 and Mrs. Beaumont, Stuart expressed his appreciation of 
 their hospitality. The other told Pakali in a single line that 
 his thoughts travelled back to her every hour as he rode far 
 away from Tishomingo. The girl read the note many times 
 after she had stolen away to her nook by the creek. She 
 felt a pang of disappointment because it held out no promise 
 of a future meeting, and because it did not even express a 
 wish that some day they might again be brought together. 
 Pakali went to the little cleft in the rock where she had put 
 the sticks with which she had marked the days of Stuart's 
 sojourn in Moma Binna. She counted them carefully. 
 They numbered forty. As she lifted the first one from its 
 place a withered blossom fell from it. Going down close 
 to the edge of the creek she gathered some smooth stones, 
 which she carefully fitted into the little niche, thus securely 
 sealing her calendar of precious days so that it might be 
 undisturbed. 
 
 Fortunately, preparations for the church fair at Wauchula 
 presently engrossed the time of Mrs. Beaumont and Pakali. 
 More than a fortnight they worked diligently for what was 
 to be the most ambitious public entertainment ever given in 
 the Chickasaw Nation. As she altered her costume a beaded 
 buckskin skirt and loose jacket, lent to her from the collection 
 of heirlooms treasured by Hattakowa's mother Pakali re- 
 membered that Virginia Mattison had urged Stuart to attend 
 the bazaar. Everything that was done at Moma Binna 
 recalled memories of the white man, and she was conscious 
 that the heartache she felt was not altogether explained when
 
 THE RIDE TO WAUCHULA 59 
 
 she told herself that she felt the need of congenial compan- 
 ionship. 
 
 The heat of the Indian Territory summer came on sud- 
 denly. At midday the sun scorched the grassy plains and 
 withered the trees. In the fields the cotton stalks grew tall. 
 The dusty roads were little travelled. Pennington Creek 
 shrank in its rocky course, and the sound of its flowing waters 
 diminished from a roar to a gentle murmur. Although 
 Wauchula was only thirty miles distant from Tishomingo, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont decided to devote part of two days 
 to the journey. The best team of horses and a comfortable 
 two-seated carriage were selected for the trip, but Pakali 
 insisted that she should be permitted to ride her pony. It 
 was agreed that they should start at sundown in order to 
 reach the halfway house at bedtime. 
 
 From the veranda Pakali listlessly watched Mammy 'Liza 
 and Lem load the carriage with cakes and other contributions 
 for the fair. 
 
 " This Sunday School bazaar business is more trouble than 
 a cattle round-up," Beaumont grumbled, good-naturedly, as 
 he came around the corner of the house. " If I didn't have 
 to see the managers of my cotton gin I shouldn't have the 
 courage to go to Wauchula this hot weather." 
 
 " I wish we could all stay at home," said Pakali. 
 
 Beaumont stopped to look at his daughhter with keen 
 scrutiny. 
 
 " Why, what's the matter? " he asked, putting his arm 
 around her and drawing her to him. " I hope you are 
 feeling well. Now that I think of it you've been rather out 
 of spirits for the last two weeks." 
 
 " I am only lazy, father," Pakali answered, affectionately 
 patting his scarred cheek. She raised herself upon tiptoe 
 to kiss him, when, over his shoulder, she saw something that 
 made her heart beat with a quickened throb. 
 
 Stuart had ridden up the hill and was dismounting near
 
 60 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 the carriage where her mother was superintending the serv- 
 ants. Turning from his daughter, Beaumont discovered the 
 white man and went forward to add his welcome to Mrs. 
 Beaumont's greetings. 
 
 Pakali stood where her father had left her. She had tried 
 to imagine how it would be if Arnold Stuart came back, 
 but now that he was not more than a hundred yards from 
 her she lacked the strength to go to him. Trembling she 
 waited until he should finish explaining his return to her 
 parents. She could not hear what he said, but when he had 
 taken her hand he spoke softly to her as if he were answering 
 the call of her heart as it had been heard across the rolling 
 plains and rising hills in the weeks of his absence. 
 
 " I could not stay away from you, Pakali," he confessed, 
 seeking in her eyes the assurance that she had missed him. 
 She met his gaze with the steady look that had often dis- 
 concerted him, but he saw that the soul of the woman had 
 awakened. The girl made no answer. 
 
 " When you left me there by your grapevine seat you 
 ceased to be Miss Beaumont to me," Stuart continued. 
 " Then I knew that I could not go out of your life, and 
 every hour since then I have had the name of Pakali on my 
 lips. Three days ago I turned my horse's head toward 
 Tishomingo. I have ridden at a reckless speed all the days 
 and much of the nights since then. Tell me that you are 
 glad to see me." 
 
 " I am glad," she answered, simply. 
 
 It was the sunset hour when Stuart on a fresh mount 
 rode with Pakali behind the carriage which led the way to 
 Wauchula. The quiet of the summer evening soothed the 
 girl, who had been in a state of happy excitement since she 
 had heard Stuart's few words, so full of meaning. They 
 were going toward the west, and for a long time neither 
 spoke. The wavering, dusty highway, stretching from the 
 Chickasaw capital, passed over rolling hills and through little
 
 THE RIDE TO WAUCHULA 61 
 
 stretches of woodland. As they emerged from an arch of 
 trees Stuart stopped, as if something had happened to his 
 saddle girth, but when he had dismounted he put a detaining 
 hand upon the bridle of the girl's pony, and, going around 
 to the left side where he could stand close to her, he said: 
 
 " Pakali, as I travelled back to you I tried to understand 
 just what you might mean to me through all my life. I 
 don't know when I discovered that I loved you, but I did 
 not realise until I left you that in all my ambitions, in all 
 my old associations, there is nothing compared to the desire 
 to claim you as my wife." He spoke as one who had weighed 
 his words. He gave utterance to his heart's desire with the 
 solemnity of a man who had come to a great decision. 
 
 " Pakali, do you think you could love me enough to go 
 with me to my far off city ? Could you trust me not to close 
 the gates until I have taken you inside? " 
 
 While he spoke Pakali's face had been turned toward the 
 sunset, and now, when she looked at him, the light of faith 
 and love shone in her dark eyes. 
 
 " Even though I knew that you would shut me out of 
 your city, I could not prevent my heart from beating for 
 you," she answered. 
 
 With a sudden perception of the sacredness of the re- 
 sponsibility put upon him by this endowment of a woman's 
 supreme devotion, Stuart stood for a moment dumb be- 
 fore Pakali. Then he stretched out his arms to her and 
 she came to him. He folded her close to his heart, and, 
 because there was so much of the white woman in her nature, 
 she wept upon his breast, thus washing out the memory of 
 the dreary days of separation. 
 
 There was only a tiny speck of black far off against the 
 horizon when Stuart and Pakali looked for the carriage that 
 they were following, and, after they had caught up with it, 
 they made amends for previous unsociability by keeping close 
 to the vehicle. As the twilight deepened, often they reached
 
 62 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 out to clasp hands in the dusk and to whisper words of 
 endearment. 
 
 It was late when they reached the halfway house. As 
 they entered the big wagon yard at the side of the inn, Stuart 
 bade Pakali to wait until he should have helped Mr. and 
 Mrs. Beaumont to alight. After he had seen them safe in- 
 side the queer house, he lifted Pakali from the saddle and 
 kissed her good-night before he let her go. 
 
 They resumed their journey early in the morning when 
 soft breezes swept over the cotton fields and the meadow 
 larks were singing. 
 
 " The long ride seems to have done Pakali a world of 
 good," remarked Beaumont, looking at his daughter as she 
 galloped past the carriage. 
 
 " She appears very happy to-day," answered Mrs. Beau- 
 mont. " She has been lonely at Moma Binna.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 NEW HOPES AND OLD PREJUDICES 
 
 WAUCHULA was an ambitious town, composed of three 
 thousand white inhabitants, one thousand negroes, and five 
 hundred Indians, who had been brought together because the 
 growing cotton interests opened many lines of business. Ow- 
 ing to the fact that all the land was leased from the Indians, 
 Wauchula had no corporate existence, and its buildings were 
 of the most flimsy and temporary character. The streets 
 were irregular, inasmuch as lots had been selected hit or 
 miss. There were no public improvements and no town 
 officials; indeed, Wauchula had been widely advertised as 
 a city without mayor or police. Although its only scavenger 
 system was maintained by wandering hogs of the variety 
 known as the Texas razor back, Wauchula was not without 
 civic pride. It boasted of ten churches and a building called 
 by courtesy the " Opera House." The fair was held in the 
 Opera House, and thither went Beaumont and Stuart late 
 in the evening, when the festivities were being enjoyed by 
 several hundred persons. On the stage, which was set for a 
 parlour scene, Mrs. Beaumont presided over the serving of 
 supper. The walls of the big room were lined with gaily 
 decorated booths, around which crowded prettily attired girls, 
 and youths, roughly garbed in the costumes much in vogue 
 wherever there is a frontier settlement. A few well-dressed 
 men were conspicuous in the throng. Among these were 
 Cole Mattison and a friend, whom he introduced as Ogden 
 Maury, a youth with a weak, good-natured face and a shock 
 of wavy red hair. Ogden Maury took charge of Stuart. 
 
 " You must meet my mother and father," he said, con- 
 ducting the stranger to a table where cakes were being sold. 
 
 63
 
 64 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 Here a stout, dignified, middle-aged white woman, who 
 wore a gown of lavender silk, gave effusive greeting to 
 Stuart. 
 
 " I know you do not belong to the Territory," she said, 
 looking at the newcomer. " Do be kind enough to take a 
 chair near me here so that I may have the pleasure of talking 
 with someone who has recently come from civilisation." 
 
 Mrs. Maury had rather a handsome face from which the 
 thin, light hair was drawn back into a frizzled pompadour, 
 and a naturally fair skin which had been too liberally dusted 
 with powder. The neck of her gown, from which a triangle 
 had been cut, was filled in with lace, the yellow hue of which 
 proclaimed that it was " real." 
 
 " It is no doubt very amusing to visit Wauchula," Mrs. 
 Maury said, fanning herself vigorously. " But it is a terrible 
 thing to be a resident." 
 
 " Have you been here for a long time? " Stuart ventured. 
 
 " Five dreadful years," Mrs. Maury answered. " We 
 came here for my husband's health, but you know the lines 
 of the poet: 
 
 " ' Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.' 
 I should say: Better two years of Mississippi than five 
 decades of Indian Territory." 
 
 " I have found much to interest me," Stuart remarked. 
 " I consider the Indians of the Chickasaw and Choctaw 
 Nations fine types of a little-understood race." 
 
 " That's because you don't know much about them. I 
 hope you won't be as foolish as my son and fall in love with 
 one of the halfbreeds." 
 
 Stuart, who had so lately come into a close relation with 
 Pakali, resented the woman's tone. He felt a shock when 
 her words brought home the fact that the girl whom he had 
 chosen for his wife belonged to the class known as mixed 
 bloods. 
 
 " I can easily understand how your son*rnight be fascinated
 
 NEW HOPES AND OLD PREJUDICES 65 
 
 by any one of the beautiful young women I see here to- 
 night," he said. 
 
 " Oh, you can, can you ? " The fan vibrated with in- 
 creased velocity. " Would you choose that Virginia Mat- 
 tison ? Ogden Maury is going to marry her. The idea of it 
 is just killing me. But I have to pretend it's all right, and 
 that's why I am helping this bazaar. I don't know why I talk 
 to you so freely, but it seems as if you ought to sympathise 
 with me. Most people after living here a while get so ac- 
 customed to the Indians that they seem to think the red man 
 just as good as anyone." 
 
 11 The Indians form the only real American aristocracy," 
 Stuart declared, giving way to the temptation to retaliate 
 for the comment upon the halfbreeds. 
 
 "So you've heard that ridiculous assertion, have you?" 
 Mrs. Maury here excused herself while she sold an angel 
 cake at a fabulous price. " Is your mother living? " she 
 asked, returning to her chair. 
 
 Stuart said, "Yes," and Mrs. Maury went on: 
 
 " Well, how do you think she'd feel if she had to intro- 
 duce an Indian squaw as her daughter-in-law? Would she 
 like to look forward to an old age in which she would be 
 surrounded by grandchildren the colour of that flower pot? " 
 
 She pointed her fan toward a large earthenware jardiniere 
 in which blossomed an oleander. 
 
 Stuart had not thought about his mother, who had been 
 so long in Europe that he seldom considered her in connec- 
 tion with anything which concerned himself. Involuntarily 
 he recoiled from the bald presentation of the intermarriage 
 problem, and he rose to leave Mrs. Maury. 
 
 " There ! You see you can't reply when anyone discusses 
 a Chickasaw or Choctaw romance in a sensible way." Mrs. 
 Maury smiled and held out her hand. " Well, I'm glad I've 
 uttered a word of warning to you. Don't act upon the idea 
 that this real American aristocracy will some day give your
 
 66 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 children a chance to belong to a respected patriotic society 
 called The Daughters of the Tomahawk Wielders, or The 
 Sons of American Scalpers." 
 
 Stuart had walked away a short distance when he was 
 called back to be presented to a tall, elderly man with a 
 bald head, a big moustache, and a long goatee. 
 
 " You must meet Judge Maury," said the voice that had 
 irritated him for a quarter of an hour. 
 
 The two men shook hands, and Stuart instantly liked the 
 Judge, who had a florid face that was kindly in expression. 
 
 " Mrs. Maury has been telling me that you came here 
 for your health," he said, by way of making conversation. 
 
 The Judge looked at his wife and laughed. 
 
 " Well, sir, I suppose that's a polite way of explaining 
 why I left Mississippi," Judge Maury replied. " The fact 
 is, I came away to escape the temptation of drinking too 
 many mint juleps. We can't drink anything here except the 
 patent medicines, no matter how much we need a stimulant." 
 
 Mrs. Maury scowled, but the Judge only laughed again. 
 Linking his arm in Stuart's, he promised to take the stranger 
 to the place where he would see the prettiest girl in the 
 Southwest. 
 
 The two men threaded their way among the groups of 
 laughing young persons and came to a booth that was the 
 center of attraction. Here Pakali, who wore a picturesque 
 Indian costume, sold moccasins and bead work, which had 
 been obtained from the wild tribes of Oklahoma. Stuart 
 watched her for a few moments while she was unconscious 
 of his presence. She was a Chickasaw for the hour. The 
 costume brought out all the distinguishing characteristics of 
 her Indian ancestry. Her black hair fell in two heavy 
 braids below the waist, and the gay jacket, open at the neck, 
 showed her smooth, dark skin. On her delicately rounded 
 arms, bare to the elbow, heavy bracelets of rudely hammered 
 silver were worn. A strangely wrought girdle of semi-
 
 NEW HOPES AND OLD PREJUDICES 67 
 
 precious stones united her skirt with a crimson under-blouse, 
 heavily embroidered. Gorgeous moccasins encased her small 
 feet. 
 
 Pakali smiled upon all who came to buy her wares. It 
 was her nature to laugh seldom, but to-night she was in a 
 merry mood and her red lips often parted, revealing the 
 dazzling teeth that were a portion of her heritage from a 
 primitive race. Now and then her eyes, dark and luminous, 
 searched the throng as if she missed some face. 
 
 Judge Maury was called away, and Stuart had a chance 
 to ponder a moment upon the fact that the Indian girl had 
 promised to be his wife. Until that night she had been to 
 him a woman apart from all others, but, although she had 
 never failed to remind him she was a Chickasaw, he had not 
 stopped to measure the full purport of her lineage. In the 
 years to come would she belong altogether to his race? Or 
 might she develop atavistic tendencies ? She was young now, 
 and all that was Indian in her added to her charm, for she 
 had borrowed only the beauty and the romance of the red 
 race. Mrs. Maury's words left a little sting. Stuart hated 
 himself for remembering them while he looked at Pakali. 
 
 The girl turned her head as if she were listening. It 
 seemed as if she might be aware of Stuart's disloyal thoughts. 
 He noticed a shade of anxiety on her face, and he stepped 
 forward so that she could see him. Forgetting the crowd 
 she cast upon him such a look of happy recognition that it 
 was strange all who beheld her did not guess love was shining 
 in her eyes. The crowd saw that a stranger had come to 
 the booth and Stuart was allowed to go to the railing where 
 he could speak to Pakali. 
 
 " It is five years since we last met, Miss Beaumont," he 
 said in distinct tones, bowing as formally as if he had but 
 just arrived in the Territory. 
 
 " Five years! " Pakali exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes, five years," he said, and then, lowering his tone so
 
 68 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 that only Pakali could hear: " It was six o'clock when you 
 left me, and every hour away from you seems a year." 
 
 " Hush ! " she cautioned. " Such speeches are not proper 
 at a church fair." 
 
 " Come. We are all to have supper together. Your 
 father and mother and some of your friends are waiting now, 
 up there on the stage." 
 
 " I cannot go until I have sold the very last pappoose 
 bag, and the uttermost pincushion," she answered with de- 
 cision. 
 
 " Then you shall go in ten minutes, for I will buy your 
 whole stock." 
 
 " That would not be exactly businesslike," objected Pakali. 
 " I have promised to close the booth with an auction." 
 
 " Let's have the auction now." 
 
 Without more ado Stuart stepped upon a chair and began 
 to commend a tobacco pouch to possible purchasers. As he 
 stood high above the men and women who pushed forward 
 he was easily recognised as a man who belonged to a distant 
 State. With the self-possession of the habitant of cities he 
 addressed the throng. His training as a lawyer gave him a 
 ready wit in public speaking and he soon disposed of every- 
 thing excepting a few undesirable specimens of needlework, 
 which he bought. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont, with Judge and Mrs. Maury, 
 were still waiting at the supper table when Stuart and Pakali 
 had successfully finished their labour of selling beadwork. 
 After they were seated three places were still reserved, and 
 these soon were occupied by Cole Mattison, his sister Vir- 
 ginia, and Ogden Maury. 
 
 " I am glad this thing is just about ended," declared Beau- 
 mont, looking down upon the thinning crowd. " The next 
 time we want money for a church we'll just hire a regular 
 circus to come from Texas, or we'll do something else that's 
 easy."
 
 NEW HOPES AND OLD PREJUDICES 69 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont shook her head reprovingly, but admitted 
 that she was very tired. Her delicate face was flushed, and 
 in her soft foulard gown she had regained much of her youth- 
 ful prettiness. Glancing from the face of his wife to the 
 face of his daughter, Beaumont said jestingly: 
 
 " Mother, do you own this Indian girl in the buckskin 
 togs?" 
 
 Stuart looked for some resemblance between the young 
 woman and the elder one, and he saw only that there was a 
 similarity in the curve of the lips, and in the outline of the 
 chin. 
 
 " My Chickasaw family makes it difficult for me to retain 
 a Christian humility of spirit," Mrs. Beaumont answered, 
 looking affectionately at her husband and her only child. 
 
 " Ever since I first became acquainted with Miss Lenore 
 I have had an exalted opinion of Indians," Judge Maury 
 asserted gallantly. 
 
 Mrs. Maury gave the impression that she was about to 
 make a remark, but a second thought evidently caused her 
 to remain silent. The appearance of Ogden Maury and 
 Virginia Mattison diverted attention. Mrs. Maury gave the 
 girl a cold greeting, but Virginia had a pride quite equal to 
 that of her future mother-in-law, and her manner showed in- 
 difference to the opinion of the older woman. 
 
 " Everything has gone beautifully this evening. I am so 
 happy over it," exclaimed Virginia. " I am sure Mr. Stuart 
 will say he never saw a better church fair in Chicago." 
 
 Stuart truthfully averred that he had never before at- 
 tended any festivity so enjoyable as the Wauchula bazaar. 
 Church fairs were not included in the list of his social ex- 
 periences at home, but he did not mention this fact. 
 
 " When one considers that we are on the frontier this is 
 a most surprising success," admitted Mrs. Maury, with an 
 air of condescension. 
 
 " There isn't any frontier nowadays," Virginia replied,
 
 70 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 with a little resentment in her tone. " But the Territory 
 labours under many unpleasant conditions, because we In- 
 dians are the wards of Uncle Sam." 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont hastened to change the subject by inquiring 
 whether the party preferred salted or unsalted butter on the 
 chicken sandwiches. 
 
 The cold meats and salads were served by pretty girls who 
 chatted with Pakali and Virginia. Cole Mattison helped 
 the volunteer waitresses carry in the heavy cups of coffee. 
 Supper proceeded without any conversational jar until Mrs. 
 Maury began to arrange a sight-seeing party for a barbecue 
 which was to take place a month later. 
 
 " You must not make your plans so far ahead," cautioned 
 Ogden Maury. " Virginia and I have just set our wedding 
 day, and I shall expect you to keep very busy helping us 
 furnish our house." 
 
 The young man's mother was speechless for a moment. 
 
 " Lenore must prepare to devote much of her time to 
 me," Virginia added, quickly. " For I am sure I cannot do 
 anything without her advice." 
 
 Pakali responded rather half-heartedly. 
 
 " Who knows but Miss Lenore may have a wedding of 
 her own to think about," Judge Maury suggested at random. 
 
 It was plain that the Judge's careless words had touched 
 the truth, for Pakali's face flamed with a vivid crimson. 
 
 " If I have any influence with her there will soon be a 
 wedding at Moma Binna," said Stuart. " A few hours ago 
 Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont gave their consent to my engage- 
 ment to their daughter." 
 
 He looked Mrs. Maury square in the face. 
 
 Rising from his chair Judge Maury covered all embarrass- 
 ment by saying: 
 
 " Here's a wish for long life and happiness. If I were 
 not in the Territory I should drink your health in a mint 
 julep."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 HATTAKOWA SAYS FAREWELL 
 
 MOMA BINNA was being made ready for Pakali's wedding 
 day. A month had passed since the Wauchula fair, and 
 Beaumont reluctantly had given his consent when Stuart 
 urged that the marriage should take place at the earliest 
 possible date. The old Indian had not thought that his only 
 daughter might leave the Nation, but, after Pakali pleaded 
 that she loved the stranger as she could never love anybody 
 else in all the world, he had declared that she should choose 
 what promised happiness to her. 
 
 " I should be the last person to insist that you should 
 marry a Chickasaw or Choctaw," he said, " for you have 
 only followed your father's example in loving one of the 
 white race." 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont had acknowledged that deep in her heart 
 she coveted for her daughter all the advantages the world 
 could offer. The idea of the necessary separation from her 
 only child gave her such deep pain that, following her long 
 custom of severe self-discipline, she had prayed much, and 
 had tried to put out of her mind all thoughts of the lonely 
 days that were coming to her. 
 
 Stuart had taken pains to furnish Beaumont with the most 
 minute information concerning himself. Because the Indian 
 appeared to share Pakali's absolute trust in him, it became 
 a matter of pride that he should supply credentials which 
 would show that his was an honourable name. When he 
 had frankly admitted that he had little wealth but large 
 ambitions, Beaumont had hastily interrupted him with the 
 words: " Pakali will not need wealth from you. In her
 
 72 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 own right she will have all that she and her children will 
 want." 
 
 This remark had brought a flush of shame to the white 
 man's face and he made the quick answer: 
 
 " Surely you know that until this moment I have never 
 thought of Pakali's inheritance." 
 
 Beaumont had laughed. " Certainly I know it," he said. 
 " For if you were mercenary you would have planned to stay 
 here in the Territory, and you would have desired to marry 
 my daughter according to the Chickasaw laws, which would 
 give you full Indian rights to land and tribal property. If 
 I consulted my own wishes I should endeavour to persuade 
 you to cast your lot with us, but I respect you because you 
 intend to make your own way by means of your profes- 
 sion." 
 
 Stuart had gone to Texas to take charge of a case tried 
 in the courts of Galveston. This business enabled him to 
 pass the weeks before the wedding not too far from Pakali. 
 In a jesting manner he had said that he could not go back to 
 Chicago without her, for he had a premonition that if he 
 did, in some way, she might be lost to him. 
 
 Pakali paid little attention to her mother's elaborate 
 preparations for the wedding. She had gone about in a 
 happy dream from which she had awakened only now and 
 then when her father or mother reminded her that she was 
 about to leave them. She had passed much of her time on 
 horseback, and, every day, sitting upon the big rock down by 
 the creek, had written long letters to Arnold Stuart. 
 
 Pakali could now count the hours that must elapse before 
 the man she loved would come for her. Again she stood 
 upon the veranda of Moma Binna and looked down upon 
 the village of Tishomingo. The early evening had brought 
 quiet to the household, and she had been busy with the last 
 arrangements for the festivities which were to attend the 
 wedding. In the negro quarters she heard the servants sing-
 
 HATTAKOWA SAYS FAREWELL 73 
 
 ing after their hard day's work. She had kissed the Little 
 Mother, who was so tired as to be obliged to lie upon the 
 big lounge in the living room, and she had watched her 
 father walk down the hill to meet some of the Indians at the 
 old Poyner tavern. Now that she was alone in the twilight, 
 she felt a pang of homesickness as she wondered how it would 
 seem when she was no longer one of the Chickasaw Nation. 
 Looking into the future she imagined how she would miss 
 her parents and her friends, and how she might listen in the 
 noise of the great city for the soothing music of Pennington 
 Creek. Hattakowa had said that she had become in spirit 
 a white woman, but she knew the Indian within her always 
 would long for the cool forests and the rushing waters. 
 
 Hattakowa where was he? For the first time in all the 
 weeks of her joyous dreaming she thought intently of her 
 kinsman. His mother had come to bring her a gift and to 
 wish her happy years, but he had not even sent her a mes- 
 sage. As if in answer to her thought Hattakowa rode up 
 the hill. He was leading a black saddle horse with well 
 arched neck and slender legs. Before he noticed Pakali he 
 ordered one of the servants to take his own mount and the 
 other horse to the stable. Then he walked slowly toward 
 the house. The girl ran down the steps to meet him. 
 
 " It seemed as if you had forgotten me, Hattakowa," she 
 said, reproachfully, but when she looked into his face its 
 expression rebuked her for a remark that had in it something 
 of the coquetry common to all women. 
 
 " It was my intention never to see you again, Pakali," he 
 answered, retaining the hand she held out to him. " To-day, 
 when I counted that the sun would set but twice before you 
 were lost to me forever, I ceased to be a strong man. I came 
 to tell you that I would have my love for you become as a 
 charm that will bring you help in time of need." 
 
 " I knew you would never fail me if I needed your help," 
 Pakali answered, " but wish that your love may be a charm
 
 74 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 that will save me from all trouble, instead of a help after 
 trouble comes." 
 
 " I would have the Great Spirit bestow upon my Star 
 Woman only the precious gifts." 
 
 Hattakowa turned away from her to stand for a moment 
 with his arms crossed over his broad chest. 
 
 " From the hour I saw the stranger I knew his coming 
 to Moma Binna meant much to all beneath its roof," he 
 said, slowly. " But even though through all the days since 
 then I have tried to bend to fate, I stand before you now 
 rebellious because I am not the man who is to share your 
 life. Through many centuries the Indian has found the 
 lesson of submission set for him by the white race one that 
 he cannot learn." 
 
 " Hush, Hattakowa. Dear Hattakowa, I cannot bear 
 to think that my happiness will cause you grief," cried Pakali. 
 
 " I am a blundering fellow, yet you know I would not 
 cast even the slightest shadow upon you," said Hattakowa. 
 " Remember, the Indian must either keep his mouth closed, 
 or speak with words that carry the truth but roughly garbed." 
 
 His eyes rested upon her with a look of intense longing. 
 The girl shrank away from him. 
 
 " You need not be afraid that I shall carry you off," 
 Hattakowa said. " Even though I have brought two horses 
 I have planned no reckless deed by which I may possess you, 
 who are to me ' The Woman to be Desired above all Others.' 
 I have brought you my Ossilusa for a wedding gift. Even 
 though you may not take the Black Eagle away with you 
 it will be a pleasure for me to know that he is yours." 
 
 " How good of you! " exclaimed Pakali. " You remem- 
 bered that I admired Ossilusa more than any other horse 
 that you own. But did you not tell me that he was to win 
 races for you? " 
 
 " Surely I would give you only what is best of all," an- 
 swered Hattakowa.
 
 HATTAKOWA SAYS FAREWELL 75 
 
 The brief twilight had faded from the sky. In the dusk 
 Pakali held out her hand to Hattakowa and he drew her 
 near to him where he could see her face, which wore a new 
 beauty the beauty that love gives to a woman who accepts 
 it as a holy revelation. 
 
 " This must be good-bye, Pakali," said Hattakowa. " You 
 will not mind if I tell you that through all the years I shall 
 carry the memory of the kiss you gave me even though I may 
 never again touch your lips." 
 
 Trembling, Pakali listened to him, and while he looked 
 at her the longing in his heart warned him that he dared 
 not wait to tell the woman he loved that, liked winged 
 arrows, his best hopes would follow her.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A GALA DAY AT TISHOMINGO 
 
 PAKALI'S wedding day came with a glory of golden sunshine. 
 The news that the daughter of George Beaumont was to be 
 married to a white man, who would take her away from the 
 Territory, had spread to every house in the Chickasaw Na- 
 tion. Fullbloods, who looked upon Mr. and Mrs. Beau- 
 mont as protectors against the encroachment, of settlers from 
 the States, expressed their sorrow because Pakali had chosen 
 a husband from among their hereditary oppressors, but their 
 regret concerning the alliance of the most beautiful daughter 
 of the Chickasaws with a white man did not prevent them 
 from sending to Moma Binna tokens of their good will. 
 
 Except kinsmen of the Beaumont family, Governor Sands 
 and John Oaktree were the only Chickasaws bidden to the 
 marriage ceremony, but George Beaumont had arranged a 
 feast in front of the brick capitol on the hill to which all who 
 might come were welcome. It had been Stuart's wish that 
 there should be few guests and little ostentation at the wed- 
 ding. Virginia Mattison and her brother Cole, Judge and 
 Mrs. Maury, and Ogden Maury, were the only guests from 
 Wauchula in addition to those whose claims of kinship en- 
 titled them to invitations. Inasmuch as the Indian counts 
 his relatives as far away as the family blood can be traced, 
 a large party assembled at Moma Binna. 
 
 The big house had been decorated with trailing vines and 
 graceful branches of the oak and locust trees. It had been 
 Pakali's whimsical fancy to have the large living room ar- 
 ranged so that it would be suggestive of Indian traditions. 
 " My great-grandmother was married in the forest," she said 
 
 76
 
 A GALA DAY AT TISHOMINGO 77 
 
 to her father, " and I want you to know that, although I am 
 to be the wife of a white man, still, on the happiest day of 
 my life, I shall keep uppermost in my mind the thought that 
 I am a Chickasaw, and that I must be always worthy to be 
 counted as one of the Nation." Veranda and living room 
 had been transformed into woodland nooks, for young sap- 
 lings, ground pine, and mosses had been used with good effect. 
 
 As Arnold Stuart rode into Tishomingo on the early morn- 
 ing of his wedding day, he passed many queer looking ve- 
 hicles carrying Indians who were attired in holiday dress. 
 All the Chickasaws and Choctaws wore the garments of 
 civilisation, but these were strangely fashioned, and many 
 incongruous effects were produced by combinations of cheap 
 millinery and custom-made finery. 
 
 Stuart had been thinking of Pakali with the pride of near 
 possession. In the days of their separation he had had ample 
 time to attempt analysis of his love for the Indian girl. He 
 had never been a cool-headed, calculating man, so far as 
 women were concerned, but he could not explain his precipi- 
 tate wooing except on the ground that Pakali satisfied his 
 heart's desire. He knew that he had been susceptible to the 
 fascination of the strange life of the Territory, and that it 
 had amused him to adapt himself to conditions entirely dif- 
 ferent from those in which he had been reared. Because 
 always he had been free to indulge whatever whim or desire 
 might present itself to him, he had put out of his mind 
 every possible objection likely to arise from his choice of a 
 Chickasaw wife. Fate, or chance, had smoothed the way 
 to his speedy marriage. Even the case that took him to 
 Texas had prevented him from returning to Chicago, whence 
 he would have seen Indian Territory from the vantage 
 ground of a far perspective. 
 
 It was his wedding day, and, after his usual fashion, he 
 entertained only the pleasant thoughts. Whenever a doubt 
 embodying his mother's opinion, or his future ambitions,
 
 78 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 passed across his mind, he spurred his horse, and, looking up 
 into the cloudless sky, repeated : " Pakali belongs to me." 
 
 Stuart dismounted at a spring where John Oaktree and 
 several other fullbloods had halted. 
 
 " What is taking the crowd to Tishomingo? " he asked, 
 by way of greeting. But John Oaktree did not understand 
 English. Stuart repeated the question, and a bright-faced 
 girl answered: 
 
 " To-day Miss Beaumont will be married to a stranger." 
 
 " And is everyone going to the wedding ? " inquired 
 Stuart, with a pang of apprehension. The realisation that 
 he was about to identify himself with the Indians swept over 
 him. 
 
 " The bride's father will give a feast for the Chickasaws. 
 Only kinfolk will go to the wedding," explained the girl. 
 
 Leaning against a tree the man who was to be the bride- 
 groom waited until John Oaktree should drive away. For 
 a moment the dusty road, the moving wagons, and the long 
 stretch of green prairie, blurred before him. With an im- 
 patient gesture he removed his eyeglasses and tipped back his 
 hat, which had suddenly become heavy upon his head. 
 
 While he stood there a white farmer, his Indian wife, and 
 three halfbreed children passed in an old wooden cart, which 
 was drawn by a yoke of oxen, driven with bits. The farmer 
 was a sorry specimen of the shiftless Tennessee mountaineer, 
 and, as he cracked his whip over the heads of the oxen, and 
 then slapped his reins upon their backs, he presented an absurd 
 picture, which brought a smile to Stuart's lips. 
 
 " I see you are laughing at old Bill Masson," said a voice. 
 " He's jest one of those triflin' squaw men." It was John 
 Oaktree's son who spoke. The young Indian had come back 
 for a hitching strap, which had been dropped from his father's 
 wagon. 
 
 " A squaw man? " repeated Stuart. 
 
 " Yes, he's one of those galvanised Indians," was the
 
 A GALA DAY AT TISHOMINGO 79 
 
 answer, as the lad picked up the missing strap. " He be- 
 longs to the class of intermarried citizens the Indians despise." 
 
 " Oh, I understand," said Stuart. " You mean that he 
 has been adopted into the Nation because he is the husband 
 of a Chickasaw woman." 
 
 " Yes. There are so many squaw men that our legislature 
 is going to raise the marriage license. My father says it 
 ought to be at least a thousand dollars, and then every good- 
 for-nothing white could not afford to acquire the legal right 
 to steal our lands." 
 
 The Indian, whose speech showed that John Oaktree ap- 
 preciated the advantage of educating his children, nodded a 
 farewell, and ran after the wagon. 
 
 " I wonder if they will call me a ' squaw man ' or a ' gal- 
 vanised Indian,' " Stuart exclaimed with a shudder. It had 
 not occurred to him that it made any difference what the 
 Chickasaws might think of his marriage to the daughter of 
 the wealthiest man in the Nation. According to the tribal 
 laws, he could not become a citizen unless he had been a 
 resident of the Territory for two years before his marriage 
 to a Chickasaw, and then the ceremony had to be performed 
 according to certain legal requirements. Without regard to 
 tribal laws he and Pakali were to be married by the minister 
 who had preached in the little church on that Sunday that 
 seemed so long ago. It was a comfort to think that no one 
 could accuse him of seeking to steal an inheritance from the 
 Nation. Still, the incident jarred upon his nerves, and he 
 continued his journey without the buoyancy of spirit that 
 had marked the beginning of his ride. 
 
 It was late when Stuart reached Tishomingo. It had been 
 his hope to have an hour or two with Pakali in their nook 
 down by Pennington Creek, but he had barely time to dress 
 before the noon hour appointed for the ceremony. When he 
 arrived at Moma Binna he was not permitted to see Pakali 
 because of a superstition that it would be bad luck, and he
 
 8o THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 had to be content to send his gift to her by one of the servants. 
 This gift, an heirloom from a Scottish ancestor, was a 
 cairngorn brooch, set with diamonds. He believed it was 
 something Pakali would appreciate, and he scribbled a little 
 note asking her to wear it on her bridal gown. 
 
 The moments seemed hours while he waited for Pakali in 
 a little alcove. He was but vaguely conscious of the as- 
 sembled guests who stood at a little distance from him. 
 Once or twice, when his glance wandered, he caught a 
 blurred picture of dark-skinned men and women in costumes 
 oddly varying from the conventional models dictated by 
 fashion to the factory-made garment that the Indian makes 
 his own after he has added the touch of a bright handker- 
 chief. 
 
 Governor Sands's rugged face was conspicuous, for he 
 stood in the front line of guests, close to Mrs. Beaumont, 
 who looked pale and fragile. Stuart was conscious that Mrs. 
 Maury was even more gorgeously arrayed than usual. She 
 leaned upon the Judge's arm, and her face wore a solemn 
 expression which suggested that she was looking forward to 
 her son's alliance with a Chickasaw girl. 
 
 At last Pakali came, leaning upon her father's arm. As 
 Stuart looked upon her, every emotion except love and pride 
 and hope left him. She wore a filmy, white gown, the trail- 
 ing folds of which brought out the slender lines of her lithe 
 body. Her glossy, black hair was parted in the fashion that 
 became her so well, and its heavy coils were caught at the 
 back with an amber " tucking comb " that had belonged to 
 Hattakowa's mother. The cairngorn brooch fastened the 
 lace fichu over her bosom. 
 
 Pakali's eyes shone with an unfaltering faith as they rested 
 upon the handsome face of the man who had chosen her as 
 the one woman to whom he would pledge fealty until death. 
 
 The minister read the service in a droning voice. Ab- 
 sent-mindedly Stuart listened until he heard the words that
 
 8i 
 
 pronounced him and Pakali man and wife. His fingers closed 
 over the slender little hand upon which he had placed the 
 wedding ring as a symbol of his new obligation to care for 
 her until death should part them. 
 
 In a moment they were surrounded by the friends who 
 hastened to wish them happiness. After Mrs. Beaumont 
 had kissed Pakali and smiled upon Stuart, even while she 
 brushed away her tears, Beaumont embraced his daughter 
 in a fashion which contradicted the idea that the Indian is 
 not demonstrative. 
 
 ' The white man has made another pledge to the In- 
 dian," said Governor Sands, placing one strong hand upon 
 Stuart's shoulder. " That he will be worthy of the trust 
 this Chickasaw girl puts in him is my hope. Do not let 
 Pakali forget her people when she has lived for a time as 
 one of the white man's iksa" 
 
 The Governor passed on, and Mrs. Maury offered polite 
 greetings. Her manner was constrained. It was easy to 
 guess that she did not approve of the marriage, but the 
 Judge made up for her lack of cordiality. He proclaimed 
 his right to kiss the bride, a right Stuart contested with 
 the declaration that the bride's first kiss belonged to her 
 husband ; and so the Judge had to be satisfied with a chance 
 to whisper that Mrs. Stuart must remember it would be his 
 highest privilege to render her loving service whenever the 
 opportunity presented itself. 
 
 Ogden Maury and Virginia Mattison laughed a great 
 deal when they came to offer congratulations. With many 
 light jests because the stranger had monopolised interest by 
 hastening his wedding day so that the Chickasaw Nation 
 seemed to forget about the Maury-Mattison engagement, 
 they made way for a tall, shrivelled Indian woman, whose 
 face bore deep lines of experience and suffering. Her hair 
 was slightly touched with grey, and her blazing black eyes 
 were set in deep sockets. The woman wore a rich black
 
 82 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 silk gown, fashionably made, but around her neck was a 
 chain of barbaric workmanship, and large earrings of ham- 
 mered gold hung in her withered ears. 
 
 " Dear Aunt Totopehah, I am so glad you are here! " 
 exclaimed Pakali, throwing her arms around the woman's 
 neck and kissing her with almost as much emotion as she 
 had shown when she embraced her mother. Turning to 
 Stuart, she said: 
 
 " This is Mrs. Dixon, Hattakowa's mother. You must 
 love my Aunt Totopehah." 
 
 " Pakali has been a daughter to me," said Mrs. Dixon. 
 Her voice trembled, and she 'added: " If you are good to 
 her you will'have the blessing of an old woman." 
 
 Mrs. Dixon gazed at Pakali for a moment. She had 
 turned away, but the amber comb caught her notice. 
 
 " You are indeed my Chickasaw daughter," she said, smil- 
 ing at Pakali. " I thought you would wear a veil, and a 
 wreath of orange blossoms, but you think my girlhood trinket 
 is ornament enough for a bride." 
 
 " I was afraid that you would not notice that I have tried 
 to be true to my Indian traditions just as far as possible," 
 Pakali answered. 
 
 Something in the elder woman's face made Pakali leave 
 Stuart's side to speak for a moment with her aunt. 
 
 " Tell Hattakowa that I go away loving him as my 
 brother," she said to Mrs. Dixon. 
 
 Hattakowa's mother made no reply. Putting her thin 
 hand upon Pakali's shoulder she looked past the beautiful 
 face which was so near to hers, and appeared to be gazing 
 into the future. 
 
 "Where is Hattakowa?" Pakali asked, after a moment. 
 He has gone north to Wyoming on a long hunting trip," 
 Mrs. Dixon answered. 
 
 Beaumont slipped his arm through Mrs. Dixon's, and, 
 bidding Pakali to lead her husband to the dining-room, he
 
 A GALA DAY AT TISHOMINGO 83 
 
 placed his kinswoman at the table where the wedding break- 
 fast was served. 
 
 With the best grace possible Stuart endured the long 
 hours of the afternoon. According to the Territory custom 
 the wedding breakfast was an elaborate feast, at which there 
 was much formality. Sitting at the head of the long, flower- 
 decked table beside Pakali, the bridegroom felt himself more 
 of a spectator than a participant in the festivities. 
 
 The sunset time was near before Pakali, attired for her 
 going away, said good-bye on the veranda of Moma Binna. 
 The deep feeling, pent up during the festivities of the day, 
 broke forth in various demonstrations, which revealed to 
 Stuart something of the meaning of Pakali's separation from 
 her people. Mrs. Beaumont, who had been exceedingly 
 brave, wept hysterically, and Beaumont, as he helped Pakali 
 to soothe her, explained that the Little Mother was ex- 
 hausted from fatigue. After a fashion, common even out- 
 side the Territory, the girls in the wedding party shed 
 tears. 
 
 At last Lem, who had had the family carriage ready for 
 an hour, drove up before the house. The servants were 
 lined along the driveway. To each one Pakali said farewell 
 with many a handshake. Last of all she spoke to Mammy 
 'Liza, who lamented loudly because her " chile " was leaving 
 her. 
 
 Before she would consent to enter the carriage Pakali 
 stood for a moment upon the spot whence she could look 
 down upon Tishomingo. 
 
 " I have been very happy here," she said, running back to 
 the veranda of Moma Binna to give her mother a last kiss. 
 Stuart followed her, watching while she stood murmuring 
 soft words of endearment to her parents. At last he had to 
 lead her to the carriage because a strange reluctance to leave 
 home suddenly possessed her. 
 
 " You must not look back ; you must look forward," said
 
 84 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 Stuart, drawing Pakali close to him as the carriage descended 
 the hill whence it passed into the main street of Tishomingo. 
 Through a mist of tears Pakali glanced up Pennington Creek 
 as they crossed the rustic bridge. The waters of the turbulent 
 stream made familiar music to her ears, and she thought of 
 the many days she had passed in her rocky nook beside the 
 water's edge. 
 
 " I marked to-day with a stick broken from my favourite 
 rose bush." Pakali's voice sounded as if it were chanting 
 the rhythm of the water. '" There were two buds and many 
 leaves on the little twig, and the buds grew very close 
 together." 
 
 For an answer Stuart pressed her hand. Often he 
 found himself dumb when he would respond to Pakali's 
 poetic moods. Now that she had taken his name, and was 
 going forth to share his life, he wondered whether she would 
 ever feel that he was not worthy of the love she gave him. 
 Since their betrothal Pakali had been elusive and undemon- 
 strative. His absence in Texas had prevented him from 
 knowing the Chickasaw girl as she would reveal herself to 
 the man who was to be her husband, for they had seen each 
 other little after the trip to Wauchula. 
 
 As the carnage sped along the main street of Tishomingo, 
 groups of Indians shouted greetings to Pakali, who smiled 
 and waved her hand at them. At the capitol grounds Lem 
 stopped the horses. It was here that Beaumont had had 
 the long tables spread for the big feast. A few gourmands 
 still lingered over the meats and delicacies, but most of the 
 wedding guests were lounging beneath the trees. The women 
 hastily rose in order to catch a glimpse of the bride whose 
 high-bred face and modish gown gave little hint that she 
 belonged to the Nation. Pakali waved her handkerchief, 
 while Stuart, with uncovered head, stood beside her. She 
 tossed some of the white flowers, that Virginia Mattison had 
 put into the carriage, to a group of girls, who scrambled
 
 A GALA DAY AT TISHOMINGO 85 
 
 for them and then wished her happiness that would last a 
 thousand months. 
 
 Lem cracked his whip. Again Stuart drew Pakali close 
 to him, and the carriage moved on. They were silent until 
 Tishomingo was far behind them. 
 
 " The Indian girl has left her people to follow the white 
 man," Pakali said softly. Raising her eyes to the sky that 
 was dyed in the hues of sunset, she added in a half question- 
 ing tone: " We are going toward the golden city, and you 
 could not close the gates upon me." 
 
 " If I closed the gates I should bar out happiness for- 
 ever," answered Stuart, and very reverently he kissed Pakali, 
 whispering that she was his wife whom he had just promised 
 to cherish until death should part them. 
 
 The sky took on a deeper hue, and a flaming cloud, that 
 hung over the horizon, stretched until it had set a bar across 
 the face of the sinking sun.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 JOY WAITS BUT AN HOUR 
 
 " ALL my life I have been taught that no one can be perfectly 
 happy in this world, but now I know that even the Little 
 Mother, who preaches that doctrine, is wrong." 
 
 Pakali spoke as she stood upon the rustic steps of the log 
 ranch house in which she and Arnold Stuart had been passing 
 the fortnight that had elapsed since their marriage. It had 
 been her wish that she might become accustomed to the 
 thought of belonging to the white man before she had to 
 adjust herself to the more far-reaching idea that she belonged 
 to the white man's people. 
 
 " So you do not repent because you have chosen to follow 
 me far away from the Chickasaw Nation ? " said Stuart, 
 going to her from the comfortable armchair in which he had 
 been lounging. 
 
 She put her arms around his neck and then, with a half 
 shy gesture, stroked his fair hair. 
 
 " Our love is such a wonderful revelation that one cannot 
 reason about it," she answered. " Whatever happens I shall 
 be always grateful to the Ruler of all things because I have 
 been given these days alone with you." Resting her head 
 upon his shoulder Pakali pondered for a moment. " The 
 day we were married I thought I loved you, for you were 
 the only man who reached my ideal of a husband, but now 
 you have made yourself all of life to me. It was as Hatta- 
 kowa said, I thought and felt as a white woman thinks and 
 feels, and none of the young men of my people could touch 
 my heart. When you came, something in you satisfied me, 
 but I tried to remember that you did not think of me except 
 as a new type of a woman." 
 
 86
 
 JOY WAITS BUT AN HOUR 87 
 
 " Foolish Pakali ! " exclaimed Stuart. 
 
 " No, I was not foolish, and even now I cannot quite 
 understand why you were so determined about hastening our 
 marriage." 
 
 " I married you because it has always been my custom to 
 obey my ruling impulse. After I was separated from you 
 for a day I knew that I must win you before I could con- 
 centrate my mind upon any other ambition in the world." 
 
 Through his glasses Stuart looked down upon Pakali with 
 admiring eyes, but she .returned his glance with a look of 
 apprehension. 
 
 " Your confession frightens me," she said. " I do not 
 want to believe that you are always impetuous and easily 
 influenced by caprice." 
 
 " How serious my little wife has become," replied Stuart, 
 laughing in his careless, boyish way. " You shall guide my 
 caprices so that their indulgence may be safe." 
 
 " Sometimes I have wondered whether you do not take 
 life as a playtime." Pakali put one hand upon Stuart's 
 ruddy cheek and studied the outlines of his handsome face. 
 " The Indians think that a cleft chin signifies a self-indul- 
 gent spirit." 
 
 " A cleft chin signifies that I have a wonderful capacity 
 for love." 
 
 " In the years that are to come I may measure t the height 
 and depth of your lov," said Pakali, stepping away from 
 her husband, " but now I know you have the power to kindle 
 in my heart a love that dominates my whole nature." 
 
 Into her eyes had come the solemn look that Stuart had 
 noticed when he had studied the child's portrait on the morn- 
 ing after his arrival at Moma Binna. 
 
 " New emotions stir in me," she went on ; " like my great- 
 grandmother of the Chickasaws I am ready to serve you 
 humbly one moment, and the next I know the Indian spirit 
 of revenge when, in a vagrant dream, I imagine how it might
 
 88 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 have been if you had gone away to your golden city without 
 me." 
 
 "Why, dear heart, how grave you have become!" ex- 
 claimed Stuart. " A moment ago you were telling me that 
 you were perfectly happy, and now your words contradict 
 that statement." 
 
 He put his arms around her and held her close to him. He 
 kissed her lips and felt her quickened breath upon his cheek. 
 Trembling, she gave herself up to the joy of the moment. 
 The passion of the savage woman who has not learned to 
 disguise her natural feelings shone in her dark eyes. Look- 
 ing into her face Stuart read something that caused him 
 to put her from him as if he dared not fathom the depths 
 of her emotion. 
 
 " Come, let us go out to ride," he said. " We have been 
 borrowing troubles. We have been entirely too sober- 
 minded. You know I cannot bear to contemplate any but 
 the pleasantest possibilities." He laughed happily, and she 
 let him conduct her to the stile beyond which their horses 
 were tethered. 
 
 " Forgive my inconsistent mood, Arnold." Pakali stopped 
 on the top of the stile to gather her habit about her. Her 
 voice lingered upon the name that was new to her tongue. 
 She smiled back at him and said, slowly: 
 
 " Love is teaching me that a woman's emotions are much 
 more complex than a man's." 
 
 " Than a girl's, you mean," corrected Stuart ; " for you 
 cannot know all I feel when I realise that you belong to 
 me " 
 
 " Forever and ever," finished Pakali. " We Indians love 
 but once, and that love lasts beyond the hour of death." 
 
 It had been the plan of Stuart and Pakali to drive the next 
 day to Ardmore, a flourishing town which was the nearest 
 railway point, and there to meet a northbound train that 
 would take them to Chicago.
 
 JOY WAITS BUT AN HOUR 89 
 
 Stuart had not announced his marriage to his mother, who 
 was in Paris, nor to his friends in Chicago. He and Pakali 
 had agreed that it would be wiser not to create a sensation 
 by sending North the news that Arnold Stuart had married 
 an Indian girl. 
 
 " When they see you, Pakali, they will think you are of 
 Spanish descent," Stuart had said. " Indeed, my mother 
 might accept you as one of her much-loved Parisiennes. We 
 shall have much enjoyment out of the surprise you will give 
 my ignorant friends who imagine that the Chickasaws are 
 still savages." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont had not liked the idea that Stuart 
 should delay publishing in Chicago the notice of his marriage, 
 but they had consented to permit a postponement of the an- 
 nouncement because it was their pleasure to humour Pakali, 
 who had shrunk from the idea that Stuart's friends might be 
 prejudiced against her. 
 
 Inasmuch as Stuart had desired to start for Chicago im- 
 mediately after the ceremony, and he had delayed the trip 
 in obedience to Pakali's wish, his marriage would have been 
 made known within a few days had he consulted only his 
 own impulses. He had been away from his business so long 
 that he felt an impatience to return. While he was bent 
 upon winning Pakali for his own, he had put his professional 
 cares out of his mind, but as soon as he was sure that the 
 girl he loved was safely bound to him he began to think of 
 the busy world in which he had a place. The fortnight 
 on the ranch had brought to him all the joy that belongs to 
 the realisation of a man's dream of love. The sunshiny days 
 had drifted by so quietly that with surprise he noted the end- 
 ing of the two weeks, but, because civilised man has a limited 
 capacity for sentiment, Stuart had found time to remember 
 some of the prosaic interests of his life. Even while he and 
 Pakali had talked together out in the moonlight, where the 
 trees cast long shadows upon the waving grasses, he had
 
 90 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 spoken of the material ambitions concerning the acquirement 
 of political place and professional success. 
 
 As Stuart rode with Pakali on this last morning of their 
 sojourn in the new Eden, he talked of the pleasures of a large 
 city. Although Pakali shook her head when he promised 
 that she should be made happy by a round of operas and balls 
 and dinners that would cause her to forget the simple recrea- 
 tions of the Territory, the young wife listened with happy 
 interest because she meant to fulfil all the requirements of 
 her changed position in life. 
 
 It was noon when Stuart and Pakali returned to the log 
 house, where the one negro servant had been packing Stuart's 
 guns and fishing tackle. At the stile Lem waited with a note 
 from Moma Binna. 
 
 " Is it bad news? " questioned Pakali, and Lem answered 
 that the missus was sick at Moma Binna. 
 
 Stuart read the note, which summoned Pakali to Mrs. 
 Beaumont's bedside. The Little Mother had had a stroke 
 of paralysis, Beaumont wrote, breaking the news as gently 
 as possible. The carriage was waiting, and, within an hour, 
 Stuart and Pakali were on their way back to Tishomingo. 
 It was late in the afternoon before Moma Binna was 
 reached. 
 
 " It seems as if I had been away two years instead of two 
 weeks," Pakali exclaimed, when she saw the roof of Moma 
 Binna. 
 
 " I thought the fortnight seemed more like two days," 
 answered Stuart, with a tone of reproach in his voice. 
 
 " You don't understand me." Pakali stopped to gaze at 
 her girlhood's home, slowly noting every familiar detail of 
 the house and grounds. " Each day since we were married 
 has gone by too quickly, but I have lived much in loving you. 
 I went away a careless girl. I have come back feeling that 
 life means more than just waiting for each day's happen- 
 ings."
 
 JOY WAITS BUT AN HOUR 91 
 
 Stuart put his arm around her. " It will shock you to 
 find your mother ill," he told her, " but I am sure you will 
 be brave." 
 
 Beaumont came to meet them. His brown face was hag- 
 gard, he walked slowly and appeared greatly aged. 
 
 " Is the Little Mother very ill ? " asked Pakali, running 
 into his arms and kissing him again and again. 
 
 " She is quite helpless," Beaumont answered, in a husky 
 voice. " She was tired after the wedding, and she missed 
 our Chickasaw Flower. To-day, when she was reading the 
 Bible at morning prayer, she had what we thought was a 
 fainting fit. Mammy 'Liza was the first to notice that some- 
 thing was the matter. Luckily, however, Dr. Briggs, of 
 Wauchula, happened to be in Tishomingo, and he has done 
 all he can." 
 
 They had walked up the path to the house and Pakali went 
 in to her mother, who lay in a white-curtained bed. Mrs. 
 Beaumont recognised her daughter, and, although the power 
 of speech was denied her, there was a loving welcome in her 
 eyes. Mammy 'Liza had made Pakali take off her hat 
 before she entered the sick woman's room, and Mrs. Beau- 
 mont appeared to forget that there had been a wedding at 
 Moma Binna. With Pakali's hand in hers she fell asleep. 
 
 Through the next week Stuart waited patiently in the 
 hope that Mrs. Beaumont's condition would improve. While 
 Pakali and the servants nursed the sick woman he passed 
 many hours alone. He had a rare talent for sympathy, and 
 he comforted Pakali with a tenderness that made her tell him 
 again and again that she was the most blessed of women. 
 
 " It is wonderful how much I belong to you," Pakali said 
 one evening, when she had lightly stolen up behind her 
 husband's chair to surprise him by putting her arms around 
 his neck. " Since I came home it is as if I were an outsider. 
 Moma Binna can never be quite the same to me. I have been 
 away many months at school, but always I returned as my
 
 92 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 father's daughter, and now my relation to you makes such a 
 difference! " 
 
 " Surely you have not forgotten that you are an Indian! " 
 Stuart said, with a smile, as he took one of her hands from 
 beneath his chin to kiss it tenderly. Holding it before him 
 he looked at the palm and pretended to read her fortune. 
 
 " The lines say that your heart rules your head," he 
 jested. " Your life is to be long and useful, but your destiny 
 is obscured by angles that only an adept could understand." 
 
 " My heart did guide me when I chose a husband," Pakali 
 admitted; " but whatever my destiny, I shall not complain 
 since I have found love." 
 
 Stuart still held her hand. " What long, tapering fingers 
 you have," he said, admiring the almond-shaped nails. " And 
 your hands are very small." 
 
 " Small hands and feet are the heritage of the race that 
 has never worked," laughed Pakali. " But I mean to show 
 you that at least one Indian can be very industrious. I know 
 how busy your Chicago women are, and I shall try to be so 
 much like them that you will soon forget you have married 
 a Chickasaw." 
 
 " But I don't wish you to be like the Chicago women," 
 objected her husband. " I should hate to have you going to 
 clubs and joining reform organisations. I warn you that 
 I don't want you to establish a Sequoia League for the 
 amelioration of the condition of the Indian. I co^ld not 
 bear to have your picture in the Sunday newspapers."/ 
 
 " If I ever start any Indian reform it will be a society for 
 the prevention of the sale of beaded plush capes and picture 
 hats to the women of the Nation. There is a shocking waste 
 of money among the fullbloods." 
 
 She laughed again and ran away, leaving Stuart to wish, 
 for the hundredth time within the hour, that he might soon 
 take her where he could have her all to himself. But this 
 desire was not to be granted. Nearly a month passed. The
 
 JOY WAITS BUT AN HOUR 93 
 
 heat of an Indian Territory mid-summer became terribly 
 oppressive, and the paralytic patient lost strength appreciably. 
 
 Stuart received many letters from his law partners. Each 
 letter became more insistent that his prolonged absence should 
 be explained, and all urged his return to his work. At last 
 there came a letter which could not be put aside. It bore a 
 foreign postmark, and it had been forwarded from Chicago. 
 The superscription was in his mother's familiar handwriting. 
 On three sheets of note paper, which bore an elaborate mono- 
 gram, Mrs. Stuart begged that her son would start for Paris 
 without delay, as she was about to submit to a serious surgical 
 operation. There were many paragraphs of complaint be- 
 cause of her dear Arnold's spasmodic correspondence. Now 
 that her life hung in the balance, no time must be lost if her 
 only son would make amends for recent neglectfulness. Stuart 
 had not contemplated the possibility that his mother would 
 call him across the ocean to her. He had never borrowed 
 trouble, but when trouble came he was often completely over- 
 whelmed by it. He put his mother's letter into his pocket 
 and waited all day before he could summon courage to tell 
 Pakali about it. He thought seriously of declining to make 
 the trip. He and his mother never had been in close sym- 
 pathy. He knew he could be of no material help to her, 
 and his peculiar nature made him desirous of avoiding the 
 anxiety necessarily entailed by the ordeal to which his mother 
 would have to submit. 
 
 Walking in the twilight, with Pakali's hand in his, Stuart 
 told his young wife about the letter. Omitting all comment, 
 he asked her what answer he should send. Pakali stopped, 
 and, pressing her hands to her heart, looked at Stuart with 
 a terrible fear in her eyes. 
 
 " There is but one answer," she said in a frightened voice. 
 ' You must go to your mother." She was silent for a mo- 
 ment. " And I must stay here with mine," she said, as if 
 pronouncing sentence upon herself.
 
 94 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " I could not go without you, Pakali," declared Stuart. 
 " I have hardly known how to live during those days when 
 you were shut away from me in your mother's room. And 
 do you think I could cross the ocean without you? I shall 
 be so proud to take you to my mother, and I could not let 
 her die without seeing you." 
 
 " The Little Mother is just waiting on the borderland 
 between this world and the next," Pakali answered with a 
 sob, " and I could not leave her. I could not leave her." 
 
 Stuart put his strong arms around her. " There, do not 
 shed one tear because you think you are to be left alone, my 
 love, my wife! Don't you know that you are more to me 
 than all the world, more than mother or friend? If you can- 
 not go with me I shall stay here in the Territory." 
 
 He tried to kiss away the tears, and Pakali clung to him 
 until she had gained courage from his soothing assurances. 
 
 " See how much of a white woman I am," she said, pres- 
 ently. " If I had the true Chickasaw spirit I would send 
 you across the world and you would never know that I was 
 grieving every moment that you were away from me. But I 
 shall show you that I am worthy to be your wife, for I shall 
 be brave to-morrow." 
 
 " Let to-morrow take care of itself," Stuart answered. 
 " To-night it is enough to know that we will let nothing 
 part us." 
 
 They continued their walk. Pakali spoke little, even 
 though Stuart told her in a dozen ways that he intended to 
 remain at Moma Binna as long as she was needed there. 
 
 " Tell me that you have no more fears about our separa- 
 tion," insisted Stuart, as they entered the living room after 
 the candles had been lighted. 
 
 " I shall have more courage to-morrow morning," Pakali 
 replied. " The Little Mother has taught me to pray when 
 I need strength to decide any question." She sank upon the 
 seat near the fireplace, where the shadow hid her, just as it
 
 JOY WAITS BUT AN HOUR 95 
 
 had hidden her on the night when Beaumont told the 
 story of Hattakowa's ring. 
 
 " Arnold, dear," she said, softly, " since our marriage I 
 have the right to a mother's point of view. If some day I 
 should have a son, and should call to him across the Great 
 Waters, it would break my heart if he did not heed my cry. 
 It is my right to help you to obey your mother's command. 
 You must leave Moma Binna to-morrow."
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 THE LONG JOURNEY 
 
 PAKALI had her way; because it was the right way. Stuart 
 decided that he must make the long trip to Europe. The 
 next morning was spent in preparations for the journey. 
 While she calmly chose the few things her husband might 
 leave at Moma Binna, Pakali showed the impassivity of the 
 Indian. His guns and some of the books he had collected 
 during his sojourn in the Territory were put aside. His 
 broad-brimmed, light slouch hat was allowed to remain hang- 
 ing upon the antlers in the living room; his canvas hunting 
 suit was left on its hook in the closet of his sleeping room; 
 his spurs were replaced upon the brass hook beside his dress- 
 ing table. 
 
 After the servants had carried out the small trunk and the 
 travelling bags, Pakali sank upon a stool in the bay window 
 of her husband's bedroom. Here, since her marriage, she had 
 often sat beside Stuart's armchair. As she looked about the 
 disordered apartment she realised how its emptiness would 
 make her heart ache in the days that were to come. It 
 opened out of the little white alcove chamber that had been 
 hers ever since her childhood, and both apartments had doors 
 leading to the broad veranda. 
 
 *" I do not know how I shall live when you are gone," 
 Pakali said, with a little quiver of the lips. " It seems now 
 as if I had always belonged to you as if I had never lived 
 until I felt the touch of your hand." 
 
 Stuart knelt beside her. 
 
 " Now that it is time for me to go away I am ready to 
 change my mind," he declared, taking both her hands, and 
 drawing her head down to him so that he could kiss her. 
 
 96
 
 97 
 
 " We could not be happy together if either of us ignored 
 duty," Pakali answered in a trembling voice. " But, oh, 
 Moma Binna will be empty without you. Still, you will 
 dwell in the house of my heart. There I have the door 
 closed upon you so that you can never go away." 
 
 " Suppose I should forget to come back to my Chickasaw 
 wife! " Stuart kissed Pakali as he spoke in jest, but when 
 there w r as a look of terror in the big, dark eyes that gazed 
 into his, he made haste to say : " You know I could not 
 forget you even if I tried, for you hold me by a spell of 
 witchery that I could never overcome." 
 
 " Even though you never came back to me, still I would 
 keep you in the house of my heart. Though you might grow 
 old there, and become a stranger, I would detain you as my 
 guest long after you ceased to be my husband. Love brings 
 to the door of an Indian woman's heart only one pilgrim who 
 may enter." 
 
 " How safe you make me feel! " Stuart exclaimed, clasp- 
 ing her in his arms. " Once or twice to-day I have been 
 almost afraid to let you wait for me in Tishomingo, when 
 Hattakowa is so near." 
 
 Pakali drew away and flashed an indignant glance at him 
 as she answered: 
 
 " Among the Chickasaws, men and women hold the mar- 
 riage bond in reverence. We Indians are not yet civilised 
 enough to be untrue to our pledges. My ancestors put to 
 death every woman in the Nation who was unfaithful, and 
 Hattakowa respects the tradition which forbids one man to 
 covet another man's wife." 
 
 " Dear one, I did not mean to offend you," her husband 
 apologised, " but it was worth while since I am weak enough 
 now to want all sorts of comforting assurances." 
 
 " You will need years of example and precept before you 
 can understand the Indian characteristics." Pakali shook 
 her head as if she found her husband a slow pupil. " When
 
 9 8 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 I go away with you I must be ever conscious of the fact that 
 the reputation of my people is at stake." Pakali put her arms 
 around her husband's neck. " We have no time to waste," 
 she said ; " I want to say good-bye to you here." 
 
 " Good-bye is a word I never use. Don't say good-bye, 
 it is just au revoir." 
 
 " And I don't like the French words you use. When the 
 government at Washington gave this land to my people the 
 promise ran that it should be ours ' as long as water runs 
 and grass grows.' It is the form of pledge that means most 
 to the Indian who lives close to nature, so I say to you 'as 
 long as water runs and grass grows' I will love you, and 
 longer, for love outlasts earthly things." 
 
 " You make me feel my unworthiness," Stuart said, with a 
 rush of deep emotion. Like a child at its mother's knee he 
 put his face down upon her lap. They were silent for a 
 moment. Pakali stroked her husband's fair hair. 
 
 " It is your love, Arnold, that has given me holy visions," 
 she whispered. 
 
 Stuart looked up to behold in her face a supreme exalta- 
 tion. Then he raised her from her place and held her close 
 to his heart until a voice outside proclaimed that it was time 
 for him to leave Moma Binna. 
 
 After Stuart had said farewell to everyone in the house- 
 hold, he and Pakali walked down the path to the ledge 
 where they had first met. Here they kissed each other for 
 the last time. 
 
 Stuart would have turned back even then, but Pakali 
 gently sent him away. 
 
 As Pakali watched the carriage descend the driveway and 
 speed down the main street of Tishomingo, she waved her 
 hand at her husband, who, looking back at her, beheld a pic- 
 ture that remained vivid long after the Indian Territory had 
 become a far-off memory. 
 
 Week after week of the hot summer dragged by. Pakali,
 
 THE LONG JOURNEY 99 
 
 who suffered agonies of loneliness at first, gradually became 
 listless and pathetically patient as she watched at her mother's 
 bedside. Letters from Stuart now and then aroused her 
 from her lethargy and revived her spirits. She followed 
 every stage of his long journey, tracing his route upon the 
 map in the big atlas that her father kept in the living room. 
 Notes telling her of her husband's love, and declaring that 
 he would live only for the happy day when he should return 
 to Pakali, came from Guthrie, Kansas City, and Chicago. 
 Then from New York arrived a long letter enclosing seven 
 separately folded pages, which were to be opened on the days 
 when he would be on the ocean. 
 
 It was a long time before the envelope with a Paris post- 
 mark reached Tishomingo. In many closely written pages 
 Stuart described how he had passed the days of his voyage in 
 dreaming of the wife who was more beautiful than any 
 woman he had seen in his travels. Pakali read the letter 
 many times, and, while it told her all that her heart craved, 
 it left her with a sense of Stuart's aloofness from her. This 
 impression was due partly to the fact of her realisation that he 
 was once more among the old influences which had moulded 
 his life, for he mentioned casually his mother's friend, Miss 
 Eleanor Dudley, a young woman of social prominence in the 
 American colony of the French capital. The surgical oper- 
 ation that had been the cause of his unexpected trip had been 
 delayed for several weeks until Mrs. Stuart could gain 
 strength. 
 
 Meanwhile, Stuart complained that it would be dull, 
 even in Paris, during the midsummer season. In a post- 
 script, which was plainly an after-thought, Stuart told 
 Pakali that, owing to his mother's highly nervous condition, 
 he had delayed the announcement of his marriage. That 
 was why there were not special messages from Mrs. Stuart 
 and Miss Dudley, who would be sure to love his Chickasaw 
 bride when he took her to his Chicago home.
 
 ioo THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 Pakali put the letter, which gave her such strange unrest, 
 into the bosom of her gown, and walked far out upon the 
 hills. Passing cotton fields where the bolls were white in 
 their snowy wealth, she paused to listen to the song of a 
 belated mocking bird. The limpid notes broke the silence 
 of the early evening and recalled moments when she and 
 Stuart had paused to enjoy the song of the Southland bird 
 that at night often awakens to trill a dreamy melody. 
 
 The familiar sound of the bird song opened the flood- 
 gates of her heart, and, as she turned to climb a hilly path, 
 she looked through her tears at the darkening sky while she 
 breathed a little prayer for strength with which to endure the 
 enforced separation from her husband. 
 
 High up on the hillside she threw herself upon the ground 
 where the pine needles had made a soft carpet, and here she 
 wept until the soothing forces of nature quieted her perturbed 
 spirit. It was twilight in the woods when she arose to re- 
 trace her steps toward home. As she stood in the shadows 
 of the trees she heard the tread of a horse that was slowly 
 coming down the rocky trail. She drew back in order to let 
 the rider pass without recognising her. When near her, the 
 horseman stopped to listen, as if he were conscious of her 
 presence. Then she saw that it was Hattakowa, but she did 
 not speak to him. In a moment he was out of the saddle, 
 and, true to his Indian instincts, examining the trail. Turn- 
 ing toward Pakali he quickly found her. 
 
 " Why, Pakali, would you have let me pass you ? " Hatta- 
 kowa asked, standing before her with uncovered head. 
 
 " I don't know," she answered. " You have not been to 
 Moma Binna for so long that I have the right to think that 
 you do not care to see me." 
 
 " You are speaking as the white woman speaks," he replied, 
 in a tone of rebuke. " Surely you know that I have stayed 
 away from your house because I thought I had not the 
 strength to behold you as the wife of another man. I meant
 
 THE LONG JOURNEY 101 
 
 that you should go away before I should come again to 
 Moma Binna." 
 
 Even as he spoke he turned his eyes away, but when Pakali 
 made no reply he glanced at her long enough to understand 
 that she had been weeping. 
 
 " Is your mother worse? " 
 
 " No," she answered, and then, because she had never kept 
 any secret from Hattakowa, she explained : " A letter from 
 Arnold, who is in Paris, caused me to feel lonely and far off 
 from him. It is a beautiful letter, but it makes me realise 
 that it must be months before he can come back to me." 
 
 " What are a few moons ? " Hattakowa asked, obeying the 
 old impulse to comfort her whenever she was in trouble. 
 " The crescent will come in the sky, it will widen to the 
 full circle, and it will wane quickly if you will but cease to 
 count each separate day." 
 
 Pakali had begun to move toward the trail, and Hattakowa 
 put out his hand as if he would help her in making the 
 descent, but, distrustful of himself, he drew back lest, touch- 
 ing her, he might forget that she belonged to another man. 
 He drew his horse's bridle through his arm, and together 
 they walked back to Moma Binna. 
 
 After that night Hattakowa came and went as freely as if 
 Pakali's marriage had not touched his life. His visits were 
 pleasant diversion to Pakali, even though she seldom talked 
 to him. 
 
 The Little Mother drooped more and more each day, and 
 Beaumont, who never before had known fear, often had a 
 look of terror in his eyes when he came out of the quiet room 
 where the fragile little woman lay dying. Mammy 'Liza, 
 acting as chief nurse, saw that the time was near when the 
 Little Mother would go away from Moma Binna forever. 
 The old negress persuaded Pakali to send for her Aunt 
 Totopehah. 
 
 One evening, after family prayers had been said in Mrs.
 
 102 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 Beaumont's bedroom, the Little Mother lay with one thin, 
 white hand clasped in her husband's big palm, and the other 
 resting upon Pakali, who had crept close to her on the bed. 
 Now and then the sick woman opened her eyes, in which 
 shone the light of peace and hope. Drowsily, she strove 
 to speak, but when she could not articulate, her eyes told the 
 loving messages she would have spoken. 
 
 The brief twilight faded, and Pakali whispered that her 
 mother had fallen asleep. Softly she lifted the hand that 
 rested upon her, and slipped around to where she could put 
 her arms about her father's neck. Together they sat there 
 a long time, until the physician came in to make his nightly 
 call. 
 
 A servant, lighting one of the shaded candles, held it near 
 the Little Mother's face. 
 
 " She does not need me," the physician said, turning to 
 Beaumont and Pakali, who slowly comprehended that the 
 Little Mother had gone forth to the Great Spirit.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER 
 
 HALF a year had gone by since the Little Mother went away 
 from Moma Binna, leaving Pakali to comfort her father. 
 The father and daughter had passed a sorrowful time, al- 
 though both strove to bear with fortitude the changed con- 
 ditions of their lives. Beaumont gave many of his days to 
 the public affairs of the Nation. Serious questions con- 
 fronted the Chickasaws, and he was Governor Sands's chief 
 adviser in all matters pertaining to action looking toward the 
 inevitable allotment of lands. 
 
 Cole Mattison and his father, Peter Mattison, headed a 
 faction which ceaselessly agitated the question of individual 
 ownership of property. They called themselves leaders of a 
 Progressive movement, and easily obtained the support of 
 most of the younger Indians, in whom education and travel 
 had bred a resentment against conditions which compelled 
 them to remain wards of the United States instead of be- 
 coming citizens of the Republic. This party became an 
 easy tool for the interloping white men who coveted the 
 fertile acres and valuable mineral tracts belonging to the 
 Indians. 
 
 For more than forty years the Chickasaws had allowed 
 their cattle to feed upon the free ranges, and the wholesale 
 leasing system aroused much opposition in the legislature. 
 A Syndicate had agents at work for weeks before the 
 viva voce election in the Nation, and Governor Sands was 
 quick to see that his defeat was possible, inasmuch as his long 
 service to the Chickasaws might be ignored in view of a 
 possible increase of income through the leases. He and 
 
 103
 
 104 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 Beaumont worked tirelessly for what they considered the good 
 of the Nation. They desired to delay the allotment as long 
 as possible, in order that the fullbloods and halfbreeds might 
 be better qualified for the responsibilities of the severally 
 system of land tenure. They realised that a large proportion 
 of the Chickasaws and Choctaws would be easy prey for the 
 covetous and designing settlers who would come to the 
 Territory in overwhelming numbers as soon as there was a 
 chance to procure farms, timber tracts, and mining interests. 
 
 In the campaign Peter Mattison and his son showed that 
 they were clever politicians. They frequently boasted that 
 they had learned a thing or two in Texas, and it was evident 
 that they were not loth to employ every shrewd measure that 
 would serve their ends. Fortunately for Beaumont and 
 Governor Sands, Ardmore and Wauchula, where the in- 
 fluence of the Mattisons was strongest, numbered few In- 
 dians in their steadily growing populations, for most of the 
 Chickasaws lived outside the large towns. With John Oak- 
 tree's help the counties of Pontotoc, Pickens, Panola, and 
 Tishomingo were canvassed. 
 
 Day after day Pakali was left alone at Moma Binna, and 
 on the evening after the election, when her father came back 
 from Ardmore with the announcement that Governor Sands 
 could not be counted out, despite the persistent attempts 
 made by the Progressive party, she exclaimed : 
 
 " Now I shall have you with me once more. I am glad 
 Governor Sands is safe in office, but it seems to me his suc- 
 cess has been bought at the cost of much weariness to my 
 dear old father." 
 
 Stroking the big brown hand that had been laid upon her 
 shoulder while the election news was being communicated 
 to her, she looked into the furrowed face of Beaumont, who 
 had aged much in the months that had passed since the Little 
 Mother's death. Father and daughter went in together to 
 the tea table, where Pakali sat behind the silver service with
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER 105 
 
 water lily engraving, which her mother had prized so highly. 
 Two extra plates were laid for possible guests, and, glancing 
 at one on his right, Beaumont said: 
 
 " It is a long time since Hattakowa was last at Moma 
 Binna. I am concerned about him, for he behaves strangely. 
 He made the election come our way at least John Oaktree 
 says so for he has a remarkable influence over the fullbloods, 
 and he works with a fierce energy whenever the interests of 
 the Chickasaws are at stake." 
 
 " At heart he is more intensely Indian than any other 
 mixedblood in the Territory," Pakali said, as she put cream 
 into her father's cup. She kept her eyes upon the task of 
 pouring the tea, for since her marriage she could not speak 
 of Hattakowa with the frankness that belonged to her 
 girlhood days. 
 
 " Now and then some really savage traits show themselves 
 in Hattakowa." Beaumont leaned back in his chair and 
 spoke with concern in his tone. " He went to Kansas City 
 to-day, and when I asked what business took him North, he 
 declared that he was going to seek some recreation that would 
 furnish excitement. That was only another manner of 
 saying that he would give way to his mania for gambling. 
 He is even more restless than he used to be." 
 
 Pakali made no answer. 
 
 " It is a disappointment to me that Hattakowa does not 
 attend to business," Beaumont went on ; " everything he 
 touches turns to money, and he might be the most powerful 
 man in the Chickasaw Nation if he chose to use his influence 
 and wealth in the right direction. I suppose we ought to 
 be thankful, however, that the savage in him does not crave 
 fire water." 
 
 " Is Hattakowa savage in any other way excepting gam- 
 bling? " Pakali asked. " He likes to boast of his Indian 
 traits, but I have found him always tender and gentle." 
 
 " He never forgets an injury, and he has the old Indian
 
 io6 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 spirit of revenge, but I hope he may be given few causes for 
 the awakening of his primitive passions." 
 
 The evening meal had been late and it was dark when 
 Pakali and her father left the table. Beaumont went down 
 to the village, where he was to meet some of the newly 
 elected members of the legislature at the Poyner Tavern. 
 
 When Pakali was left alone in the living room, she drew 
 her favourite stool before the big fireplace, in which some light 
 wood was burning, for chilly nights followed the warm days 
 of the early spring. She thought of her husband, as she did 
 in every hour when her mind was free to follow its natural 
 inclination. Stuart's letters had been far apart recently, and 
 when they came they told her of the things he had seen In 
 his trip through the south of France with his mother and 
 Miss Dudley. The surgical operation had been successful, 
 but Mrs. Stuart's recovery was slow. Stuart had held out 
 vague promises that he would return to the United States 
 before the summer, but between the lines Pakali read much 
 that made her heart ache. In spirit, as well as in body, 
 Stuart was far away from Indian Territory. He did not 
 omit the endearing terms which made each of his letters at 
 least conventional in form, but the soul of the lonely wife 
 saw beyond the writing. 
 
 For several months Pakali had been awed by the contem- 
 plation of the miracle of motherhood. In her heart had 
 been born a new love, so mysterious that she could hold it 
 only as a direct revelation from Heaven. She was to be 
 an instrument of the Creator in sending a new soul into the 
 world. While she cherished the sweet hope, there was none 
 to whom she could speak of the coming of her child. The 
 delicacy and reticence of the Indian forbade her from talking 
 about it with her father. Often when she wrote to her 
 husband she meant to tell him how she waited for his son 
 somehow she always dreamed of another Arnold Stuart 
 but, more and more, she had the impression that the man in 
 Europe was becoming a stranger to her. Always now she
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER 107 
 
 wept when she strove to send him happy letters. Once, when 
 she had poured out something of the desolation in her heart, 
 Stuart had answered that he expected her to have the un- 
 complaining patience for which the Indian women were cele- 
 brated, at least in the story books. 
 
 As she watched the play of the flames, Pakali felt unus- 
 ually depressed. Every day, through all the months, her 
 soul had cried out to her husband, and she had prayed for 
 fortitude. Now and then doubts knocked at the house of 
 her heart where, she had told Arnold, he was securely shut 
 in. But she would not listen to them. Her loyalty gave her 
 an answer to every question that assailed her faith. If her 
 love had not been of the quality that casts away every mis- 
 giving, she might have been jealous of Miss Eleanor Dudley, 
 about whom the letters from France contained more and 
 more as the weeks went by. Pakali was proud to think that 
 Arnold's frankness proved how little the other woman meant 
 to him. Still, over all her reasoning, rose the one cry for 
 her husband. She needed him ; she wanted him to come 
 back. 
 
 Looking into the fire, Pakali saw once more the pictures 
 of the past. Glancing around the living room, now but 
 dimly lighted by the burning logs, she recalled how Arnold 
 Stuart had sat at the round table listening to the story of 
 Hattakowa's ring. She remembered the room as it had 
 looked decked with the greenery of the woods on her wedding 
 day ; and she beheld again the Little Mother's cofHn standing 
 where the light from the windows fell upon the still, white 
 face. She rose to her feet with a nervous cry, and her eyes 
 fell upon her husband's hat, which hung upon the antlers 
 long used as a rack for guns and head gear. The hat gave 
 her assurance of the reality of Arnold's existence. Often 
 when she thought of him their summer romance seemed like 
 a pleasant dream. 
 
 With trembling hands Pakali lighted the candles on the 
 high mantel shelf. On the big, round table w r as her work
 
 io8 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 basket, in which rested a fluff of lace and a cloud of thin 
 white material. She took up her sewing. It was such a 
 wee garment which she was making that it required a dainty 
 touch, but her slender fingers were suddenly clumsy. 
 
 As she sewed she often wondered how her baby would look. 
 She thought of him as fair and blue-eyed like his father, but 
 somehow she never could imagine a distinct portrait of the 
 little one, although she often thought she could feel his head 
 nestling against her breast. She put down her needlework 
 and sat for a time with her elbows on the table and her face 
 resting upon her hands. The firelight showed a wan, care- 
 worn Pakali, into whose eyes had come the solemn light of 
 womanhood. The droop at the corners of the mouth had 
 been emphasised and the cheek bones, made prominent by 
 loss of the girlhood roundness of contour, betrayed her 
 Indian ancestry. While she sat there, bravely forcing back 
 the tears, she heard footsteps on the porch. The door 
 opened, and Hattakowa's mother came in, followed by one 
 of the servants, who carried her travelling bag. 
 
 " Why, Aunt Totopehah, I am so glad to see you ! " ex- 
 claimed Pakali, putting her arm around Mrs. Dixon's neck. 
 
 As the older woman embraced her, Pakali could not con- 
 trol her emotion, and with a little sob she told how lonely 
 she had been. 
 
 " Hattakowa has gone away, and I came to make you a 
 long visit," announced Mrs. Dixon as she began to take off 
 her bonnet. " The ranch is too dull even for an Indian 
 woman," she continued, " so I closed the house and there 
 is no telling when you will see me going home." 
 
 It was like Aunt Totopehah to pretend that her visit was 
 made for selfish reasons, and Pakali smilingly told her so. 
 
 Over a dainty supper, brought in upon a tray, and ar- 
 ranged upon the round table in the living room, Mrs. Dixon 
 and Pakali gossiped quite as if there were no serious troubles 
 in all the world.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE LITTLE CHIEFTAIN 
 
 EARLY one May morning there came to Moma Binna a new 
 member of the Chickasaw Nation. It was with a lusty cry 
 that he heralded the beginning of his conscious life. When 
 he opened his eyes in the brilliant sunshine of the southern 
 day he found the world so dazzling that he complained 
 vigorously. Later, after he was wrapped in the swaddling 
 clothes which prevented him from moving his sturdy arms 
 and legs, he lay on the bed in his father's long-deserted room. 
 
 Tiptoeing in through the veranda door, Beaumont looked 
 for the first time into the face of his grandchild. The strong 
 old Indian reverently bent his head as he gazed upon the 
 babe, whose lineaments had that strange look of age which 
 foretells something of the appearance the countenance will 
 wear when the little journey through the world is completed. 
 The infant's head was nobly moulded, and the thick growth of 
 dark hair proclaimed the fact that his aboriginal heritage had 
 asserted itself in the physical characteristics of the Indian. 
 Although Beaumont tiptoed around the bed several times, 
 waiting impatiently for the little Chickasaw to open his eyes, 
 the infant slept on comfortably. 
 
 " He is a fine child," declared Mrs. Dixon, coming into 
 the room. " Have you seen how tall he is? " She drew 
 back the silken coverlid, and, finding the baby's feet, de- 
 clared that the child had an unusual height. 
 
 " It is so long since I welcomed Pakali that I don't know 
 much about babies," said the grandfather ; " but it seems to 
 me a promising boy has come to Moma Binna." 
 
 " Promising! " repeated Mrs. Dixon. " Why, he is even 
 
 109
 
 i io THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 stronger-looking than Hattakowa was, and you know how 
 you used to praise him when he was small." 
 
 The babe opened his eyes with a cry that expressed his 
 dislike of too much familiarity, and Mrs. Dixon took him 
 up in her arms. 
 
 " Well, it is too bad to bother anyone who is so much a 
 stranger in Tishomingo," she said, in the cooing tones women 
 are wont to employ in addressing children too young to 
 comprehend what is said to them. " He shall come to his 
 Aunt Totopehah, who is very proud of her hour-old kins- 
 man." 
 
 " Has Pakali ever expressed any preference about a 
 name?" Beaumont asked after Mrs. Dixon had taken her 
 place in the little rocking chair that belonged to the baby's 
 mother. 
 
 " Yes." There was a moment's hesitation. " She would 
 like to combine your name with that of the child's father. 
 What do you think of George Arnold Stuart? " 
 
 Beaumont turned his broad back upon her as he began to 
 pace the floor. He had crossed the room twice before he 
 stopped near his grandchild. 
 
 " If Pakali's love for her husband prompts her to call her 
 son Arnold, let it be so, but my name must not be mingled 
 with the white man's." 
 
 He stooped to touch the cheek of the babe. " To me he 
 shall be Push-Kush-Miko The Little Chieftain." 
 
 It was a rare day of exquisite beauty that Push-Kush-Miko 
 had chosen upon which to make his entrance into the world. 
 A cloudless sky stretched over the green earth. The roses 
 were in bloom and the trees, full leaved, sheltered many song 
 birds. In the hour of dawn, just before Miko's first cry 
 thrilled his mother's heart with joy, a belated robin had 
 chanted sad notes which now and then touched the higher 
 strains of joy and hope. 
 
 The robin's song had been silenced and a brooding quiet
 
 THE LITTLE CHIEFTAIN in 
 
 had fallen upon Moma Binna when at noon time it was 
 whispered that Pakali was near unto death. In her narrow 
 bed, in the little white room that had been hers during all 
 her girlhood, the young mother lay so still that it seemed as 
 if she had fallen asleep forever. The faintest pulse-beat 
 gave assurance that she was yet alive. Two physicians 
 watched her, and, as the afternoon shadows fell, both agreed 
 that a last urgent message should be sent to her absent hus- 
 band. 
 
 For many days Pakali had watched for Stuart, who had 
 been in Chicago more than a month, but he had sent excuses 
 for his long delay in returning to the Territory. His 
 neglected business made imperative demands upon his time, he 
 said, and then his mother was in a precarious condition after 
 her long journey across the ocean. For forty-eight hours 
 before the day of Miko's birth, Pakali had been in the valley 
 of the shadow of death. Three times Beaumont had sent 
 Indian couriers to Wauchula with telegrams telling Stuart 
 of Pakali's serious illness. When the first answer had 
 brought an affectionate greeting to Pakali, and the state- 
 ment that it was impossible for him to leave unless his 
 presence was absolutely necessary, Mrs. Dixon had urged that 
 Beaumont should tell him why Pakali's life hung in the 
 balance. Then, for the first time, the old Indian spoke of 
 the indignation in his heart. For Pakali's sake he had con- 
 cealed his resentment against the white man who had dared 
 to neglect his daughter. Now the final test had come. If 
 Stuart did not hasten to Tishomingo, he should forfeit all 
 claims to consideration and steps should be taken to probe 
 the causes of his growing indifference to Pakali's rights. 
 
 Beaumont sent the second telegram and again came a 
 temporising reply. This aroused all the Indian pride in 
 the heart of the Chickasaw. He loved his daughter better 
 than his own life. He waited until Miko had come to them 
 and then with a hand that shook he wrote the words : " If
 
 ii2 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 you do not come at once, Pakali will be dead to you even 
 though she may live beyond to-day." 
 
 It was not until the next morning that a courier brought 
 to Moma Binna the reply to Beaumont's ultimatum to his 
 son-in-law. Stuart asked him to reserve judgment, and re- 
 peated the declaration that it was impossible to leave Chicago. 
 The reasons, Stuart said, he had written fully in a letter that 
 would reach Tishomingo in two days. The letter came 
 while Pakali was still hovering between life and death. It 
 told Beaumont that Stuart had jeopardised his position with 
 his law firm by his continued absence, and that Congressman 
 Fordham, who had made a trip from a neighbouring State, 
 where he controlled the Republican party, had demanded his 
 services in an important matter. Any dereliction at what 
 was a critical time might thwart every ambitious plan which 
 Stuart had laid for his future. In a few lame sentences 
 the writer mentioned that, of course, he was working for 
 Pakali's future as well as his own. 
 
 The old Chickasaw read the well-worded letter several 
 times. He had taken it to the living room where he could 
 study it carefully. It was his first thought that he would 
 send Hattakowa to Chicago in order to ascertain just what 
 Stuart was doing. Beaumont had enough knowledge of 
 men and of the world to guess that changed environment 
 had made Stuart's Indian Territory love affair appear as an 
 incident that became less important as it receded into the 
 past. It had been one of the scandals of the Five Nations 
 that white men often married Indians girls, only to desert 
 them whenever the temptation to shirk domestic responsi- 
 bility presented itself. Most of the abandoned wives had be- 
 longed to the families of fullbloods, or halfbreeds of the 
 humbler class. It had never occurred to Beaumont that his 
 beloved Pakali could be made the victim of an unprincipled 
 white man. Because the Little Mother had made him feel 
 that he belonged partly to the dominant race, he had accepted
 
 THE LITTLE CHIEFTAIN 113 
 
 Stuart with an unwavering confidence in the young man's 
 integrity. Now he believed that his daughter must be 
 counted among those who had lost happiness in marrying out- 
 side the Chickasaw Nation. While he was pondering over 
 Arnold's letter, Governor Sands arrived at Moma Binna. 
 
 " I came to pay my respects to the latest Chickasaw regis- 
 tered on the rolls of the Nation," said the Governor, as he 
 shook hands with his friend. " I hear you have called your 
 grandson Push-Kush-Miko, but I suppose he has no idea that 
 he has come to join the ranks of the Non-Progressive 
 Indians." 
 
 Beaumont smiled. " So far he has appeared to be rather 
 a self-assertive young Indian," he- said, and then with a 
 sudden change of manner, exclaimed: " If I have my way 
 Miko will belong altogether to my people! " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " The Governor's good-natured 
 face became serious in an instant. 
 
 " I mean " Beaumont hesitated, as if he could not 
 
 speak of the humiliation of his family; " I mean that I fear 
 Arnold Stuart has repented of marrying an Indian girl." 
 
 " What makes you think that he is exercising the white 
 man's hereditary privilege of breaking pledges with the 
 Indian?" 
 
 Governor Sands folded his sinewy arms as he spoke with 
 a tinge of bitterness in his tone. He listened with a stern 
 look while Beaumont told him how Pakali had waited for 
 Stuart's return, and how, even when she appeared to be 
 dying, a most urgent message brought only weak excuses. 
 
 " In the summer time I generally take a vacation," said 
 Governor Sands, looking out of the window lest his eyes 
 should betray the anger that he felt. " I will go to Chicago 
 next week, and while I am there I will find out all you 
 should know about your son-in-law. We shall try to think 
 well of him until we know he is something worse than a 
 careless husband."
 
 ii 4 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " You have been my brother more than my friend, Henry 
 Sands," Beaumont answered. And thus it was agreed that 
 the Governor should undertake the mission Beaumont dared 
 not trust himself to perform. The two Chickasaws sat to- 
 gether smoking for a long time before Governor Sands was 
 reminded of his chief errand to Moma Binna. 
 
 " I must see the Little Chieftain," he said, as he refilled his 
 pipe from a crude, earthenware bowl the Little Mother had 
 once bought from a blanketed Kiowa. "If his father should 
 be unfaithful to his duty the boy can be adopted at the next 
 session of the legislature, and he shall be always my ward as 
 long as he lives in the Territory." 
 
 Miko was brought into the living room by Mammy 'Liza, 
 who had renewed her youth with her accession to the post 
 of child's nurse. The baby opened a pair of large eyes when 
 Mammy 'Liza put him upon the lap of his grandfather. 
 Miko appeared to feel that some untoward influence attended 
 his advent, for he gazed solemnly at the rugged face of the 
 Governor. 
 
 " If one can judge at this time it is safe to say that Miko 
 will be very much of an Indian. I don't see much resem- 
 blance to his pale-faced father," commented Governor Sands. 
 
 " He sho' a red Injun now," exclaimed Mammy 'Liza, 
 " but you cahn't 'magine how he'll look bime by." The 
 negro woman watched Beaumont balance the infant upon 
 his knee, and when she saw that the blanket had been allowed 
 to slip up over the child's face, while the long clothes became 
 a shapeless bunch, she took back her charge with the reprov- 
 ing words: " Laws, Massa, but you'se awkward! "
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 CLOSING THE GATES 
 
 WEAK and wan, Pakali lay for many days in her little white 
 bed. Under her pillow she kept a note that Stuart had sent 
 to her with the letter of explanation addressed to her father. 
 Now that she knew that she could not expect him to come to 
 her, she appeared to be suffering a reaction from the long 
 nervous strain under which she had lived before the birth of 
 her child. Her dark eyes, which looked larger than ever 
 before now that she was pale and thin, had in them a look 
 of such dumb suffering that, whenever he came to see her 
 and Miko, her father avoided meeting her glance. 
 
 The babe thrived, and when his black head lay upon his 
 mother's bosom Pakali was transfigured with the glory of 
 her motherhood, which had in it the prescience of a great 
 sorrow that waited until she should be strong enough to 
 meet it. Her convalescence was slow. Week after week 
 passed without bringing any word from Stuart, and the con- 
 stant watching for tidings wore upon the young mother. 
 
 One morning when Pakali awoke she remembered that 
 it was her birthday anniversary. The quick tears came as 
 she recalled the events of the last year, and she hid her face 
 in her pillow, lest Mammy 'Liza should notice that she was 
 weeping. The voice of Miko, who stirred in his cradle, re- 
 minded her that life had a new interest, and she asked the 
 nurse to put the baby beside her. Clasping Miko in a close 
 embrace, she held him until the contact with his warm little 
 body brought her the peculiar sensation which is part of the 
 joy that a woman feels as she holds her child in her arms. 
 Miko went to sleep as soon as he was near his mother, and 
 Pakali studied the baby face with an anxious, loving scrutiny.
 
 n6 
 
 She had hoped that her son would resemble his father, but 
 except in the breadth of his forehead, and the shape of his 
 chin, there was not the slightest hint that Miko had inherited 
 any of the Stuart comeliness. The child was a quarterblood 
 in whom there chanced to be more of the Indian look than 
 was discoverable in many a halfbreed. Aunt Totopehah 
 had laughingly remarked that the baby was like his grand- 
 father, and Pakali saw that this was true. She hugged Miko 
 to her breast, as if she would still the ache in her heart, but 
 the child awoke, putting out his small fists in indignant pro- 
 test. Pakali kissed the tiny hands and the soft, round cheek, 
 crooning in a low tone a little lullaby that she had heard the 
 Chickasaw women sing to their children when their babies 
 had become so far civilised that they had lost the passivity 
 of the pappoose. 
 
 The heavy tread of Beaumont, as he came along the 
 veranda, caused Pakali to brush away her tears. She knew 
 her father was coming for his first visit of the day, and she 
 strove always to greet him with a smile. One of the negro 
 housemaids opened the glass door for the master of Moma 
 Binna, but when he reached the threshold of Pakali's room 
 Beaumont hesitated, as if he felt reluctant about entering. 
 The sunlight, falling upon his big head and broad shoul- 
 ders, revealed the fact that the old Indian was carrying some 
 great burden of trouble. With an effort Beaumont finally 
 went to the bedside. 
 
 " Where is Miko? " he questioned, glancing at the empty 
 cradle, and Pakali drew aside the coverings which hid the 
 babe slumbering at her breast. Beaumont sank upon a chair, 
 that looked too frail to hold his great weight. 
 
 " Are you not feeling well, father? " Pakali asked, for she 
 saw that he looked even more aged and careworn than at any 
 other time since her mother's death. 
 
 "There is nothing to complain of so far as my health is 
 concerned."
 
 CLOSING THE GATES 117 
 
 Beaumont took his daughter's hand. 
 
 " You haven't any bad news, I hope ? Somehow I cannot 
 help wondering about Arnold. There are times when I 
 fear he may be ill. It is long, very long since he last wrote 
 to me." 
 
 Pakali read in her father's face the truth, that he had 
 brought her some information concerning her husband. Her 
 poor heart beat wildly as, holding the baby against her 
 breast, she strove to wait calmly for her father's answer. 
 
 " Suspense is harder to bear than any knowledge; don't 
 you think it is, dear? " Beaumont questioned, hesitatingly. 
 
 " Yes. Don't try to spare me. Tell me, Arnold is not 
 dead?" 
 
 Pakali raised herself upon her pillows, lifting Miko into 
 her lap. 
 
 " Your husband is alive and well," said Beaumont, his 
 voice stern in spite of his efforts to speak dispassionately. 
 " But, Pakali, can you bear it? he desires to forget that 
 he is married to an Indian." 
 
 Pakali bent far forward as if she were cringing from physi- 
 cal pain. 
 
 " Oh, I cannot believe it! How could you know what 
 you tell me? You speak your fears, and they are not facts." 
 
 Beaumont let her feel the first poignancy of the agony he 
 was compelled to make her suffer before he explained. 
 
 " For a month Governor Sands has been in Chicago watch- 
 ing Arnold Stuart." 
 
 " How could he so insult my husband ! " Pakali cried out 
 with indignation. 
 
 " The most extreme measures were justified. When your 
 husband declared it impossible to come to you in your hour 
 of need, it was your father's duty to learn the true reason. 
 Governor Sands discovered that Arnold Stuart's name was 
 much in the society columns of the Chicago newspapers. The 
 night his son was born his mother gave a fashionable ball.
 
 ii8 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY. 
 
 He is making some headway politically, and he confessed to 
 Governor Sands that just now it would spoil his prospects 
 if it became known that he had made what he called it 
 an unconventional marriage." 
 
 " He told Governor Sands that I might stand in the way 
 of his success? " Pakali questioned, her pride giving her 
 courage. 
 
 " Yes, Governor Sands went to his office, where he had 
 a long taflc with the young man." There was scorn in the 
 old Chickasaw's voice as he went on relentlessly : " It ap- 
 pears that what is called the ' silk stocking ' element of the 
 fashionable ward in which Arnold Stuart lives is putting 
 him forward as a member of the city council. From this 
 stepping stone he probably hopes to rise to a place where he 
 can wield the sort of influence his friend, Congressman Ford- 
 ham, turns into money." 
 
 Pakali heard but vaguely her father's last words, for she 
 was absorbed in the one thought that Arnold had come to 
 look upon her as a burden to think of their marriage as a 
 mistake. 
 
 " Did Arnold make Governor Sands think that he meant 
 to desert me and Miko? " Pakali asked the question in a 
 quiet voice. 
 
 " Governor Sands said nothing about Miko. We had 
 agreed it was best he should not hear he had a son if he were 
 unworthy to be the father of our Chickasaw boy." 
 
 " That was right," said Pakali, looking upon the face of 
 Miko. " I I will write to Arnold to let him know that I 
 give him up forever. It would have been more honest if he 
 had told me these things, for he should have known that I 
 love him too much to stand in the way of his happiness." 
 
 Exhausted, she lay back upon the pillows after her father 
 had taken Miko from her. There was a long silence. Beau- 
 mont kept back the bitter words of censure for Stuart that his 
 indignation prompted him to speak.
 
 CLOSING THE GATES 119 
 
 " Father, I would rather you would write the letter for 
 me." In a muffled voice the words were spoken slowly from 
 among the pillows. " It may be a long time before I have 
 strength enough to tell Arnold he need have no fear that 
 Pakali will ruin his life, and there should be no delay in 
 sending him a message." 
 
 " I will write the letter for you," her father promised. 
 
 "When? " she asked; " to-day? " 
 
 " Yes, to-day." 
 
 Beaumont put the baby back beside Pakali, and, stooping, 
 kissed his daughter, whose drawn face had lost the light of 
 hope. 
 
 " Thank God that you have been given this son," he whis- 
 pered ; " the child may compensate for all your sufferings." 
 Then he went out of the room with lagging steps. 
 
 Miko had awakened. Again Pakali held him to her 
 aching heart. 
 
 " The white man has shut the gates of his golden city 
 upon the Indian woman and her child," she murmured.
 
 BOOK II
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 SUMMERTIME 
 
 AGAIN it was summer in the Indian Territory. The crystal 
 waters of many a swollen creek emptied into the rivers that 
 flowed toward the Mississippi and the Gulf of Mexico. The 
 spring rains had been frequent, and nowhere between the 
 Atlantic and the Pacific was there to be found a more beauti- 
 ful garden spot than that comprised in the many thousand 
 acres which, since 1854, na d been held in the name of the 
 five civilised tribes The Cherokees, Creeks, Choctaws, 
 Chickasaws, and Seminoles. 
 
 In this summertime, when every mountain stream was full 
 and every river ran high between fertile banks, when every 
 mile of prairie was covered with lush verdure, and when 
 every hillside was green, the old pledge had been broken. 
 Water still ran and grass still grew in the Territory, but the 
 Curtis Bill, passed by Congress, and signed by the President 
 of the United States, legaliged the allotment of lands so that 
 each member of the Five Nations should have " so far as 
 possible, a fair and equal share thereof, considering the char- 
 acter and fertility of the soil and the location and value of the 
 land." In a few years the lands, once the heritage of the 
 Indian, would pass to the white man. 
 
 The Bill entitled : " An Act for the protection of the 
 People of the Indian Territory, and other Purposes," pro- 
 vided for the extension of the jurisdiction of the United 
 States courts, the establishment of town-sites, the enrollment 
 of tribal citizens, and for innumerable other civilising meas- 
 ures. The duties of the Dawes Commission, which had 
 headquarters at Muscogee, were carefully outlined. Govern- 
 
 123
 
 124 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 ment representatives sent to the Indian Territory to encour- 
 age reluctant Chickasaws to enter into the Atoka Agreement, 
 laid stress upon the fact that the White Father at Washing- 
 ton was true to his word, inasmuch as the sixty-six thousand 
 or more Indian citizens would be able to hold their lands in 
 severalty, after they had provided generously for the twenty 
 thousand negro freedmen in the Territory. 
 
 In the train of these federal agents had come a horde of 
 speculators, who from ignorant and improvident members of 
 the Five Nations succeeded in obtaining options and claims 
 upon prospective individual holdings. Vainly George Beau- 
 mont and Henry Sands worked to prevent the robbery of the 
 Chickasaws. With Judge Maury as their legal adviser, 
 they were now and then able to circumvent some bold 
 scheme of the land grabbers, but the two men were power- 
 less to guard more than a small number against the un- 
 scrupulous fortune hunters who poured in from north and 
 south, from east and west. 
 
 Wauchula had grown marvellously in the five years that 
 had passed since the Beaumonts took Stuart to the church 
 fair. The town, once distinguished for its lack of any form 
 of government, was now a duly incorporated city. Streets 
 had been surveyed and building lines established. Water- 
 works and street lights were not unattainable ambitions. 
 
 Hattakowa and Beaumont walked down the main street 
 to the extreme end of the town, where was situated the little 
 white cottage Mrs. Dixon had built, because she wanted a 
 place in which she could pass her time when she became lonely 
 on the ranch. Here they found Mrs. Dixon and Pakali 
 sitting upon the porch, for the night was warm and a 
 crescent moon was dimly lighting the tiny garden, where 
 many roses were blooming. 
 
 " You are back early," said Mrs. Dixon. " I thought 
 you went to a meeting of the Non-Progressive Indians." 
 
 " We did, but the Chickasaws were not in a talkative
 
 SUMMERTIME 125 
 
 mood to-night," Beaumont answered, " and Ogden Maury 
 was quick in writing the outline of the protest we are going 
 to send to Washington." 
 
 " Young Maury has become more of an Indian in sym- 
 pathy than some of the fullbloods," Mrs. Dixon declared 
 with a laugh. " Since he married Virginia Mattison he has 
 become more indignant at Indian wrongs than anyone else 
 in the Nation, except" and she leaned forward to tap Hat- 
 takowa upon the shoulder " except this son of mine, 
 whose Chickasaw and Choctaw blood is often at the boiling 
 point." 
 
 " Even Mrs. Maury is something of an Indian nowadays." 
 It was Pakali who spoke, from a far-off corner of the porch, 
 where her light gown vaguely revealed her presence. " Her 
 chief dread used to be that she might become grandmother 
 to a family of Indians, but she seems to think that Virginia's 
 children are the most remarkable little creatures in the world, 
 and she loves Reginald, who looks as if he were a fullblood, 
 much more than the little red-haired Genevieve." 
 
 " Think to what depths we Indians have fallen when the 
 children who have Chickasaw and Choctaw blood in their 
 veins are called Reginald and Genevieve! " said Hattakowa. 
 " Do you wonder that I am more of a savage every day I 
 live?" 
 
 His rich voice had an earnest ring beneath the jesting tone. 
 The moon, coming out from behind a cloud, showed his face 
 and figure plainly, and they who looked at him laughed at 
 his assumption that he was still a barbarian. 
 
 " Young Maury is going to get into trouble with his 
 father-in-law and brother-in-law," said Beaumont. " The 
 Mattisons are likely to carry their so-called progressive prin- 
 ciples to a point where there \vill be an open rupture with 
 the squaw man who allies himself to the other side." 
 
 " The day is not far off when disagreements upon the 
 subject of Indian progressiveness will not be confined to
 
 126 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 families; it will divide our whole Nation," prophesied Mrs. 
 Dixon. 
 
 " Totopehah, have you been reading the signs again ? " 
 Beaumont asked, laughing carelessly. " Perhaps you can tell 
 us how many acres of land each Chickasaw will have when 
 Uncle Sam finishes his little problem in long division. At the 
 rate that car-loads of fraudulent claimants are being brought 
 in for enrollment we are likely to receive about enough for a 
 nigger's corn patch." 
 
 " One does not have to read the skies or listen to the wood- 
 land sounds to find out that we shall have little enough by 
 the time we are free and equal citizens of the United States." 
 Mrs. Dixon spoke with a touch of bitterness. " When 
 Hattakowa was a baby it was figured that each one of us 
 Chickasaws and Choctaws could count his share by thou- 
 sands of acres." 
 
 " It is the Indian with the large family who will be the 
 rich man when the allotment is completed," said Beaumont, 
 as he rose to light his pipe. " There's a squaw man over in 
 Paul's valley who has thirteen children. There may be 
 others by the time the Dawes Commission investigates his 
 claim. He is the most worthless fellow within a radius of 
 an hundred miles, but he will be in a position to make an 
 advantageous deal with some of the land-grabbing syndi- 
 cates." 
 
 "Are you speaking of Gee-Haw Blikens?" Hattakowa 
 inquired. " He doesn't live in Paul's valley any more; he 
 has taken up a whole valley of his own up north, near here. 
 They tell the story that when one of the Blikens family of 
 children was drowned in a well last month, Gee-Haw sighed 
 mournfully : ' That there youngun's death has lost me per- 
 haps eight hundred acres of land/ '' 
 
 " What an unkind story, Hattakowa," Pakali exclaimed 
 reprovingly. 
 
 The two men laughed as they assured her that Blikens was
 
 SUMMERTIME 127 
 
 Indeed a mercenary man, and the sound of their voices was 
 heard in a first-floor bedroom, where a well-grown boy of 
 four was sleeping. He stirred uneasily. Then, raising him- 
 self in bed, he listened for several moments. Drowsily 
 tumbling upon his feet, the child ran out to the porch. 
 
 " Big grandfather is happy," cried Miko, quickly climbing 
 upon Beaumont's knee. Clad in his long, white robe Miko 
 might easily have been mistaken for a little girl, and Hatta- 
 kowa teasingly informed the boy that he supposed Genevieve 
 Maury had come to see them. 
 
 This insinuation Miko proudly ignored, for he was busy 
 searching his grandfather's pockets for anything he might 
 wish to confiscate. 
 
 " Miko, dear, you must go back to bed," Pakali admon- 
 ished, gently. 
 
 The child rested his black head upon Beaumont's expan- 
 sive shirt front. 
 
 " Let me stay a little while. I want to ask the Man 
 Looking for the Sun what happened to the fourth little fish 
 he told me about. I can 'member three of 'em, but the 
 other I forget." 
 
 " The fourth fish was not foolish, Miko," Hattakowa 
 answered, " for he stayed at home in his little pond." 
 
 " And was he wise and happy? " Miko leaned far forward 
 over his grandfather's protecting arm in order that he might 
 listen intently. 
 
 " The story does not tell us that. Each one who hears it 
 is to decide for himself." 
 
 " Mother, tell me, tell me." 
 
 Miko's appeal brought Pakali from her place to sit upon 
 the step at her father's feet. 
 
 " I don't know the story, so how can I judge whether the 
 little fish was happy or unhappy? " she said. 
 
 11 The Man Looking for the Sun knows it. He told it to 
 me," Miko said.
 
 128 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " All the fishes lived in a little stream," explained Hatta- 
 kowa, " and three were discontented. One longed for wings, 
 and by and by he found he could fly. So he left the little 
 stream, and, soaring far under the hot sun, he came to the 
 desert, where he died. The second longed for the great 
 ocean, and an eel that had come into the little stream offered 
 to show him the way. They swam and swam until they 
 reached the salt water", but before the little fish had time to 
 admire the beautiful shells and the waving sea grasses a big 
 fish came along and swallowed him. The third little fish 
 often rose to the top of the water, where he could look out 
 upon the world. Here he found, one early morning, a tempt- 
 ing breakfast in the shape of a fine angle worm. He nibbled 
 at the worm and lo ! he was caught upon a terrible hook and 
 dragged out of the stream to die slowly. The fourth little 
 fish, who stayed at home without longing to see the world, 
 lived to a good old age." 
 
 " I like that story," Miko said, clapping his hands. " I 
 shall 'member now what happened to the fourth little fish." 
 
 " It has an especially fine moral for Chickasaws," com- 
 mented Hattakowa with a smile. " I always feel like the 
 second little fish whenever I go to Kansas City." 
 
 " But my Miko must go out into the world," declared 
 Pakali. 
 
 Miko slipped from his grandfather's lap. Throwing him- 
 self into Hattakowa's arms, he cried : 
 
 " When I am big I shall be a great hunter, like the Man 
 Looking for the Sun." 
 
 Hattakowa stroked the child's soft hair. 
 
 " Your mother wants you to go into the world, not the 
 woods," he replied. " She would have you live as a white 
 man, not as an Indian." 
 
 " I would have my son escape the humiliations that are 
 the lot of the Indian," Pakali said. She was silent for a 
 moment, then, with an effort, she went on: " Miko is only
 
 SUMMERTIME 129 
 
 one-eighth Chickasaw and Choctaw, but it is my ambition 
 to make him proud that he is an Indian. He shall be edu- 
 cated with the idea that when he comes to manhood he may 
 be able to work for our dying race. I am glad he looks so 
 much like an Indian, for his dark eyes and brown skin will 
 help him to gain the confidence of our people." 
 
 " If Miko's hair were light, if he were indeed a pale face, 
 I could not love him," asserted Hattakowa, resting the boy's 
 nodding head against his arm. 
 
 " You remember that Miko was six months old before 
 Hattakowa would look at him," said Mrs. Dixon. " Even 
 though I told him that the child was a perfect little Indian, 
 he waited until we were sure the baby would not outgrow 
 his Chickasaw-Choctaw appearance." 
 
 " It seems a long time since Miko was a baby." Pakali 
 had moved close to Hattakowa, and she spoke softly, looking 
 into the face of her distant kinsman. " When he first came 
 to me I could not have believed that I should be able to go 
 on with my life." 
 
 Pakali's soft tones had a tremolo in them and her father, 
 leaning forward, took her hand with an affectionate pres- 
 sure. 
 
 " The Little Mother always preached that we must not 
 live unto ourselves," he said. " There is much for you to 
 do here among the Indians of the Chickasaw Nation." 
 
 Miko, who had drowsed as he nestled in Hattakowa's 
 arms, murmured in a disturbed dream: "The fourth little 
 fish the fourth little fish " 
 
 " Push-Kush-Miko is not comfortable. Shall I carry him 
 to bed ? " asked Hattakowa, with his face close to the child's. 
 Rising, he bore Pakali's son into the house.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 AN EXPERIMENT IN FRIENDSHIP 
 
 BECAUSE her father had used all his powers of persuasion 
 Pakali had consented to accept her aunt's invitation to visit 
 for several weeks in Wauchula. After the crushing realisa- 
 tion that her husband desired to desert her, more than a 
 year had passed before Pakali recovered her health. Her 
 father had written a stern letter, in which he told Stuart that 
 Pakali lived no longer for the white man who could not 
 hear her cry of loneliness and agony. To this Pakali had 
 added a postscript, penned with a weak hand : " The gate 
 of your golden city has been closed against me. To-day I 
 put a bolt outside the gate, lest in pity you may some day 
 desire to open it." 
 
 After that the baby helped to keep the sad-hearted young 
 mother alive. In a year or two the pain in Pakali's heart 
 was dulled, but as time went by she felt the morbid sensi- 
 tiveness about meeting her friends increase instead of di- 
 minish. When Miko did not occupy her attention she 
 passed much time with her books and she went back to her 
 long-neglected music. It was odd, she thought, as she sat 
 at the grand piano in the parlour, that Stuart had seldom 
 heard her play. She was glad the music was not associated 
 with her ill-fated romance, and she found that it healed 
 the hurts when her sore spirit became rebellious. At first the 
 outdoor world failed to soothe her in the old way, because 
 every walk and drive near Tishomingo was associated with 
 Stuart. In time, however, nature again spoke to her directly 
 instead of through some memory. Only one place forever 
 held associations too sacred to be disturbed or outlived that 
 
 130
 
 THE EXPERIMENT IN FRIENDSHIP 131 
 
 was the nook down by Pennington Creek. There she had 
 talked to Arnold Stuart on the first day of their acquaintance. 
 There, where the waters murmured, her heart had awakened 
 to the call of love. There, walled up in a crevice of the rock, 
 were the bits of wood with which she had marked the most 
 precious days of her life. 
 
 Since her disillusionment four years had gone by, one so 
 much like another that, looking back she remembered noth- 
 ing excepting little incidents connected with her child. One 
 month was made eventful because Miko learned to walk; 
 another was ma-rked by his recovery from an infantile disease ; 
 and still another stood out by reason of his first appearance 
 in trousers. Now that Miko was four years old Beaumont 
 frequently pointed out the necessity of considering the child's 
 education, and he hinted that Pakali could not afford to 
 seclude herself in Moma Binna lest she might do wrong to 
 her son, who was entitled to the best advantages. Miko 
 must not grow up to find his mother living apart from the 
 world. He must find her not unlike the mothers of other 
 boys. He must have friends and playmates. For that reason 
 she had nerved herself for the visit to Wauchula. 
 
 Mrs. Dixon and Pakali had risen early, for they had 
 planned to make some changes in the interior of the cottage. 
 
 " A woman who has no daughter finds it hard to keep 
 up with the times," Mrs. Dixon had said with a sigh, as 
 she looked about the living room, which was stiff and unin- 
 viting in the disposal of the tables and chairs, the hanging of 
 pictures and the draping of curtains. The two negro 
 servants were brought in to move things at Pakali's direction. 
 Mrs. Dixon had exercised good taste in her choice of mat- 
 tings and rattan furniture, and Pakali soon transformed the 
 living-room, upon the floor of which Navajo blankets were 
 spread. A bowl of roses was placed upon the table beside 
 Hattakowa's tobacco jar, and the picturesque pipe rack that 
 Mrs. Dixon had forbidden her son to bring into the place
 
 132 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 where she received her company, was hung over the mantel. 
 Hattakowa's books were arranged upon low shelves near his 
 favourite easy chair and Mrs. Dixon's best sofa cushions were 
 put out of sight because they were such elaborate specimens 
 of needlework that they could not be used. In their place 
 Pakali piled pillows covered with pretty chintzes. 
 
 By noon the whole cottage had been transformed, even the 
 bay-windowed dining-room had received a share of attention. 
 
 When Hattakowa came in to the midday dinner he was 
 quick to express his appreciation of the changes. 
 
 " Pakali, you are always my good angel ! " he exclaimed. 
 " How did you manage to persuade mother to let me be 
 comfortable in her best room? I shall be inclined to stay in 
 the cottage all the time." 
 
 " I wish you would leave the ranch forever," Mrs. Dixon 
 said. " We ought to build a big house here with a special 
 wing for Pakali and Miko." 
 
 Standing in the doorway Hattakowa stifled the longing 
 in his heart, yet he dared not trust himself to speak. 
 
 The negro cook came to ask Mrs. Dixon if she wished 
 to see whether a dish of " Tom Fuller " was prepared to suit 
 her, and, while a consultation was being held over the hulled 
 corn, Hattakowa and Pakali were left tete-a-tete. 
 
 " It is good to have you here with us," said Hattakowa, 
 standing near the chair in which Pakali was resting after 
 her morning's activities. " I meant to go back to the ranch 
 to-day, but I could not bear the thought of the loneliness 
 there after these few days with you." 
 
 " I have been almost happy since I came to Wauchula," 
 Pakali answered. " It has seemed as if we were boy and 
 girl again." 
 
 " I remember," he answered in steady tones, " that you are 
 the wife of a white man who was given the power to win 
 your love. I knew that you would not forgive me if I killed 
 him, but once I was not too proud or too good to dream
 
 THE EXPERIMENT IN FRIENDSHIP 133 
 
 that I might some day supersede him. Then I stayed away 
 from you for fear I should reveal my weakness and unworthi- 
 ness. In the nights when I lay out under the sky after long 
 days of hunting, I dared to picture you in my home. I tried 
 to think that you were so much a white woman that you 
 might some day obtain a divorce." 
 
 Pakali rose with a quick gesture that indicated the pain 
 she suffered from the opening of old wounds. " Hattakowa, 
 you are cruel," she cried. 
 
 " I do not mean to be, but, after the long silence, we must 
 understand each other." 
 
 Hattakowa placed his hands upon her arms and gently put 
 her back into her chair. 
 
 " Pakali, even though there have been times when I 
 thought you might belong to me at last, there came the final 
 realisation that the great love would not let me call you my 
 wife while the white man, the father of your child, still 
 lived," he said solemnly. " Then, in imagination, I took 
 Arnold Stuart's life. A thousand times since he made you 
 suffer I have known the fierce delight of killing him. As I 
 stand here talking with you, I wonder that I have let these 
 four years pass without taking the blood vengeance that your 
 wrongs demand." 
 
 He paused to control the tumult in his breast. 
 
 " Now, I am stronger," he assured her. " Since I may 
 not claim you for my own, I may yet be near you now and 
 then, and to Miko I may give the affection that would have 
 belonged to the sons who will never be mine." 
 
 Pakali's face paled as she listened. " Hush, Hattakowa," 
 she said brokenly. " I thought you had outlived what you 
 call the great love." 
 
 " Then I have been a better actor than I supposed I could 
 be," replied Hattakowa. " Here in my own house I should 
 not tell you the truth in the candid way that is the Indian's, 
 but we were ever so sincere in dealing with each other that
 
 134 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 I could not come to you with the longing to enjoy something 
 of the old companionship unless I told you that you are still 
 in my innermost consciousness not only the Star Woman, 
 but the woman to be desired above all others. I shall not 
 disturb you by speaking of my love, but it is only right that 
 you should understand how impossible it is for me to play 
 that I am your brother." 
 
 " Shall we try to make the best of what is left to us, 
 Hattakowa? " Pakali looked through her tears at the strong 
 face of her distant kinsman. 
 
 Miko, rushing in with a round, white ball of a puppy, 
 paused for a moment to look first into the face of his mother 
 and then to scan the countenance of Hattakowa. 
 
 " Miko has been good. Why does mother cry? " the 
 boy said with the egotism of childhood. 
 
 Pakali lifted him in her arms. " Miko brings smiles, not 
 tears," she answered.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 THE CYCLONE 
 
 MRS. DIXON and Pakali had made careful preparations for 
 a dinner to which Hattakowa had invited General Chillings- 
 worth and Philip Marchand, two strangers in Wauchula. 
 The recent abrogation of the mineral leases in the Territory 
 had caused many complications, which General Chillings- 
 worth, as an inspector for the Department of the Interior, 
 had been sent to adjust. 
 
 Marchand was a young Kentuckian who had come to the 
 Territory to work with the Dawes Commission. When the 
 two guests arrived at the Dixon cottage, Pakali, after greeting 
 the white-haired old army officer, looked up to meet a pair 
 of quizzical grey eyes that plainly spoke something of the 
 surprise and admiration their owner felt. The stranger was 
 not at all like the white man who had come to the Nation 
 five years before, yet Pakali was conscious of a sudden pang 
 of memory. Arnold Stuart had been tall and fair; this man 
 was of medium height and his hair was brown. Arnold had 
 shown an easy confidence of manner; Marchand bowed with 
 a courtesy that had in it a touch of reverence. 
 
 Beaumont had been expected from Moma Binna and he 
 arrived as Mrs. Dixon was placing her guests at the table. 
 The conversation soon became interesting. In his own house 
 Hattakow r a was the irreproachable host, for his boasted ad- 
 herence to primitive ways gave him a simplicity of manner 
 that put everyone at ease. General Chillingsworth, who was 
 a courtly old man, immediately made friends with Hattakowa 
 and Beaumont. 
 
 No one knew better than Beaumont the history of every- 
 
 135
 
 136 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 thing pertaining to the Five Nations, and, under skilful cross 
 examination, he gave an entertaining account of the efforts 
 of an asphalt company to obtain control of promising land. 
 Marchand, who manifested an interest in the matters under 
 discussion because all that pertained to life was significant to 
 him, showed that he had made good use of a few days' 
 sojourn in Muscogee by accumulating much information. 
 He had been seated next to Pakali, and he secretly rejoiced 
 in what he called his luck. Her evening dress of some thin 
 black material revealed her distinctive beauty. He noticed 
 the long curve of her neck, the rounded outline of her chin, 
 and the fine modelling of her head. When she smiled, with 
 her long-lashed eyelids shading the light of a spirit that lured 
 him with its mystery of blended races, he was fascinated. 
 
 The incense of Marchand's admiration was exhilarat- 
 ing to Pakali, who was too natural a woman not to enjoy the 
 young Kentuckian's flattering tribute. Marchand found life 
 worth while, and there was something in his boyish per- 
 sonality that brought back her youth. She had thought that 
 association with Hattakowa had recalled her girlhood, but 
 there was always between them the memory of the five years 
 of her womanhood; the consciousness that she had eaten of 
 the tree of knowledge could not be banished. With Mar- 
 chand she could confine herself to the present. 
 
 The curtains had been drawn and the lamps lighted be- 
 cause the dusk came suddenly, when the mulatto girl, who 
 was waiting upon the table, whispered to Mrs. Dixon that 
 the cook was so much scared the biscuits had been allowed to 
 burn. " She says a cyclone's comin'," the servant announced 
 in a tone that arrested the attention of everyone at the table. 
 
 " You darkies are always expecting cyclones," said 
 Hattakowa. " I suppose smoke is coming out of the stack 
 of the cotton compress and Aunt Polly thinks she sees a 
 funnel-shaped cloud." 
 
 Hattakowa took the precaution to pull aside the curtains
 
 THE CYCLONE 137 
 
 in the bay window. What he saw caused him to look 
 serious. The sky was heavy and the air had become op- 
 pressive. Clouds of a peculiar greenish tinge had been 
 drawn together into a twisted pillar that appeared to reach 
 to the earth. Not a breath of air was stirring and the omi- 
 nous quiet foretold an impending storm. 
 
 " It does look as if we might have a high wind," Hatta- 
 kowa said. 
 
 " I hope you are not going to entertain me with a cyclone," 
 General Chillingsworth answered, as the little party rose 
 from the table. " I have been through all sorts of ex- 
 periences in my life but, so far, cyclones have not been among 
 them." 
 
 " Indian Territory has seldom suffered from cyclones. 
 Oklahoma is more unfortunate," Beaumont declared, reas- 
 suringly. 
 
 " We have had enough narrow escapes from destruction 
 here in the Chickasaw Nation to encourage the general owner- 
 ship of cyclone cellars," Mrs. Dixon asserted, " and I can 
 predict that we shall find it advisable to spend the evening 
 where we shall be out of harm's reach." 
 
 Without delay she began to give instructions to the negro 
 man servant, whom she had summoned. The silver was has- 
 tily put into a basket and a few valuables were gathered into 
 bags, Pakali and Marchand helping with the preparations, 
 while Hattakowa went to the stables to look after his horses, 
 for the neighing of the frightened animals had given added 
 warning of approaching danger. 
 
 Within a quarter of an hour a high wind was blowing. 
 Miko, who had run in from the cook house, stood in a door- 
 way whence he looked with interest upon a scene of activity 
 which promised entertainment. 
 
 Without waiting to perform the duties assigned to them 
 the servants, excepting Mammy 'Liza, fled to the end of the 
 garden where the smaller of the two cyclone cellars had been
 
 i 3 8 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 assigned to them as their special place of refuge. Here a 
 dozen negroes from the neighbourhood were .already in 
 possession. 
 
 The pillar of cloud deepened in colour and Beaumont de- 
 clared it was time for the entire family to leave the cottage. 
 The larger of the two cyclone cellars was but a few steps 
 from the rear of the house. Its rounded top, a foot or two 
 above the level of the ground, was covered with vines, which 
 ran up the big air shaft that ventilated the subterranean room. 
 On one slanting side, heavy doors opened upon strong iron 
 hinges. 
 
 A terrific gust of wind caused a hasty retreat into the cellar. 
 With Marchand's help Beaumont closed the big double doors 
 after Mrs. Dixon, Pakali, and Miko had been assisted down 
 the steep steps by General Chillingsworth. For a moment 
 they were in darkness, but Mrs. Dixon soon lighted a lamp 
 the glow of which revealed a comfortably furnished room of 
 ample dimensions. 
 
 " This is a most extraordinary situation ! Most extraor- 
 dinary ! " exclaimed General Chillingsworth, who was per- 
 spiring from his unusual exertions. He polished the top of 
 his bald head with his handkerchief and looked about with 
 a smile that had in it more or less apprehension. Marchand 
 laughed at the dignified old man's perturbation, which was 
 only half concealed beneath his efforts to appear at ease. 
 
 " We ought to appreciate our opportunities of getting ac- 
 quainted with life in the Indian Territory," he said. 
 
 " This is the first time I have ever thought it worth while 
 to seek protection in a cyclone cellar," Beaumont announced, 
 with a loyal desire to defend his part of the country. 
 
 " We do not usually spend our evenings here," Pakali 
 testified. " Father and I have teased Aunt Totopehah 
 because she would have these two dugouts in her garden. 
 There is not a cyclone cellar in Tishomingo." 
 
 Miko, pulling at her skirt, demanded attention.
 
 THE CYCLONE 139 
 
 " \Vhere is the Man Looking for the Sun ? " he asked. 
 
 " Hattakowa? Where is Hattakowa? " the child's mother 
 cried, turning to Mrs. Dixon with a questioning look. 
 
 Hattakowa himself answered the question by opening one 
 of the doors and hastily descending the steps. As he came in, 
 the wind blew out the lamp. 
 
 " This is the worst storm we have ever had," said Hatta- 
 kowa, after the lamp had been relighted. As he spoke, there 
 was a distant roaring sound, terrible in its volume and im- 
 port. The women looked into each other's pale faces and 
 the men drew all the chairs into a small circle. Miko, climb- 
 ing into his mother's lap, buried his face upon her bosom. 
 With her arms around her child Pakali whispered to him 
 not to be afraid, and even while she spoke there was a crash 
 that shook the earth. For a few seconds everyone in the 
 cyclone cellar was stunned. Hattakowa put one arm around 
 his mother and the other across Miko as the child lay in 
 Pakali's lap. 
 
 Neither Pakali nor Mrs. Dixon uttered a cry, for the 
 Indian habit of self-control survived in them to such an 
 extent that they were able to wait quietly for whatever might 
 befall. General Chillingsworth and Marchand almost for- 
 got their own peril as they watched the little group whose 
 Chickasaw and Choctaw heredity had given them such splen- 
 did courage. Only a few seconds had elapsed from the time 
 of the first roar of the storm to the final crash, but to those 
 who listened it seemed that many moments had passed. 
 Presently it was evident that the storm's fury had abated 
 but for a long time the falling of trees was distinguishable. 
 Then there was a downpour of rain that beat upon the closed 
 doors with a noise that made conversation impossible. As 
 soon as he could be heard, Beaumont began to speculate upon 
 the probable extent of the cyclone. 
 
 " We have been touched by only the edge of the storm," 
 he said.
 
 i 4 o THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " Well, if this is the edge I am glad I didn't get into the 
 middle of it," General Chillingsworth asserted. 
 
 " Yes, the edge is all I want," averred Marchand. 
 
 "Do you suppose the cottage is gone?" asked Mrs. 
 Dixon. 
 
 " As soon as it is possible to walk in the wind I shall go 
 out to see what has happened," said Hattakowa. " I am 
 afraid there will be plenty of work for strong men wherever 
 the cyclone has wrecked buildings." 
 
 " We shall probably find plenty to do," Beaumont said. 
 
 " Of course I shall go with you," Marchand quietly re- 
 marked, and the old General announced that he would be one 
 of the party. 
 
 More than an hour elapsed before Hatta...jwa found it 
 possible to venture outside the cellar. It required all his 
 strength to force open the slanting doors against which was 
 piled a mass of broken timbers. He had taken the precaution 
 to have a number of lanterns placed in the cellar, and, select- 
 ing one of these, he insisted upon going out alone while he 
 made a short scouting trip. He returned in a few minutes 
 to report that the cottage was safe and, bidding the three 
 men to wait, he went away. Inside the cellar all tried to 
 pass the time as comfortably as possible. Miko, who had 
 fallen asleep, had been put to bed upon a cot, and while 
 Pakali sat beside him Marchand talked with her. 
 
 " To-night seems like a dream," the young man said. " As 
 a social venture an evening spent in a cyclone cellar has the 
 charm of novelty, and more, it has given glimpses of charac- 
 ter that no ordinary association could possibly present. You 
 won't mind if I tell you that I think you and Mrs. Dixon 
 are the bravest women I ever saw." 
 
 " There is not any reason why you should call us brave," 
 Pakali answered. " We felt safe down here. Why, what 
 did you expect us to do? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. Perhaps I hoped you would scream,
 
 THE CYCLONE 141 
 
 and, clinging to me, pray that I would save you. That'* 
 the way women do in novels and plays, you know." 
 
 Pakali smiled, and, with something of her old teasing 
 spirit, said: 
 
 " In this case, even if I had given way to fright, of course 
 I should not have needed to turn to you when my father 
 was so near." 
 
 " Well, even though I have not had the chance to play the 
 part of hero, I shall always feel that I have a special claim 
 upon your friendship, because we have gone through a cy- 
 clone together. A cyclone certainly ought to be a tie between 
 us." 
 
 " I should hardly call a cyclone a tie," said Pakali. 
 
 " You are right," admitted the young man. " Judging 
 from the sound, the cyclone untied about everything in 
 Wauchula." 
 
 . Hattakowa did not come back until sunrise, and, during 
 the long hours of his absence, Mrs. Dixon spoke but once 
 or twice of the possibility that some accident might have 
 befallen him. When he did return he found everyone 
 wearied with the night vigil. General Chillingsworth and 
 Beaumont had dozed in their chairs while Mrs. Dixon had 
 pretended to take a nap. Pakali and Marchand had talked 
 in low tones between long pauses when they sat near to- 
 gether, motionless and silent, lest they might disturb the 
 older members of the party. 
 
 " Is there much loss of life? " Mrs. Dixon asked as Hatta- 
 kowa removed his dripping outside coat. 
 
 " It is not possible to make anything like an estimate 
 now," he answered, " but the next few hours will give us 
 a chance to get at the facts." 
 
 " Why didn't you come back before ? " Beaumont in- 
 quired almost angrily. " You know we were waiting to 
 join a relief party." 
 
 " In the dark it was almost impossible to do anything,"
 
 H2 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 Hattakowa replied. " I thought it was best for you to save 
 your strength. You men all come now." 
 
 He threw open both the cellar doors and the rush of 
 fresh air revived the drowsy group. 
 
 " I must stop at the hotel to get the flask of whisky I 
 smuggled into the Territory. It will be needed," said Gen- 
 eral Chillingsworth. 
 
 " Yes, there will be use for whisky," answered Hatta- 
 kowa, " but you will not find your flask. The hotel is 
 gone." 
 
 "The whole main street isn't wiped out, is it?" asked 
 Beaumont. 
 
 " No, only part of it. The edge of the storm touched the 
 negro quarter but the principal force of the w T ind was spent 
 at the point where the hotel stood." 
 
 The three men waded through the mud and wet grass 
 of the garden to the cottage, which was but slightly damaged, 
 and Hattakowa went to the servants' cyclone cellar. Here 
 the cook and housemaids were in a condition of fear bor- 
 dering upon catalepsy, and the two men servants were still 
 too much terrified to be available as assistants in any work 
 that required courage. Mammy 'Liza alone appeared to be 
 in a normal state of mind. 
 
 Having sternly ordered all the servants into the cook 
 house to prepare breakfast for a large number of storm suf- 
 ferers, Hattakowa conducted his mother and Pakali to the 
 cottage. Tenderly he lifted Miko from the cot and the child 
 was placed in his own little bed without being disturbed. 
 
 Every able-bodied man in Wauchula soon began to work 
 upon the wrecked buildings. Beaumont wielded a pick with 
 the strength of a young man ; General Chillingsworth found 
 employment in giving first aid to several injured men who 
 were rescued from the hotel, and Marchand joined the 
 searchers among the ruins. Hattakowa moved back and forth 
 giving orders, for he was quick to see the necessity for
 
 THE CYCLONE 143 
 
 organisation. Those who had served with him in the Indian 
 police corps readily obeyed his commands. A temporary hos- 
 pital was prepared in one of the store buildings, and thither 
 all the injured were carried. Twenty families had been made 
 homeless by the storm. Wreckage was scattered over a wide 
 area. In the dismal grey of the rainy morning the scene 
 was one of peculiar desolation. All that remained of the 
 pretentious Palace Hotel was a small pile of bricks in one 
 corner. 
 
 As Hattakowa passed the ruin he thought he heard a groan. 
 Taking Beaumont's pick he carefully dug in the debris. 
 Buried under broken furniture and shattered glass he found 
 a middle-aged man, frightfully crushed. No one recognised 
 the face of the storm victim. The man died while he was 
 being carried to the temporary hospital. The body was 
 identified by Billy Brown, the Wauchula banker, who had 
 been inquiring everywhere for a Kansas acquaintance that 
 he had left at the hotel the night before. 
 
 Brown was a man who had reached a self-satisfied middle 
 age. His heavy face had once been handsome in its coarse 
 outlines, but the marks of dissipation had disfigured it. His 
 cheeks were flabby, and beneath his eyes the skin puffed out. 
 He had a dark moustache which he twisted every now and 
 then with a right hand upon which flashed a large diamond. 
 He was despised by the better class of the Indians in the 
 Chickasaw Nation. It was a matter of common knowledge 
 that he had made his fortune in fattening and selling the lean 
 cattle and hogs shipped from the south, and had moved into 
 the Territory from Kansas because of the dispute over the 
 ownership of a certain herd of Texas shorthorns. 
 
 Brown's manner at the time he identified the dead man 
 aroused Hattakowa's suspicion. 
 
 " He had some valuable papers," Brow r n said, in an anx- 
 ious voice. " Has anyone found a valise marked ' J. L.'? " 
 
 " We are trying to save lives, not baggage, just now,"
 
 144 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 Hattakowa remarked, with a contemptuous glance at the 
 man who could think of valuables at a time when men, 
 women and children might be suffering. 
 
 " The papers were public documents," Brown made haste 
 to explain. " Their loss will affect many persons." 
 
 " There is nothing to hinder you from looking for them," 
 Hattakowa said as he moved away; "but you might find 
 them more quickly if you lent a hand in the rescue work." 
 
 Brown gave him an ugly look, but afterward many per- 
 sons remembered that the banker had spent most of that 
 day of disaster near the ruins of the hotel. 
 
 The storm had played queer pranks, but it had killed no 
 one excepting the stranger from Kansas. A baby, wrapped 
 safe and warm in blankets, . was found unhurt in a spruce 
 tree several blocks from the place where its parents' house 
 had stood. 
 
 Among all the narrow escapes none was more marvellous 
 than that of Judge and Mrs. Maury. Their cottage was 
 outside the path of the storm, but the strong wind took it 
 off the high timber supports which served in place of stone 
 foundations in most of the Territory buildings. Ogden 
 Maury, who lived next door to his father in a house of 
 ambitious architecture, saved his family by the most heroic 
 efforts. A melodeon belonging to the Free Methodist church 
 was blown through the front of his house and found its way 
 to the kitchen, where it upset a lamp. By sacrificing a velvet 
 rug the young man smothered the fire before the burning oil 
 had chance to do much damage. 
 
 Hattakowa had sent all the Maurys to his mother's home. 
 Here breakfast was served near midday to a weary and dis- 
 hevelled party. 
 
 " Considering that this is a prohibition Territory it is 
 miraculous how much good whisky was found this morning," 
 said Judge Maury, after he had drunk two cups of strong 
 coffee which cleared his rather hazy vision. Mrs. Maury,
 
 THE CYCLONE 145 
 
 who still wore her pompadour in curl papers, although she 
 had taken time to put on an elaborate old-fashioned dressing 
 sack, looked at her husband in mild reproach. 
 
 " Dad had a right to drink all he could to-day," said 
 Ogden Maury, who was holding one of his children upon 
 his lap. 
 
 " A public calamity always brings out some queer phases 
 of human nature," said Beaumont. " I noticed that every 
 man passed around his flask as naturally as if he were not 
 aware he was breaking the prohibition law, which is supposed 
 to prevent the Indians from becoming drunkards." 
 
 " Public calamities always show how closely comedy and 
 tragedy are associated," commented General Chillings- 
 worth. 
 
 " That is true," agreed Hattakowa from the foot of the 
 long table. " Our friend, Qgden Maury, has always com- 
 plained that the Free Methodist melodeon was too near his 
 house, and the cyclone has moved it to a position that will 
 enable him to realise how wrong it was for him to be dis- 
 satisfied with its original location." 
 
 " In the same way Mrs. Maury and I have been taught a 
 lesson," said the Judge. " We have never liked these Ter- 
 ritory houses that are set up on stilts, and we have often found 
 fault with our cottage, but this morning we agreed that we 
 liked it much better when it was on stilts than when it 
 wasn't." 
 
 " Oh, we are in such a dreadful state! " moaned Mrs. 
 Maury, lifting her hands, " and, think of it ! My cut glass 
 goblets that have been in the family for three generations 
 were smashed into bits! " 
 
 Pakali, who had been helping her aunt superintend the 
 serving of breakfast to negro victims of the storm, came in 
 accompanied by Miko. The excitement of the day had put 
 a deep colour into her cheeks, and her sense of gratitude be- 
 cause the lives of her relatives and friends had been spared
 
 146 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 had given her something of her old buoyancy of spirit. She 
 passed around the table, shaking hands with the twenty per- 
 sons whom her aunt and Hattakowa were entertaining. Mar- 
 chand offered her his seat and accepted a chair near the 
 foot of the table, but, while he talked to the person next 
 him, his attention often wandered to Pakali, who had much 
 to say to the old General. 
 
 Conversation was interrupted presently by a quarrel be- 
 tween Reginald Maury and Miko over a coveted position 
 on Judge Maury's knee, where a critical examination of the 
 Confederate button, worn on the lapel of the Judge's frock 
 coat, and the gold-faced watch carried in the Judge's broad- 
 cloth trousers, offered entertainment. 
 
 " Miko is the Judge's little Indian boy," said Pakali's son 
 with an arrogant wave of his small hand. 
 
 " No, no," contended Reginald. " I am his Indian boy." 
 
 Miko looked at Ogden Maury with some contempt in his 
 face. 
 
 " Your father isn't an Indian," insisted Miko. 
 
 " You haven't any father," replied Reginald. 
 
 A silence fell upon all who heard the children's quarrel. 
 Virginia rushed to her son and forcibly removed the child 
 from the room. Miko stood by the Judge's chair, his eyes 
 seeking his mother with a questioning look. There was 
 amazement in his expression. 
 
 " Come to me, Little Chieftain," said Hattakowa, softly. 
 
 Miko lifted his head proudly. For the first time in his 
 life had come to him a question concerning the father whom 
 he had never missed. 
 
 Some of the guests recovered their self-possession enough 
 to make a few casual remarks, but the high treble of Miko's 
 voice was heard above the forced conversation. 
 
 " Haven't I any father? " Miko asked. " Tell me, Man 
 Looking for the Sun."
 
 THE CYCLONE 147 
 
 In an agony of pain Pakali clasped her hands under the 
 table while she waited for the answer. 
 
 " Yes, Little Chieftain, you have a father, and a grand- 
 father, and The Man Looking for the Sun," Hattakowa said, 
 drawing the boy to him, and then whispering: " Miko must 
 wait until some other day before asking questions."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 BLIKENS MAKES A BARGAIN 
 
 THE loss of the papers on the night of the cyclone had given 
 Billy Brown such evident concern that Beaumont thought it 
 worth while to ask frequently whether they had been re- 
 covered. Beyond the mere mention of the name of the man 
 who had been killed, Brown vouchsafed little information 
 to the coroner's jury, and by the time the persons injured in 
 the storm had recovered, interest in the identity of the 
 stranger had vanished. 
 
 Brown did not give up search for the lost papers. If he 
 could have been sure that they were not preserved somewhere 
 in the dead man's valise he would have worried little, be- 
 cause the rains would have made the documents illegible. 
 For weeks after the cyclone lost articles were found in 
 places far removed from Wauchula. A trunk that had been 
 stored in the hotel was brought in from a dry creek bed a 
 mile from the town, and the day it was found Brown drove 
 to the place, which he examined with minute care. But, 
 although he watched every foot of the road out and back, 
 he did not find the papers. 
 
 On the day after the search he was sitting in his private 
 office behind the brass grating that guarded the bank em- 
 ployes from the public. He had transacted a profitable two 
 hours' business, for he had advanced money upon the cotton 
 crops of three plantations worked by shiftless whites, who 
 were reasonably certain of losing their year's product for the 
 trifling amount the banker had lent. Still, he was out of 
 humour, inasmuch as he had a suspicion that Beaumont or 
 some of the other Indians might guess the value of the lost 
 
 148
 
 BLIKENS MAKES A BARGAIN 149 
 
 documents. Brown feared Beaumont, for whose wealth he 
 had a profound respect. The Chickasaw declined to permit 
 Brown to make any overtures toward an acquaintance, so 
 that it was impossible for the banker to judge Beaumont's 
 shrewdness and intelligence. He had seen enough of Sands 
 to realise that the former governor was a foe to be feared. 
 
 Brown's reflections were disturbed by the announcement 
 that Gee-Haw Blikens wanted to see him. The new- 
 comer was admitted and he greeted Brown with an easy 
 " Howdy." 
 
 Gee-Haw Blikens was a tall, round-shouldered man of 
 about fifty. He wore canvas trousers that were tucked in a 
 pair of cowhide boots, and his blue gingham shirt contrasted 
 with a pair of broken red suspenders. Blikens boasted of 
 the fact that he had not worn a coat more than half a dozen 
 times since he came to the Territory. He had a straggly, 
 grey beard that partly concealed the loss of most of his 
 teeth, and his long, thin hair fell over his shirt band. A 
 soiled, water-stained, old grey hat with a drooping brim 
 rested upon his ears. His large nose was red from the com- 
 bined effects of sunburn and a certain brand of bitters that 
 the drug stores sold in large quantities to persons who desired 
 a substitute for intoxicants. 
 
 " Well, Blikens, I did not expect to see you so soon," 
 said Brown, motioning to a chair. " What can I do for you 
 to-day?" 
 
 " As usual, I'm in need of money," was the reply. Gee- 
 Haw Blikens took from his hip pocket a piece of tobacco. 
 He bit off a generous chew after Brown had declined to try 
 what was recommended as the best plug on the market. 
 
 " Have you spent all you borrowed last time? " Brown 
 swung himself round in his revolving chair and cast a con- 
 temptuous look upon his visitor. 
 
 " A man with twelve chilluns has to spend money," Gee- 
 Haw made this statement in a whining voice. " It do seem
 
 150 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 as if luck was agin me," he proceeded. " My biggest boy 
 broke our new plough; the red calf died last week; an' the 
 cotton ain't doin' well nohow." 
 
 " Then how can you expect me to let you have another 
 dollar ? " The banker swung himself back to his desk. 
 
 " I kin expect it 'cause I'll be the best-fixed squaw man 
 in the Territory after the allotment." Gee-Haw put a 
 grimy hand upon the arm of the banker's chair and threw 
 back his thin shoulders so that the part of his red suspender 
 that remained in service was made taut. 
 
 " You've had about all you can get from me," declared 
 Brown. 
 
 " What's eight hundad dollars on a claim agin thousands 
 of acahs of Ian' ? " This question was put with a twang 
 of disdain. 
 
 " You're not going to get as much land as you think." 
 
 " Oh, ain't I ! " Blikens winked one watery eye. 
 
 " No, you're not. The Chickasaws may not have more 
 than five hundred acres apiece." 
 
 " Twelve times five hundad, jes' foh the young uns, 
 ain't bad," averred Gee-Haw. 
 
 " You can't talk to me to-day," said the banker, in a tone 
 of dismissal. 
 
 " I knowed you'd be mad 'cause Jimmy was drownded 
 an' I'll have to lose one allotment." Gee-Haw wiped his 
 face upon his shirt sleeve. " Jimmy allus was a cahless boy. 
 His ma and me couldn't make him undahstand that he might 
 be wuth about eight hundad acahs o' Ian'. He wouldn't 
 pay no attention. He had some o' the blamedest escapes you 
 evah see. It did seem jest as if he was bent on losin' me his 
 shah o' the Ian' allotment, and sho' nuf he did." 
 
 " We have discussed that before, Blikens," Brown re- 
 minded his visitor. " The boy's dead and that's all there 
 is of it." 
 
 " P'r'aps 'tis," assented Gee-Haw, " but that don't inta-
 
 BLIKENS MAKES A BARGAIN 151 
 
 feah with my gettin' you to put up a few dollahs on the new 
 young un." 
 
 " Have you another baby at your house? " 
 
 " No, not 'zactly, but we'ah lookin' fo' one soon, an' so 
 I've come to ask you fo' a hundad dollahs." 
 
 Brown, who ordinarily did not have a highly developed 
 sense of humour, looked serious for a few moments. He 
 took up his pen and began to write an agreement. Then 
 the unusual character of the transaction became apparent 
 to him. 
 
 " How am I going to make out a claim? " he inquired. 
 " What name can I use? " 
 
 Blikens scratched his head, reflectively. In a moment his 
 face lighted with a toothless smile: 
 
 " We'll call him Billy Brown Blikens," he said. " I'll 
 name him aftah you." 
 
 The banker flinched at this rather dubious honour. He 
 thought for a moment. 
 
 " Suppose Billy Brown Blikens shouldn't happen to be 
 the right name? " he suggested. 
 
 " Couldn't we change the name to Tilly Brown then ? " 
 Blikens looked cast down as he made this inquiry. 
 
 " Of course not," Brown answered. " I don't know as the 
 claim would be valid anyway. I think I'd better not make 
 the loan!" 
 
 " Wall, s'pose I say we'll call huh Billy even if the name 
 don't suit," said Blikens, " and we can fix the date all right. 
 I'd jest have to swah to it, and I can swah to 'most anything." 
 
 " I'll let you have the money on condition you keep me 
 informed on what the Indians are doing," Brown promised. 
 " Report to me whatever happens, no matter whether the 
 news you bring seems important or not. I've told you to 
 keep your eyes and ears open so that you will know if anyone 
 finds those lost papers." 
 
 " Them papahs must be mighty valyble," commented Gee-
 
 152 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 Haw with a shrewd expression on his face. " I'm tolahbly 
 sahtain you'll heah from 'em some time." 
 
 " Well, can I depend upon you to act as a sort of detective 
 among the Indians? " Brown asked, impatiently. 
 
 " You kin count on me, but I can't promise to be much 
 he'p." Gee-Haw spoke w r ith some reluctance as he rose to 
 go. " Bein' a galvanised citizen I ain't trusted as much as 
 I might be. Them Indians is mighty shy of a squaw man." 
 
 As Blikens drove homeward that day he pondered over 
 his financial affairs, which were always in a tangle. He was 
 too lazy and too shiftless to conduct his farming according 
 to any practical system. He had purchased various pieces 
 of machinery to aid him in the cultivation of the fertile 
 acres that he held tentatively, but as, for several years he had 
 been " layin' out " to build a barn, and had never gotten 
 around to it, the heavy rainstorms of the spring had rendered 
 his investments practically useless. 
 
 Mrs. Blikens was not what would be called a good man- 
 ager. Her mother had been a poor white from South Caro- 
 lina and her father a Chickasaw. But, even if she had been 
 versed in all the arts of domestic science, the care of her 
 rapidly increasing family would have made it difficult for her 
 to devote time to dairy work or poultry raising, both of 
 which assured a small income for the wives of the farmers. 
 Ever since Gee-Haw, who never took any thought for the 
 morrow, had been able to borrow money from Brown, the 
 members of the Blikens family had enjoyed a period of such 
 unusual opulence that the suspicions of their neighbours had 
 been aroused. It was suspected that some way had been 
 found to turn the anticipations connected with the apportion- 
 ment into cash. 
 
 Brown had not been generous in his dealings with Gee- 
 Haw. As he thought over his transactions with the banker, 
 the squaw man, who sat humped up on the seat of his rickety 
 wagon, spat reflectively over the rattling front wheel and
 
 BLIKENS MAKES A BARGAIN 153 
 
 Slapped one line, which was spliced with a bit of rope, 
 against the back of the nigh horse. The rough-coated buck- 
 skin team broke into a trot that jarred all Gee-Haw's serious 
 thoughts out of his head. For half a mile he travelled toward 
 his ranch, the money in the pocket of his worn trousers giv- 
 ing him a sense of such comfortable satisfaction that he felt 
 it not worth while to wonder what he should do when the 
 last cent had been used. 
 
 A turn in the road brought Gee-Haw and his team to a 
 log bridge over a shrunken creek. At the right were well- 
 worn ruts which showed where horsemen and teamsters 
 stopped to water, their tired animals. Gee-Haw's natural 
 inclination to do everything the wrong way caused him to 
 turn to the left instead of the right, thus compelling the 
 buckskin team to drag the wagon over some big stones and 
 several obstructing masses of driftwood. In the last pile of 
 driftwood the wagon wheels sunk so unevenly that Gee- 
 Haw was compelled to get down from his high seat in order 
 to avoid being" upset. Addressing his horses with a string 
 of oaths he led them to the water's edge, and while they 
 drank waited with the patience that distinguishes a lazy 
 man. 
 
 In the places where the wheels had broken through the 
 driftwood Gee-Haw noticed some pieces of clothing. With 
 the end of his blacksnake whip he pulled out an old coat. The 
 garment was much better than the only one the squaw man 
 possessed and he examined it with interest. A large leather 
 letter case in one of the pockets attracted his attention. 
 Naturally his first thought was that he might have found 
 some money, but in this hope he was disappointed, for he 
 discovered several folded sheets of legal cap paper covered 
 with typewriting. Gee-Haw prided himself upon the fact 
 that he had never needed an education. Reading was a 
 difficult task to him and he put the letter case into his hip 
 pocket, without gaining any idea of the contents of the
 
 154 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY, 
 
 papers. He threw the coat into the wagon because he knew 
 it would be useful when made over for some of his numerous 
 progeny. It was not until he had jogged along five of the 
 remaining seven miles to his ranch that it occurred to him 
 that he might have found the lost documents about which 
 Brown was so much concerned. The idea that he might be 
 able to convert what he had found into money made him 
 feel extravagant, therefore he drank half the bottle of bit- 
 ters he had bought, and when he reached home he was in 
 a cheerful state of mind. 
 
 Gee-Haw's exhilaration lasted but a short time, because 
 at the door of the tumble-down shack, which he called home, 
 Mrs. Blikens met him with the news that two of the children 
 had slow fever while one of them was suffering from a 
 " rising " in her neck. Illness was not common in the 
 Blikens family and the thought flashed through Gee-Haw's 
 mind that it was possible for death to rob him of several 
 more allotments of land. He hung the coat he had found 
 upon a nail outside the house and kept the letter case in his 
 pocket. Although he went to Wauchula the next day to 
 summon a physician, he did not tell Brown about the papers. 
 
 Gee-Haw was mercenary but, at the same time, he had a 
 rudimentary affection for his offspring. When it became 
 apparent that two of the children were dangerously ill, and 
 when the disease, which was diagnosed as diphtheria, spread 
 to five of the little ones, he was really distressed. Within 
 a week four of his children died and Gee-Haw had to use 
 the one hundred dollars he had borrowed from Brown in 
 part payment of the funeral expenses. 
 
 The week after the Blikens children died Gee-Haw was 
 working in a cotton field that gave little promise of a good 
 crop, when a horseman and a horsewoman called to him 
 from the road. With his usual deliberation the squaw man 
 walked leisurely to the place where Hattakowa and Pakali 
 waited for him.
 
 BLIKENS MAKES A BARGAIN. 155 
 
 " We rode out to ask about your children," said Pakali. 
 " I could not go to your house for fear of carrying the disease 
 to my little son, but I am sure that you will let us help you 
 if we can." 
 
 " Nobody kin do nothin' much foh us now, I reckon," 
 answered Gee-Haw, as he chewed a blade of grass. 
 
 " There's a job on my ranch that will pay you well if 
 you can leave your own place." Hattakowa volunteered 
 assistance in a tone of such frank sympathy that the squaw 
 man, who had always felt the Indian's antipathy, could not 
 conceal his surprise. 
 
 ' 'Peahs to me my troubles make you fuhgit I am one o' 
 them pussons you Indians don't like," he remarked. 
 
 " I remember that your wife is a Chickasaw," Hattakowa 
 replied, with some severity. " It occurred to me that you 
 might need ready money and I was not on terms friendly 
 enough to permit of an offer to lend you what you want." 
 
 Gee-Haw threw away what was left of the blade of grass 
 and, after taking time to weigh his chances of making capital 
 out of his recent bereavement, he remarked: 
 
 " I can't say as I'm too proud to borrah money when I 
 need it. Fact is, I'd ruthah borrah it than wo'k foh it. I'm 
 pahtic'lahly glad when I kin git it from an enemy 'cause then 
 I don't have no regrets when I can't pay it back." The 
 squaw Hnan put both hands into his ragged pockets and 
 laughed as if he had made a delicate jest. 
 
 " I shall be glad to lend you some money," said Hatta- 
 kowa, who knew that he would profit nothing from Gee- 
 Haw's labours upon his ranch. 
 
 " And I want to send a negro woman out to help Mrs. 
 Blikens," said Pakali, turning her horse's head toward home 
 in order that she might not see the financial transaction be- 
 tween Hattakowa and Gee-Haw. 
 
 A few minutes later, as Gee-Haw's visitors were starting 
 back to Wauchula, the squaw man, who had tied the money
 
 156 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 he had received into the corner of a red bandana handker- 
 chief, bethought himself of the letter case which he still 
 carried in the hip pocket of his only pair of trousers. 
 
 " Mistah Dixon, I found some papahs the othah day I'd 
 like to show yo' if you've got time to look at 'em," he an- 
 nounced in an unconcerned way. " I'm not much of a 
 scholah and it's easiah fo' me to have you tell me what they 
 ah." He handed the leather case to Hattakowa, who glanced 
 over the papers and instantly saw that they were of more than 
 passing interest. 
 
 " Will you let me take these papers with me ? " he asked. 
 " I want to examine them carefully, and I will return them 
 to you to-morrow." 
 
 A shrewd expression came into Gee-Haw's eyes as he 
 replied : 
 
 " Them papahs might be the ve'y ones that Billy Brown, 
 the bankah, wants to find. They ah wuth money to me, and 
 I ain't goin' to let 'em out o' my sight." 
 
 " They may be worth money to me," returned Hattakowa 
 with a careless laugh that concealed his eagerness to retain 
 possession of the documents. " I'll give you twenty-five dol- 
 lars if you will lend them to me over night." 
 
 " Wall, that's a bahgain if the lady will add heh promise 
 to youall's that them papahs come back to-morrow." Gee- 
 Haw gave his consent with an assumption of importance that 
 brought a smile to Pakali's lips, but she readily agreed to 
 see that the leather envelope was sent back to the Blikens 
 ranch. 
 
 " Do you think it's exactly right for you to read those 
 papers if they are Mr. Brown's? " Pakali inquired as she and 
 Hattakowa were on their way home. 
 
 " All is fair in war, and I intend to have these papers 
 copied after I have shown them to your father and Governor 
 Sands," Hattakowa answered. " They contain absolute 
 proof that Brown is interested in a syndicate that has planned
 
 BLIKENS MAKES A BARGAIN 157 
 
 to get possession of a large part of the Chickasaw and Choc- 
 taw lands. I was sure he w r as helping to bring in the car- 
 loads of claimants from Kansas, but now he has even a more 
 ambitious land-grabbing scheme than the one we have been 
 watching and fighting since the Curtis bill became a law." 
 
 Hattakowa set his lips firmly, and a look of stern determi- 
 nation came into his strong face. " From this day on I mean 
 to play a part in Chickasaw politics." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you make such a declaration," Pakali 
 answered. " Father says you have been too passive and we 
 have both wondered that you, who feel so intensely the 
 wrongs of our Nation, should take so little part in the battle 
 for our rights." 
 
 " Perhaps my negligence has been due to my Indian fatal- 
 ism," suggested Hattakowa. 
 
 For a mile or two they rode on in silence. The clear 
 morning brought to them a sense of exhilaration, for it was 
 yet too early for the heat to be oppressive. Overhead the sky 
 had the transparent blue that gives a luminous quality to all 
 that pertains to the earth. There was light in the shining 
 leaves of the trees. The white of the earliest of the bursting 
 cotton bolls shone as if the nodding stalks held tiny lamps. 
 Pakali rode Ossilusa, the horse that Hattakowa had given 
 her on her wedding day. At Moma Binna this animal had 
 been her daily companion and at Hattakowa's suggestion she 
 had recently had him brought to Wauchula, Ossilusa was 
 as sensitive to the influence of nature as Pakali herself, and 
 now, when a cooling breeze that had travelled all the way 
 from the Gulf of Mexico swept over the green fields and 
 moved the tops of the high trees, the horse, feeling the mane 
 stirred upon his neck, arched his handsome head and broke 
 into a brisk canter. At a narrow ford, where the creek was 
 almost dry, the two riders stopped. 
 
 " When I come away from people, I am at ease with the 
 world," Hattakowa said. " The earth takes away from me
 
 158 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 all the fret and the fever that I feel when I go among men 
 and women." 
 
 " I am happiest when out of doors," answered Pakali, 
 " but because I am not so much of an Indian as you I often 
 long for companionship." 
 
 " The spirit of the forest does not satisfy all my needs of 
 companionship." Hattakowa spoke slowly as he leaned over 
 his horse's head to adjust the bridle, " but I would have just 
 one person in all the world for my comrade and more than 
 comrade. There is no man so strong that he can always stifle 
 in his heart the call for his Star Woman." 
 
 Pakali looked away toward the horizon line. Presently 
 she made answer: 
 
 " I know. Even though I have Miko I find the way 
 lonely. I came to Wauchula with the hope that I might 
 forget that love has touched me and passed me by." 
 
 " The great love has not passed you by, Pakali. Through 
 life and death it will be with you." 
 
 Hattakowa spoke as one who baldly states a truth. There, 
 in the morning light, the world was revealed to them as a 
 reality. Because both the man and the woman lived much 
 in the dream world they spoke of the sacred things naturally. 
 Looking into each other'?' eyes for a moment they read the 
 truth as they must read it in each other's soul. Both knew 
 that as they travelled on through the years their meetings 
 must be always at the partings of the ways. 
 
 Slowly Ossilusa crossed the ford. He walked through a 
 strip of timber land, letting Hattakowa's mount speed far 
 ahead of him.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 THE CANDIDATE FOR GOVERNOR 
 
 HATTAKOWA took the papers Gee-Haw Blikens had found 
 to Judge Maury, whose legal opinion was desirable in view 
 of the character of the documents which pertained to a syndi- 
 cate for the wholesale importation of Mississippi Chickasaws 
 and Choctaws. When the Chickasaws had been transferred 
 to Indian Territory a comparatively small number of the 
 Nation remained in the State. Contact with illiterate whites 
 and environment that was conducive to retrogression had left 
 this remnant of the tribe in a pitiable condition of poverty 
 and ignorance. 
 
 According to the terms of the agreement entered into by 
 the men interested in the syndicate, parties of from fifty to 
 two hundred Mississippi Chickasaws and Choctaws were to 
 be brought into the Territory from time to time and regis- 
 tered upon the citizenship rolls. In consideration of the sum 
 of one hundred dollars a year and a meagre equipment of 
 farm implements, each family was to turn over to the syndi- 
 cate half the land allotted to it. Provisions were made for 
 the future purchase of the remaining homestead at prices 
 that were merely nominal. The syndicate represented a 
 capital of fifty thousand dollars. Elisha Fordham, the for- 
 mer congressman, was at th? head of it, and Billy Brown's 
 name appeared in the list of directors. It was evident that 
 the man who was killed in the cyclone had been merely an 
 agent. 
 
 By a piece of good luck Beaumont and Sands happened to 
 be in Wauchula so that Hattakowa was able to take them 
 with him to Judge Maury's office, where the final examina- 
 tion of the papers was made. 
 
 159
 
 i6o 
 
 " Can't something be done to stop this double robbery?" 
 asked Sands, as he leaned back in one of the dilapidated arm- 
 chairs in the lawyer's office. " This scheme enables the tribe 
 of landgrabbers to reduce the per capita allotment among the 
 the Chickasaws of the Territory, while it takes from the 
 poor Mississipoi Indians whatever property they may be able 
 to secure." 
 
 Judge Maury paced up and down the strip of frayed 
 oil cloth extending across his office floor. Now and then he 
 pulled his goatee reflectively. The trousers of his worn 
 broadcloth suit were supplemented by a pair of light grey 
 gaiters that somehow fixed the attention of the three Indians 
 who waited anxiously for the Judge's advice. 
 
 " Attorney See-My-Fee, about whom Governor Sands so 
 often talks, has been shrewd enough to protect the syndicate," 
 Judge Maury said. " If the United States Government 
 chooses to recognise these Mississippi Chickasaws and Choc- 
 taws we can do nothing." 
 
 " Such injustice stirs all my savage instincts! " exclaimed 
 Hattakowa. " According to our tribal laws the Indians 
 who would not come to the new country have no right to 
 inherit the land that has been ours for half a century." 
 
 " That is true, that is true," assented Judge Maury, em- 
 phasising his words with a tap of one of his gaitered feet. 
 " In this case you must rely upon unity of purpose among the 
 Chickasaws who belong to the Territory. You can make 
 your protest heard in Washington, and for future use I ad- 
 vise you not to neglect having copies of these papers made." 
 
 " It is impossible to count upon united action by the peo- 
 ple of the Chickasaw Nation," Sands declared, shaking his 
 head. " Factional differences are being multiplied daily. 
 The so-called Progressive party is growing so that it is likely 
 to carry our next election." 
 
 " If you will run for office again we will beat the Cole 
 Mattison crowd," Beaumont prophesied.
 
 THE CANDIDATE FOR GOVERNOR 161 
 
 But Sands' rugged face took on a look of determination 
 as he answered: 
 
 " I am not the man to win. I have made too many enemies 
 in the past and I am too old to control the younger element." 
 He hesitated for a moment, then he said : " I have thought 
 that Hattakowa is the man to lead our party." 
 
 There was a look of astonishment on Hattakowa's face 
 as he answered in a nettled tone: 
 
 " The Man Looking for the Sun is not the man hunting 
 for office. Governor, this is hardly a time for you to jest." 
 
 " I am quite serious," replied Sands. " You have friends 
 in all classes of the Indians. Chickasaws of every degree 
 and mixedbloods would vote for you. If you are really sin- 
 cere in all your boasted loyalty to the old order of things you 
 can show it by using your time, and I regret to admit that 
 it is necessary money in the coming campaign." 
 
 Beaumont, who had been listening with much interest, 
 commented : 
 
 " It does not seem possible that Hattakowa is old enough 
 to run for governor, but now that I count the years I know 
 he has lived through thirty." 
 
 " There isn't any reason why Mr. Dixon should not de- 
 vote himself to politics," commented Judge Maury. " You 
 cannot prevent your people from suffering terrible wrongs, 
 but you can help to diminish those wrongs, and you can retard 
 the speed with which the Progressive party achieves its ends." 
 
 Hattakowa walked to the window where he stood looking 
 out upon the little town. 
 
 " I had meant to work with all my strength for the candi- 
 date of our party," he said. " Never for one moment have 
 I been so presumptuous as to think of myself as the leader." 
 
 " Well, begin to think now," admonished Sands. " The 
 Nation needs the help of the young men who have been 
 educated so that they are able to defend their people from the 
 white man."
 
 1 62 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 Before the consultation with Judge Maury was ended the 
 delicate question whether it would be best to notify Brown 
 that his papers had been read was discussed at length, and 
 it was finally decided to return the documents to Gee-Haw 
 Blikens without making any comment upon them. Thus 
 the matter would be left altogether to the squaw man, who 
 could do as he saw fit about informing Brown that the In- 
 dians were aware of the syndicate scheme. 
 
 " Since I am a fatalist I am sure it is best not to interfere 
 with what chance will do," Hattakowa remarked with a 
 smile. "If Brown finds out that I have had his lost docu- 
 ments, I shall have a chance to declare that I shall work 
 against him; if not, our secret knowledge may avail much 
 at some future time." 
 
 Within a few days Hattakowa had been persuaded to be 
 a candidate for the office of governor and there followed 
 weeks of unremitting work for Beaumont and Sands as well 
 as for the younger Indians. Meanwhile Pakali still remained 
 at the white cottage, inasmuch as Moma Binna was turned 
 into political headquarters for Hattakowa's supporters. John 
 Oaktree undertook to canvass part of Pontotoc County where 
 Samuel Jenkins, the fullblood who had been chosen as the 
 tool of the Progressive party, was strongest. As an oppo- 
 nent to Hattakowa, Jenkins was weak, inasmuch as he had 
 but a small personal following. With the two Mattisons and 
 Billy Brown to manage his campaign for him, however, he 
 developed possibilities that made his victory not improbable. 
 The Wauchula Wampum, which, despite its name, was anti- 
 Indian on every subject, became bitter in its abuse of Hatta- 
 kowa, whom it termed the young Croesus of the Chickasaws. 
 
 Wauchula and Ardmore were so distinctly white men's 
 cities that the Indian elections had but slight interest for 
 any residents excepting those who were identified with en- 
 terprises depending upon the speedy disintegration of the 
 tribal government.
 
 THE CANDIDATE FOR GOVERNOR 163 
 
 In the midst of the campaign Philip Marchand passed three 
 days that were not without their disappointment. It was the 
 young man's desire to devote most of his time to Pakali. 
 He did not stop to analyse her charm for him, or to con- 
 sider that she was married. She was to him a beautiful 
 woman who piqued his interest, and who satisfied his craving 
 for companionship. In Muscogee he had met many pretty 
 girls, but he was not a squire of dames and he found so- 
 ciety in the capital of the Creek Nation tiresome. Pakali 
 was to him the ideal of the civilised Indian woman. Her 
 personality, elusive, baffling, appealed to the poetic side of his 
 nature. As he travelled to Wauchula he had planned whole 
 hours alone with her, but after his arrival he discovered that 
 he would be compelled to share Pakali's society with several 
 other persons. 
 
 The Territory had too much of the frontier spirit to admit 
 of any freedom for married persons who represented the best 
 social life, and Pakali took care that she should not be alone 
 with Marchand. The evening of his arrival Mrs. Dixon 
 invited him to supper, but callers prevented him from monop- 
 olising Pakali. The next two days brought many baffling, 
 tantalising situations to him, but they served to make him 
 feel more than previously the delight of association with the 
 Chickasaw woman. 
 
 When he was going away from Wauchula he asked Pakali 
 if he might travel to Tishomingo to see her, and she an- 
 swered : 
 
 " Come as my father's guest. Moma Binna is a lodge 
 for all."
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 MARCHAND MAKES A VISIT 
 
 HATTAKOWA'S campaign for the office of governor of the 
 Chickasaw Nation proved to be the most exciting in the 
 history of the Territory. John Oaktree and his sons worked 
 in the county of Pontotoc; Beaumont confined his efforts 
 to Tishomingo County; while Sands canvassed Panola and 
 Pickens. It was the custom to elect immediately after a 
 nomination, therefore Hattakowa had to depend upon his 
 chances of winning general approval from the electors. He 
 had always been a favourite, especially among the younger 
 Indians, and, as boys of nineteen were qualified to exercise 
 the right of suffrage, he had an enthusiastic following where- 
 ever there were youthful voters. 
 
 The Progressive party, which had chosen Samuel Jenkins 
 as its candidate, made use of the white man's methods, and 
 a large amount of money was distributed among ignorant 
 fullbloods who would naturally cling to the old order of 
 things. As one of the army of white men who dwelt as 
 tenants in the Territory, Billy Brown had no right to inter- 
 fere in the Indian election, but it was evident that he was 
 aiding Gee-Haw Blikens and the squaw men in their efforts 
 to insure victory for Jenkins. The two Mattisons became 
 bitter opponents of Hattakowa and there was an open rupture 
 between them and Ogden Maury. 
 
 On the day of the election Pakali waited for the returns 
 with much anxiety. The early autumn had come and Moma 
 Binna was enveloped in a golden haze. From the veranda 
 Pakali frequently gazed toward the capitol, where the Judge 
 and his clerks were recording the votes of Tishomingo 
 
 164
 
 MARCHAND MAKES A VISIT 165 
 
 County. Since long before daylight her father had been 
 driving among the ranches outside the town and a number 
 of wagons had been sent out to bring in lazy and infirm 
 voters. After Pakali had seen to the preparations for many 
 chance dinner guests, she found the hours long and tedious. 
 She could not read or settle herself to any of her usual tasks. 
 She was, therefore, glad to see a horseman coming up the 
 road, and, when he was near enough to be recognised, she 
 smiled a cordial welcome to Philip Marchand. The young 
 man had made excuses to write her occasional notes by send- 
 ing to Moma Binna souvenirs that he picked up in various 
 trips among the Creeks and mixedbloods who still lived in 
 savage freedom far from Muscogee and the other towns. 
 
 " It does not seem possible that I am at last in Tisho- 
 mingo! " exclaimed Marchand, as he jumped from the sad- 
 dle. He held Pakali's hand several seconds longer than was 
 necessary. " So many weeks have gone by since I saw you 
 in Wauchula that I was almost afraid you had forgotten 
 me." 
 
 Pakali laughingly assured him that she must always re- 
 member a cyclone companion, and, sending his horse to the 
 stables, she conducted him to the veranda. 
 
 Although the frost time had not yet come, some of the 
 leaves of the woodbine that wound about one of the veranda 
 pillars had begun to change colour, and a creeping rose 
 flaunted crimson blossoms above the porch railing. When 
 Pakali had seated herself in a basket chair the young man 
 saw that the background of flowers and shrubbery brought 
 out the peculiar beauty of the Indian woman. Looking be- 
 yond her at the mountains, he said : 
 
 " Moma Binna is even more picturesque than it seemed in 
 my dreams." He paused, and, with something like a blush 
 on his handsome face, continued : " You see I am frank to 
 admit that I dream of Moma Binna, which is only another 
 way of saying that I have thought of you a great deal."
 
 166 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " So you have been wasting your time? " Pakali answered, 
 jestingly, and, with a piquant assumption of superior age, 
 she admonished: "You should keep your mind upon the 
 duties the Dawes Commission assigns to you." 
 
 Quickly responding to her conversational cue Marchand 
 pleaded : 
 
 " Be lenient in judging me, O Chickasaw lady. The 
 Dawes Comission counts its clerks by the hundreds because 
 politicians at Washington have debts to pay ; so there is little 
 for each man to do. But, since I first beheld Tishomingo 
 an hour ago, I have made a resolution to work hard and to 
 demand a great reward." 
 
 Pakali cast a questioning glance at him. 
 
 " When they begin to apportion the Chickasaw lands I 
 shall ask to be assigned to Tishomingo." 
 
 " You will be tired of the Territory long before the Chick- 
 asaw allotment is reached," Pakali predicted, and then she 
 rose quickly, for Hattakowa was coming toward the house. 
 He wore his riding clothes and his dress showed traces of long 
 travel on dusty roads. 
 
 "How is the election going?" Marchand asked, after 
 Pakali had told the candidate for governor that he looked 
 tired, and that he must have some coffee. 
 
 " They say that I shall beat Jenkins if there is not too 
 much fraud in Pickens and Pontotoc Counties. You know 
 Indians are natural politicians," Hattakowa went on. 
 
 A servant placed a coffee tray upon a small table. Pakali 
 poured a stimulating draught, and, as Hattakowa reached out 
 his hand for the cup, she noticed that he wore the ruby 
 ring. 
 
 " Hattakowa, I have not seen the ruby on your hand for 
 many years!" she exclaimed. "Why do you wear it to- 
 day?" 
 
 He looked at her with such meaning that she waited ap- 
 prehensively lest he might speak with an embarrassing truth-
 
 MARCHAND MAKES A VISIT 167 
 
 fulness that would reveal to Marchand a hint of her kins- 
 man's devotion to her. 
 
 " There is a saying, ' Unlucky in love, lucky in war,' ' 
 said Hattakovva. " I put on the ring because I was going 
 into combat." 
 
 " I hope it will be a true talisman," answered Pakali. 
 
 Marchand gazed at the ring for a moment, and, seeing its 
 rare value, remarked: 
 
 " A man might be almost willing to challenge fortune in 
 love for the privilege of owning such a gem as that." 
 
 Hattakowa shook his head. 
 
 " No, whenever I would have far-off cousin kind to 
 me, I hide the ring," he declared. 
 
 Pakali rose hastily, and, in her nervousness, upset a little 
 cream pitcher. Marchand proffered assistance in righting 
 the tray, but Pakali made excuse that she must summon a 
 servant, and went into the house. 
 
 Marchand covertly studied Hattakowa's face as the Indian 
 lay back in his chair, with his eyes partly closed, and in the 
 strong lines the white man read something of the character 
 which was dominated by primitive emotions. The intense 
 fire that flashed from the eyes, the fulness of the under lip, 
 and the modelling of the chin, had long before told Mar- 
 chand that Hattakowa would be an ardent lover. Now he 
 guessed that Pakali must be the object of the Indian's passion. 
 
 Presently Miko came out of the house with Pakali. Utter- 
 ing a cry of delight, the child ran to Hattakowa. 
 
 " Man Looking for the Sun, you have not taken me fish- 
 ing for a long time," the boy said reproachfully, as he 
 climbed upon the Indian's knee. 
 
 " It is more than a moon since our last expedition," Hatta- 
 kowa replied, dropping into the Indian imagery that he 
 liked to use with Miko. " When the frost comes we shall 
 go for a hunt." 
 
 Miko caught sight of the ruby.
 
 i68 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " Let me try on the pretty," he said, coaxingly, but Hatta- 
 kowa drew away his hand. 
 
 " The ruby might bring the Little Chieftain bad luck," 
 he explained. 
 
 " I want to be like the Man Looking for the Sun," Miko 
 declared, with childish petulance. " I shall not fear bad 
 luck." 
 
 But Hattakowa would not be persuaded to let Miko touch 
 the ring. 
 
 Pakali had dinner for Marchand, Miko, and herself served 
 in the parlour, while Beaumont and Hattakowa entertained 
 Indians of all classes in the big dining room and the living 
 room. The intimacy of the midday meal, which gave a 
 whole hour alone with Pakali, was a compensation to 
 Marchand for the disappointment of his days in Wauchula. 
 After the Indians had gone back to the capitol, Pakali, 
 opening the grand piano, played for her guest, and, later, 
 from the veranda they watched the sun go down. 
 
 Marchand, who still retained Eastern ideas of conven- 
 tionality, declined an invitation to the evening meal. With 
 much reluctance he went down the hill to the old Poyner 
 Tavern, which was still the principal hostelry in Tishomingo. 
 Here he found many Indians quartered. At the long, nar- 
 row table in the dining room the fullbloods talked in their 
 unintelligible dialect. Snatches of conversation that reached 
 his ears from the end of the table where several brutal looking 
 halfbreeds and ugly-visaged squaw men were talking, gave 
 Marchand the information that there would be a determined 
 effort to contest Hattakowa's election if the count were close. 
 Once or twice a big halfbreed cast a suspicious glance at the 
 stranger, who stayed but a short time at the table, where an 
 untidy negro put before him dishes that he could not even 
 taste. 
 
 The Poyner Tavern was a long, battened frame building, 
 with a big door in the middle. On each side of the front
 
 MARCHAND MAKES A VISIT 169 
 
 door were narrow glass windows, and a porch, that was little 
 more than a shed, protected this entrance from the sun. The 
 dining room was situated on one side of the house, and the 
 office, from which a flight of rickety stairs ascended, occupied 
 the remainder of the first floor space. Marchand shuddered 
 at the thought of what the bedrooms might be. Lighting a 
 cigar he stood upon the porch for a few moments while he 
 looked in the direction of Moma Binna. He could hardly 
 resist the impulse to climb the distant hill, but he was too 
 wise to trespass upon the hospitality so cordially extended 
 to him. He sauntered down the dusty path that led over 
 the barren enclosure which, fenced with a wire netting, and 
 closed with a gate weighted with a stone, comprised what 
 was imaginatively termed the garden of the inn. He walked 
 up and down in front of the tavern, and noticed with amuse- 
 ment that three lightning rods bristled from its warped 
 shingle roof. Turning the corner, he came to the wagon- 
 yard, without which no Territory hotel was complete. Here 
 were many vehicles. In the centre of the wagon-yard sev- 
 eral Indians were cooking supper over a blazing camp-fire, 
 while others slept upon the ground under the horse-sheds. 
 
 Marchand walked far out on the hills. Pakali dominated 
 his thoughts, although he reasoned that in her he sought a 
 congenial friend during his period of exile from his native 
 State. He belonged to one of the old Kentucky families 
 whose fortunes had been reduced by the Civil War, and he 
 had been glad to accept a salary from the Federal Govern- 
 ment. Since he had attained manhood his father had seen 
 that he had little business ability, but that he was one of the 
 dreamers who found the world a pleasant place. He was 
 young yet, and, therefore, the personality of a woman older 
 than he in experience, if not in years, appealed to him. The 
 story of the pathetic romance of the Chickasaw girl, as it had 
 been told to him, aroused his chivalrous impulse. The knowl- 
 edge he had gained of Hattakowa's love for his kinswoman
 
 170 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 disturbed him, and yet it touched such a chord of sympathy 
 that he felt drawn toward the Indian. 
 
 It was late when Marchand returned to the tavern. As 
 he passed back of one of the horse-sheds he heard voices. The 
 name of Joe Dixon was mentioned, and then someone said: 
 " If we can't fix Tishomingo County we can trust to Gee- 
 Haw Blikens to make it all right with the Pickens vote." 
 
 " Gee-Haw don't know enough to fix anything," was the 
 reply. 
 
 " With Brown's help he'll put Sam Jenkins's count up 
 where young Dixon can't touch it." 
 
 Marchand's footsteps silenced the voices. It was evident 
 to the chance listener that Hattakowa's predictions concern- 
 ing fraud were likely to be carried out. After a moment's 
 hesitation, Marchand decided that the dialogue was not worth 
 reporting until the next day. He went into the tavern, where 
 he found his room was stifling, after his walk in the cool 
 night air. He tossed for hours on the corn-husk mattress 
 and, just before dawn, dressed in the light of a smoky hand 
 lamp. He went down to the hotel porch, where he lounged 
 upon the seat built in at one side of the doorway. He had 
 fallen asleep, when he was aroused by the arrival of a horse- 
 man, a negro, who hastily dismounted and ran toward the 
 tavern. The negro took from his torn straw hat a letter, 
 addressed to one of the squaw men who had been prominent 
 during the preceding day's election work. 
 
 "Ain't no one up?" the negro asked. " Dis yere's an 
 impohtant communication from de bankah ovah at Wau- 
 chula. I'se been ridin' mos' o' de night to bring it heh." 
 
 Marchand directed that the landlord of the tavern be 
 called, and then, almost before he was conscious of a distinct 
 intention, he w r as on his way to Moma Binna. 
 
 For an hour he waited on the veranda, and as soon as 
 there were signs of awakening, he sent a servant for Hatta- 
 kowa. When Marchand had told his story of the conversa-
 
 MARCH AND MAKES A VISIT 171 
 
 tion he had overheard, and had mentioned the arrival of the 
 messenger, Hattakowa expressed no surprise. 
 
 " It is likely Brown has had Gee-Haw notify my oppo- 
 nents here that the returns from Pickens County will be late," 
 Hattakowa remarked. " They will want some time in 
 order to know just how much ' fixing ' the votes will need." 
 
 Two eventful days went by; then it was generally under- 
 stood that when, at the beginning of the next week, the 
 legislature counted the votes, it would be found that Hatta- 
 kowa had been elected.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE CONTEST FOR POWER 
 
 WITH the assembling of the legislature, Tishomingo an- 
 nually awoke from its usual torpor. On the Monday that 
 the senate and the lower house w r ere called to order in joint 
 session to count the election returns, there was an unwonted 
 crowd on the principal street of the town. Parties of horse- 
 men rode in from Ardmore and Wauchula, and wagon loads 
 of fullbloods and halfbreeds came from all directions. Beau- 
 mont had been a member of the senate for many terms and 
 he was early in his chair, which was placed at the right hand 
 side of the high platform where sat the Governor of the 
 Chickasaw Nation, the President of the Senate, and the 
 Speaker of the House of Representatives. The joint session 
 caused the big room to be crowded. 
 
 It was evident that the two Mattisons had their party well 
 under control, for the fullbloods were brought in and placed 
 carefully so that the Progressive party would be centralised 
 among Hattakowa's scattered supporters. Gee-Haw Blikens 
 stood against the wall, where the spectators jostled one 
 another. Just as the gavel fell Hattakowa and Samuel 
 Jenkins were seen to enter the legislative chamber. The 
 President of the Senate pounded upon the deal table. In- 
 stantly there was a silence. The fullblood, Henry Sands's 
 successor as Governor, was a stupid-looking Indian, who 
 betrayed not the slightest interest in the proceedings. 
 
 When it was announced that the counting of the returns 
 was next in the order of business, there was a stir of ex- 
 pectancy. Even the stolid fullbloods craned their necks to 
 see the National Secretary, as he stepped forward to deliver 
 a sealed package to the Speaker of the House. Four en- 
 
 172
 
 THE CONTEST FOR POWER 173 
 
 velopes fell from the wrapping when the Speaker broke the 
 seal. With due formality Panola County was first reported. 
 It gave Hattakowa a sweeping majority. The announcement 
 was cheered lustily by the Non-Progressive party, while the 
 men under the Mattisons' control maintained silence. Tish- 
 omingo County gave but twenty votes to Jenkins. Again 
 Hattakowa's friends cheered while their candidate, standing 
 at the back of the room, made no sign, as he steadily watched 
 the men on the platform. Pickens County returned a ma- 
 jority in even hundreds for Jenkins, and Pontotoc also went 
 against Hattakowa. 
 
 A breathless silence lasted while the Speaker made a quick 
 computation. The older Mattison smiled triumphantly at 
 a moment when Beaumont was glancing back at Hattakowa. 
 
 Again the gavel dropped upon the deal table. 
 
 " The Speaker is ready to announce the returns," said a 
 commanding voice. Stepping to the very edge of the platform, 
 the Speaker began the legal formula, to which no one listened 
 until he came to the words : " Joseph Dixon, having received 
 a majority of fifty-five votes, I hereby declare to be the 
 newly elected Governor of the Chickasaw Nation." 
 
 The interpreter repeated each word in the Chickasaw dia- 
 lect, and instantly the room became a bedlam of confused 
 sound. Hattakowa's friends cheered and shouted, while his 
 opponents groaned and hissed. It was evident that Matti- 
 son and the other leaders of the Progressive party were 
 astonished at the result. For a few moments their con- 
 sternation prevented them from taking any action. The 
 Speaker announced that Joseph Dixon would be conducted 
 to the platform by George Beaumont and John Oaktree. 
 Then Mattison took the floor. 
 
 " I protest! " he said. " There is a mistake in the returns 
 of Pickens County. I ask that the installation of Joseph 
 Dixon as Governor of the Chickasaw Nation be postponed 
 until investigation can be made."
 
 174 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " No ! No ! No ! " cried members of the Non-Progressive 
 party, but the hubbub was so great that words could not be 
 heard above the noise of moving chairs and stamping feet. 
 
 With his arms folded, Hattakowa looked on as if he were 
 in no way concerned. He was quick to understand that in 
 some manner the dishonest efforts of his enemies had mis- 
 carried ; they had made a mistake in their calculations. He 
 saw Gee-Haw Blikens slink away from the door, and no- 
 ticed that the Mattisons were taking counsel with several 
 squaw men. 
 
 Someone moved to adjourn until the next day, and 
 Hattakowa passed out of doors with the crowd. 
 
 Henry Sands, who had been among the spectators, was 
 always ready to act in times of emergency. Stationing him- 
 self upon the front steps of the capitol, he quietly invited all 
 who belonged to the Non-Progressive party to report after 
 sundown at Moma Binna, and every man was cautioned to 
 keep secret the fact that a meeting had been arranged. 
 
 That night members of the legislature were not the only 
 men who gathered at Moma Binna. Two hundred of 
 Hattakowa's supporters came to offer assistance in asserting 
 the rights of the new Governor. Before the hour of the 
 conference Sands had had the grounds of Moma Binna 
 patrolled so that there could be no danger of spies from the 
 opposition. Then he addressed the men. He proposed that 
 some time after midnight they should march to the capitol 
 and take possession. This plan met with enthusiastic ap- 
 proval. While the men smoked and waited, scouts who 
 were sent down to the Poyner tavern on reconnoitering tours, 
 came back with the news that the two Mattisons were about 
 the only sober members of the opposition party. In some 
 mysterious way, several kegs of whisky had been smuggled 
 into Tishomingo, and, as the town marshal and the sheriff 
 belonged to the Progressive political faith, there was no inter- 
 ference with the orgy.
 
 THE CONTEST FOR POWER 175 
 
 It was judged advisable to delay the march to the capitol 
 until three o'clock in the morning, when most of the revellers 
 would be sleeping off the effects of their debauch. Then, 
 under cover of darkness, the men, with Hattakowa leading, 
 and Beaumont and Sands bringing up the rear, moved noise- 
 lessly down the hill. The Indian instinct, long dormant, 
 appeared to awaken, and the members of the Non-Progressive 
 party walked in single file as stealthily as if they were start- 
 ing upon the war path. 
 
 Beaumont had the keys of the capitol ; entrance, therefore, 
 was easy. The two hundred men took possession without 
 being discovered. It had been stipulated by Beaumont that 
 no one should carry a weapon of any sort. 
 
 " We have right on our side," he said, " and we must not 
 lay ourselves open to the temptation of resorting to vio- 
 lence." 
 
 When the hour for the morning session came, the men 
 who had kept the night's vigil had breakfasted in camp style 
 from supplies hastily provided by Beaumont and Sands, and 
 the members of the legislature were in their places long before 
 the opposition began to arrive. Hattakowa occupied a seat 
 on the platform, and, when the fullblood who had held the 
 chief office in the Nation came in, he hesitated a moment 
 before going to his chair. The President of the Senate and 
 the Speaker of the House showed surprise when they first 
 saw Hattakowa, but, according to the returns, he was the 
 newly elected Governor, and they began the business of the 
 day without appearing to notice anything unusual. From 
 the floor, Sands, who was a member of the Senate, moved that 
 Joseph Dixon be installed as Governor. The motion was 
 seconded, and, before the opposition knew what was happen- 
 ing, Hattakowa was taking the oath of office. 
 
 In clear, steady tones the new Governor of the Chickasaws 
 addressed his people. He said he stood for justice to the 
 Indians, who must, necessarily, be the victims of the white
 
 176 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 man's progress. As head of the Nation he declared that he 
 would fight every measure that threatened to deprive the 
 Chickasaws of their allotment of the lands which was their 
 lawful heritage. 
 
 " The water still runs, and the grass still grows," he said, 
 in conclusion, " but while the streams are yet flowing over 
 the green plains there will dawn a day the sun of which 
 will shine upon not one acre of farm or forest that belongs 
 to the Indian. I am an obstructionist who would postpone 
 the time of our tribal extinction. I know that we must be- 
 come as the dead leaves of long-forgotten autumns; I know 
 that our name must be written in blood upon the pages of the 
 white man's history. I know that the good in us will never 
 be known to those who have taught us how bad it is possible 
 for a man to become. But, in these last years of the exist- 
 ence of the Five Nations, I would compel the white man to 
 realise how great we might have been if he had recognised 
 the brotherhood of the races which should bind together all 
 the children of the earth." 
 
 While Hattakowa spoke, even his enemies listened with 
 respect, and they were still under the spell of his personality 
 when they heard him name the officers whom it was the 
 Governor's privilege to appoint. After Hattakowa had 
 formed his staff, the session was adjourned. 
 
 The next day the sheriff of Pickens County presented an 
 amended election report, which was duly sworn to. This 
 set forth that an error had been made in the count, and it 
 gave to Jenkins a majority which entitled him to the coveted 
 office. The report was not accepted, for the Non-Progressive 
 party was able to have it put upon the table until the re- 
 turns could be investigated. 
 
 For several days Hattakowa and his party caused the busi- 
 ness of the legislature to proceed as smoothly as if all dis- 
 putes had been settled. In Pickens County Judge Maury 
 and his son were engaged in an attempt to prove that fraudu-
 
 THE CONTEST FOR POWER 177 
 
 lent votes had been counted, but they did not succeed in 
 getting any evidence, except that which showed that Billy 
 Brown had given money and advice to the Progressive party. 
 It was evident that the banker had been shrewd enough to 
 make the two Mattisons believe in his honesty and disin- 
 terestedness. 
 
 At the various sessions of the legislature there was an air 
 of suppressed excitement and apprehension. On the day that 
 the elder Mattison introduced into the senate a bill designat- 
 ing the Wauchula National Bank as the repository of the 
 tribal funds of the Chickasaw Nation, the expected outbreak 
 occurred. Parliamentary formalities were ignored by the 
 Non-Progressive party, which accused Mattison of being the 
 agent of the white interlopers, the most dangerous of whom 
 was Billy Brown, president of the bank. There was a 
 scene of such turbulence that Sands and Beaumont moved an 
 adjournment. In the afternoon a joint session of the two 
 houses was called. Then it was noticed that Hattakowa sat 
 upon the platform. As Governor Dixon, he readily ob- 
 tained a hearing. In a few words he explained how he had 
 come into possession of certain documents that were of 
 interest to the Chickasaw Nation. With Sands as inter- 
 preter, he read, line by line, the copies of Billy Brown's papers 
 which had been lost in the cyclone. Even when the Matti- 
 sons comprehended the meaning of the syndicate formed for 
 the importation of Mississippi Indians to claim shares in the 
 Territory lands, they tried to drown Hattakowa's voice by 
 cries of " Out of order! Out of order! " The new Gov- 
 ernor stopped for a moment, while the President of the 
 Senate restored quiet. 
 
 " I demand respect for my office, if not for myself," said 
 Hattakowa, throwing back his head, and casting a flashing 
 glance upon his audience. There was majesty in his pose. 
 With a dominant power that might have been part of the 
 great chief Apushamatahah's legacy to him, he compelled
 
 178 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 silence. When the reading was ended, Jimmy Sunfish, in 
 behalf of the fullbloods, who were slow to understand the 
 meaning of legal phraseology, asked that certain paragraphs 
 be repeated. Hattakowa read a second time from the pro- 
 visions according to which thousands of acres could be ob- 
 tained by the scheming white men. 
 
 A murmur of anger rose in volume until it became a 
 deafening clamour. Standing upon his chair Cole Mattison 
 shouted: " Why do you listen to thieves who steal a man's 
 private papers? " One of John Oaktree's sons dragged him 
 from the chair. The fullbloods looked and listened with 
 but a vague understanding of the meaning of the scene. 
 From the platform Hattakowa looked down upon the surg- 
 ing crowd, for not a man remained in his seat, and spectators 
 mingled with the legislators. The President of the Senate 
 and the Speaker of the House took turns in wielding the 
 gavel, but no one paid any attention to their efforts for the 
 restoration of order. Presently the Speaker of the House 
 sent the pages through the crowd to announce that the Senate 
 would retire to its separate chamber, and the withdrawal of 
 the stronger body of men made it possible for the House 
 to take up the regular business of the day.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 THE SIEGE OF THE CAPITOL 
 
 Two mornings later when Hattakowa went early to the 
 capitol with Beaumont, Sands, and John Oaktree, they found 
 four of the Indian police guarding the doors. 
 
 " You must not enter," said one of the men, respectfully 
 saluting the Governor. 
 
 " By whose order am I barred out from my office in this 
 building? " Hattakowa asked. 
 
 " Senator Mattison telegraphed to Washington, and the 
 Department of the Interior has ordered the United States 
 Marshal to lock the capitol until the contest can be settled," 
 was the answer. 
 
 " Until I receive some direct notification I shall not 
 recognise the order," replied Hattakowa, passing the un- 
 resisting guards and opening the doors for his friends, many 
 of whom had gathered during the brief dialogue. 
 
 In a quarter of an hour a large force of Indian police with 
 the United States Marshal in command surrounded the 
 capitol. Inside the building fifty of Hattakowa's friends had 
 entrenched themselves in the suite of rooms that served as the 
 Governor's private offices. A few of the younger halfbreeds 
 carried firearms, but the new Governor requested his friends 
 to remember that he was the representative of law and order. 
 Inasmuch as the Department of the Interior had not issued a 
 command to him, he held that he had the right to retain his 
 office by force, if necessary, until legal cause for his removal 
 could be produced. 
 
 As the day wore on, an excited crowd gathered on the 
 capitol hill. The duly accredited members of the legislature 
 
 179
 
 i8o THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 protested when they were not admitted to the capitol, but the 
 guards had received reinforcements, and no one passed the 
 doors through which Hattakowa had effected an entrance. 
 
 After night had fallen, the United States Marshal, who 
 declined to permit any food to be delivered to the men inside 
 the building, winked at the fact that much whisky was being 
 passed around among the members of the Progressive party, 
 who shared their flasks with the Indian police. 
 
 An hour after midnight a drunken fullblood fired a rifle 
 shot through the windows of the Governor's office. This was 
 a signal for a fusillade from a score of intoxicated halfbreeds 
 and squaw men. The maudlin crowd was instantly trans- 
 formed into a desperate mob, which still retained enough of 
 reasoning power to feel the instinct of self-protection. Fall- 
 ing back behind the trees the men waited to see whether their 
 fire would be returned. The Indian police vainly tried to 
 disperse the mob, but the night watch was helpless against 
 the overwhelming number composing the disorderly crowd. 
 
 The doors of the capitol had been locked on the inside. 
 Suddenly they were thrown open and Hattakowa stood alone 
 upon the steps. Behind him shone a big lamp, against the 
 light of which his tall figure was strongly silhouetted. 
 Peering out into the darkness, he sought to locate the attack- 
 ing force. A bullet whistled above his uncovered head. 
 
 " Cowards," he shouted, " come here where I can speak to 
 you." 
 
 The drunken men slunk farther into the shadows of the 
 trees. 
 
 " We don't want to hear you," answered Cole Mattison, 
 who had been leaning against the wall of the building. 
 Slowly he walked up the capitol steps and, without warn- 
 ing, struck at Hattakowa. " I have a chance to pay an old 
 grudge now ! " he cried. " I have hated you all my life." 
 
 The two men clinched. For a few moments there was a 
 contest of strength so evenly matched that the mob left the
 
 THE SIEGE OF THE CAPITOL 181 
 
 shelter of the trees to get a nearer view of the struggle. 
 Mattison, who was heavier that Hattakowa, dragged him 
 down the steps, but the assailant was not so skilful a wrest- 
 ler as the man who defended himself from an unprovoked 
 attack. By a lucky stroke Hattakowa felled his enemy, 
 and, when he had him down, turned contemptuously from 
 his vanquished foe. As soon as he could recover breath, 
 Hattakowa spoke to the crowd, that had formed a circle 
 around the antagonists. 
 
 " You have wounded one of the sons of John Oaktree," 
 he said. " As Governor of the Chickasaw Nation, I shall 
 cause the punishment of every man who has used firearms 
 to-night." 
 
 " You are Governor for a week ! " jeered a drunken half- 
 breed. " We're going to count you out." 
 
 Hattakowa's lips curled scornfully. 
 
 " I want to speak to the United States Marshal," he said, 
 ignoring the remark, and looking for the officer, who was 
 not in the crowd. 
 
 " The marshal's down in the tavern taking a rest," vol- 
 unteered someone. 
 
 " Tell him I desire to see him, and have him bring a 
 physician with him," commanded Hattakowa, before whom 
 the mob fell back as he turned to ascend the capitol steps. 
 
 Gee-Haw Blikens staggered toward him. 
 
 " Them there papahs I found ain't goin' to do you much 
 good," he taunted with a maudlin laugh. " You all's land's 
 goin' to be cut up and give away and you can't he'p it ! " 
 
 Hattakowa looked at the white man as he would have 
 glanced at an ugly cur, and, not deigning further to notice 
 him, crossed the threshold of the capitol, without encounter- 
 ing interference from the guards, who were secretly his 
 friends. 
 
 He had just entered the building when a horseman rode 
 up to the steps. The rider compelled the crowd to give way
 
 1 82 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 before him, and, alighting, looked down at the mob, which 
 mistook him for a messenger who might bear important news. 
 
 " Where is Governor Dixon ? " 
 
 " If you go to find him, you'll have to stay with him," 
 answered a surly white man. " If you're a friend of his'n, 
 you'd better go back w r here you come from." 
 
 The drunken guards aroused themselves enough to stand 
 in the doorway when Marchand tried to enter the capitol. 
 
 " I come from the Dawes Commission," said Marchand, 
 with a voice of authority, and the men stood back to let him 
 pass. 
 
 He found Hattakowa, Beaumont, and Sands, who opened 
 the barricaded doors to let him into the rooms, where they 
 had passed many anxious hours. 
 
 " I heard that General Chillingsworth was on his way 
 here, and I lost no time in coming to tell you, Mr. Dixon," 
 he said, shaking Hattakowa's hand with a clasp that gave 
 assurance of his understanding of the situation. " The Gen- 
 eral will report to the Department of the Interior, and you 
 need have no fear that he will not be just." 
 
 On a long settee in the corner lay John Oaktree's son, to 
 whom Sands had given intelligent attention. A bullet had 
 shattered the young man's arm, and he was exhausted from 
 loss of blood. 
 
 " Inasmuch as General Chillingsworth is coming, I think 
 it is w r ise for us to persuade Jenkins and his friends to agree 
 that they will suspend hostilities until the Department of the 
 Interior can arbitrate," said Beaumont. " In the old days 
 we could have held the capitol until our warlike spirit would 
 have won the admiration and loyalty of all the fullbloods, 
 but now we shall have the greedy white population against 
 us, with Billy Brown and others of his kind to foment all 
 sorts of troubles." 
 
 ' You speak wisely," answered Sands. " We have a hun- 
 dred hidden foes to every open enemy."
 
 THE SIEGE OF THE CAPITOL 183 
 
 " I have sent for the United States Marshal who, as usual, 
 is not to be found," announced Hattakowa. 
 
 After the fusillade the lamps, which Hattakowa had 
 quickly extinguished, had not been relighted, and the largest 
 room of the office suite was dimly illuminated by a candle 
 stuck into an empty ink bottle. Beaumont searched Hatta- 
 kowa's desk for papers, and, seating himself at a convenient 
 table, began to draw up articles of agreement by which 
 Jenkins and Hattakowa should pledge themselves to abide 
 by the decision of the Department of the Interior. When 
 the draft of the agreement was finished, Marchand went out 
 in search of the marshal, who had arrived with Jenkins. 
 Hattakowa was soon summoned. 
 
 " It is my duty to arrest you for resisting the Indian 
 police," declared the marshal, an ugly-visaged mixedblood. 
 
 " As Governor of the Nation, I advise you to arrest the 
 men who fired upon the capitol to-night, and those who sup- 
 plied the whisky that made the crowd irresponsible," Hatta- 
 kowa answered. 
 
 The marshal looked at him angrily, and, hearing a shout 
 from the crowd outside, withdrew to discuss the situation 
 with Jenkins. In an hour he came back with the document 
 signed by Samuel Jenkins. Hattakowa affixed his signature 
 to it. 
 
 Just before dawn the capitol was evacuated by Hattakowa 
 and his friends. The Indian police, who had been doing 
 but half-hearted service, because Hattakowa had been the 
 most fearless member of the Chickasaw force, obeyed with 
 alacrity orders issued by the Governor. A litter for John 
 Oaktree's son was improvised, and one of the men w r ent in 
 search of a physician. 
 
 In order that he might lock in the vault the copy of his 
 agreement with Jenkins, Hattakowa lingered in his office 
 after the others had gone out. When he entered the corri- 
 dor leading to the main hall of the capitol he found it so
 
 1 84 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 dark that he had to feel his way. Hattakowa had never 
 known fear, but, as he turned the key in the office door, he 
 thought he was conscious that someone was lurking near 
 him. He walked a few steps, and then he was sure that he 
 was followed. As he turned, an unseen hand stabbed him, 
 and, when the knife was withdrawn, he felt a stinging pain 
 in his right shoulder. He tried to lift his arm to seize his 
 assailant, but his hand was powerless. 
 
 There was a second of sickening uncertainty, as if the 
 unseen foe waited to know how well he had done his work, 
 and Hattakowa had presence of mind enough to back up 
 against the wall, where he waited until his enemy should 
 make a second lunge at him. Groping in the dark, the 
 hand that held the dagger touched him and he sprang with 
 the lightness and suppleness that distinguishes the Indian 
 wrestler. Although his right arm was helpless, he used his 
 left with such adroitness that he wrested the knife from his 
 antagonist as they fell together to the floor. Hattakowa felt 
 the blood gush from his wound, and a faintness almost over- 
 came him. In that moment his enemy thrust him aside, and 
 he could hear him steal away in the direction of the rear of 
 the building. With difficulty Hattakowa drew himself to 
 his feet. Holding the bloody knife he had captured, he 
 managed to make his way out into the fresh morning air, 
 to Beaumont and Marchand, who were waiting for him on 
 the hill, a few yards from the capitol.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 DEFEAT 
 
 WHEN General Chillingsworth arrived at Tishomingo, he 
 found that the Governor of the Chickasaw Nation had been 
 seriously wounded. The night of mob rule had wrought a 
 change in public sentiment. The white settlers, who beheld 
 the situation from the vantage ground of spectators, believed 
 that the grossest frauds had been practised, and it had been 
 demonstrated to them that the Non-Progressive party was the 
 one which was civilised, and that the Progressive party con- 
 tained many who were ready to resort to violence to attain 
 their ends. Marchand had remained in Tishomingo because 
 he found he could be of service to Pakali's father, and he 
 proved to be of much assistance in collecting information 
 for the department inspector. The day before his return to 
 Washington General Chillingsworth was permitted to see 
 Hattakowa, who had already begun to chafe against the 
 restraint of the sick room at Moma Binna. 
 
 In Indian Territory, politics seems to be a dangerous 
 pursuit," remarked General Chillingsworth, as he stood by 
 the bed upon which Hattakowa lay. 
 
 " You see we Chickasaws are becoming so civilised that we 
 are ready to commit murder in the name of law and order, 
 where formerly we scalped one another in the name of hate 
 and revenge," replied Hattakowa. 
 
 " This is a bad business," declared the General. " There 
 appears to be not the least doubt that you were elected, and 
 by a larger count than was first returned." 
 
 " That fact will not make much difference with the de- 
 cision of the Department of the Interior," answered Hatta- 
 
 185
 
 1 86 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 kowa. " By the time you reach Washington there will be so 
 much evidence and so much testimony to counterbalance your 
 report that the Department will not dare to make a decision 
 for me." 
 
 " The Federal Government follows the policy which is 
 believed to be best for the Indian," the General replied, with 
 the laudable desire of defending the authorities at Wash- 
 ington. 
 
 " It is four hundred years too late for us to expect justice," 
 said Hattakowa, wearily turning his head on the pillow. 
 
 The General took leave of him with many assurances of 
 friendship, but the glimpse of the inspector merely strength- 
 ened Hattakowa's conviction that he could not hope for fed- 
 eral support. 
 
 The next day Marchand accompanied General Chillings- 
 worth on a trip to Pickens County, and at Moma Binna life 
 gradually assumed its usual routine. Mrs. Dixon had come 
 to take care of her son, and when Hattakowa was out of 
 danger he was conscious that the vague impression of Pakali's 
 presence, felt during the days of extreme weakness, had not 
 been due to his habit of dreaming of her. Often she sat in 
 the chair at the head of his bed, and her nearness soothed his 
 troubled spirit. Miko now and then tiptoed in to gaze 
 solemnly at The Man Looking for the Sun, and once, when 
 no one was watching, the child placed upon Hattakowa's 
 pillow his most prized possession a pollywog he had lately 
 caught in a shallow pool at the edge of Pennington Creek. 
 
 One morning Hattakowa awoke feeling much refreshed. 
 He had had a dream in which he and Pakali seemed to be 
 journeying through a forest on a road that would never end. 
 He came back to the real world with a start, and, after he 
 had thought for a long time, he asked his mother whether 
 he might be permitted to talk for half an hour. 
 
 Mrs. Dixon bade him to be patient, but, with a man's 
 wilfulness, he asserted that he intended to show how far he
 
 DEFEAT 187 
 
 had recovered. Long before it was time for Pakali and her 
 father to visit him he was restless and impatient. When they 
 did come he was looking tired. Beaumont reported that, 
 notwithstanding all his efforts, it was impossible to find out 
 who had been cowardly enough to stab a man in the dark. 
 
 " I can hardly believe that Cole Mattison, whom we have 
 known since he was a boy, could commit such an act even 
 though he was drunk," declared Beaumont, " and yet, he 
 had insulted you earlier in the evening, and it is a plausible 
 theory that he might try to retaliate for your easy victory 
 over him." 
 
 " It does not seem possible that anyone could hate Hatta- 
 kowa," remarked Pakali, smiling upon her kinsman. 
 
 " Cole Mattison has the Indian love of leadership," said 
 Beaumont, " and somehow he has always envied Hattakowa, 
 ever since their schooldays, when all the boys disliked Cole." 
 
 " When I am well I shall be able to find my foe," said 
 Hattakowa, with confidence in his tone. He motioned 
 toward the chair in which he wished Pakali to sit. As he 
 made the gesture with his long, thin, left hand, Pakali saw 
 that the ruby flashed on his finger. After Beaumont had gone 
 away Hattakowa removed the ring. 
 
 " Pakali, will you let me talk to you very seriously? " he 
 said. His brown skin showed the peculiar opaque shade that 
 illness gives to persons of the darker races, and there were 
 lines about the eyes and mouth that marked the thought and 
 experiences of an intense nature. His voice was so solemn 
 that Pakali answered, evasively: 
 
 " Why should you be serious to-day? Isn't it enough to 
 be happy because your life is spared ? " 
 
 " As I have lain here helpless I have felt that, for me, life 
 is not a gift I can value without the love of my Star 
 Woman." 
 
 " Often you have told me you would not mention the 
 forbidden subject," Pakali answered gently.
 
 1 88 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " I mean to be so strong " Hattakowa drew a long 
 breath " yet when you know that I think of you every 
 waking hour you will forgive my thoughts for taking words. 
 In these hours when I have had time to think, I have ad- 
 mitted to myself the impossibility of helping my people. We 
 must submit to the white man's tyranny. The spirit in me 
 is a survival of a dying race. If it were not for you and 
 for my mother I should regret my returning strength." 
 
 Pakali put her hand upon Hattakowa's and said softly: 
 " We cannot change our destinies." 
 
 " Yet," he spoke slowly, " the weakness in me craves some 
 word that might make the future years beckon to me. I 
 talk to you to-day because I must face the task of living and 
 I know there can be no halfway place where you and I 
 can meet." 
 
 " I thought," faltered Pakali, " I thought we were almost 
 contented." 
 
 Hattakowa turned his head on his pillow and was silent 
 for a few moments. 
 
 " Could you kiss me, Pakali ? " he asked presently. " I 
 am going away from Moma Binna to-morrow, and after that, 
 when the Department of the Interior has notified me that 1 
 am not Governor, I shall leave the Territory for a time." 
 
 Pakali, leaning over Hattakowa, touched her lips to his, 
 and her tears fell upon his face. Quickly she left the room, 
 and Hattakowa replaced the ruby ring upon his finger.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 MIKO'S EDUCATION BEGINS 
 
 MUCH to the astonishment of Beaumont and Mrs. Dixon, 
 Hattakowa insisted upon being removed to his ranch the 
 day after his conversation with Pakali. Although he was 
 warned that the trip might cause him serious injury, he per- 
 sisted in his determination to leave Moma Binna. He had 
 been at the ranch- a fortnight when an official communication 
 from the Department of the Interior reached him. This set 
 forth that, whereas, before the correct count of electors had 
 been made, Joseph Dixon had been installed as Governor of 
 the Chickasaw Nation, the office was held by him illegally. 
 With due formality the said Joseph Dixon was ordered to 
 surrender all that pertained to tfie disputed office to Samuel 
 Jenkins, who was declared to be the rightful Governor. 
 
 As soon as he was able to travel, Hattakowa started for 
 Colorado. During the weeks of his confinement to the 
 house he had become affected with the melancholy that at- 
 tacks a strong man when suddenly made helpless. He had 
 never before been ill, and, in the years since he had attained 
 manhood, he had been able to escape his thoughts when they 
 pressed upon him too insistently. Nature had always 
 brought peace to him after he had been vexed by the con- 
 templation of his life's problems, but, now that he was shut 
 in beneath a roof which hid the heavens, he had faced the 
 future squarely. Lying in bed day after day he had wearily 
 reasoned in a circle which invariably brought him back to the 
 one hopeless conclusion that Pakali was lost to him forever. 
 His recent association with her had but served to make him 
 understand that the savage instinct to kill the man who 
 thwarted his will was nurtured by each day's added knowl- 
 
 189
 
 190 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 edge of what Pakali might have been to him. In a dumb 
 agony of rebellion he had longed to find Arnold Stuart. In 
 imagination he had felt the fierce joy of killing him. He 
 had thirsted for blood vengeance, the Indian's panacea for 
 all wrong. The idea of blood vengeance gradually burned 
 into his brain. Although he knew that Pakali's love had been 
 given irrevocably to the white man, still his heart demanded 
 her freedom. When Miko, grave-eyed and wondering, had 
 come to his bedside at Moma Binna, he had cursed Heaven 
 because the child was not his son. 
 
 Hattakowa did not care for the things that most men crave. 
 He had abundant wealth, but money meant little to him. 
 The personal prominence that the position as Governor of 
 the Chickasaws would have given him was distasteful to 
 his nature, which shrank from responsibility. It was a relief 
 rather than a disappointment when the decision of the De- 
 partment of the Interior reached him. He had done what 
 he could for his people, but now he found himself without 
 any inspiring interest in the little world that lay within the 
 Territory. The physician had prescribed change of scene. 
 Once he had mentioned a trip to Europe, but Hattakowa 
 scornfully declared that the cities the white man had built 
 would not teach him resignation to the Indian's lot. Palaces 
 would remind him of kings who oppressed their subjects, he 
 said. " No, I shall go away from cities," he announced. 
 
 So Hattakowa journeyed to the Rocky Mountains, leav- 
 ing Pakali with an ache in her heart because he suffered 
 through her. 
 
 In the Territory months of quiet followed the excitement 
 of the election. The proceedings of the legislature were 
 marked by frequent clashes between the Progressive and . 
 the Non-Progressive members, and little business had been 
 finished when the session was ended. The Non-Progressive 
 party gained one victory of importance: Billy Brown's bank 
 did not obtain the custody of the Chickasaw public funds.
 
 MIKO'S EDUCATION BEGINS 191 
 
 The exposure of the banker's connection with the syndicate 
 made it impossible for any member of the legislature to 
 support the bill designating the Kansan as a person worthy 
 to be entrusted with money belonging to the Indians. Thus 
 far, Hattakowa had been able to do his people a service. 
 Samuel Jenkins, the Governor, retired to his ranch after the 
 adjournment of the legislature. 
 
 At Moma Binna, Pakali and Miko found the house too 
 large. The many closed rooms gave a deserted air to the 
 rambling building. Although she passed several hours a day 
 in teaching her son, Pakali discovered that the time dragged. 
 Occasional visits from her Aunt Totopehah relieved the 
 monotony, but when Hattakowa sent for his mother, to 
 whom he promised a long pleasure trip through the moun- 
 tains, Pakali felt a loneliness that threw her back upon her 
 own memories for companionship. 
 
 Twice within the next year Philip Marchand came to 
 Tishomingo and Pakali welcomed him as if he were one of 
 her kinsmen. The young Kentuckian acknowledged a severe 
 homesickness, and his longing for friends w r as met with a 
 quick sympathy, since Pakali confessed to him that she felt 
 a restlessness which was almost discontent. Marchand 
 brought her the newest books, and, in return, she played for 
 him the great compositions they both loved. 
 
 Marchand had become a valuable employe of the Dawes 
 Commission. As his work gave him more and more of an 
 insight into the condition of the Indians of the Territory, he 
 became an enthusiastic partisan of the Five Nations. He 
 and Pakali discussed the future of the Territory, when he 
 brought reports of the crowds that were pouring into Mus- 
 cogee. On the occasion of his second visit, Pakali drew his 
 attention to several new cottages on a street recently laid out. 
 There was talk of a new capitol building, she told him, and 
 he answered that he feared Tishomingo would soon be as 
 commonplace as any other western town.
 
 i 9 2 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 In the second year of Hattakowa's absence from the Terri- 
 tory, Beaumont, who managed his affairs, was directed to 
 set aside a fund of several thousand dollars for the employ- 
 ment of attorneys who should protect the interests of ignorant 
 fullbloods. Hattakowa wrote seldom, and most of his letters 
 were addressed to Miko, as they contained promises of 
 ponies, guns, and numerous other things dear to a boy's 
 heart. 
 
 It happened that Pakali's long-cherished idea of a school 
 was realised in a most unexpected manner. One day Beau- 
 mont declared that Miko needed companions. The old man 
 said the boy must not be tied too closely to his mother's apron 
 string, lest he should grow to be a woman-hearted Chickasaw 
 instead of a fine young brave. Therefore, several of the 
 vacant rooms were opened. A dozen Indian children were 
 invited to attend school at Moma Binna, and a teacher from 
 a northern normal college was engaged. Then Pakali found 
 something partially to fill the void in her life. In preparing 
 Miko for his future, she could extend her influence far beyond 
 Moma Binna. She could help many of those who would be 
 the Chickasaws of a to-morrow in which the waters would 
 run, and the grass would grow on lands possessed no longer 
 by the Indian.
 
 BOOK III
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 AUTUMN 
 
 EARLY autumn had spread a haze over Indian Territory. 
 In the valleys the fields were yellow and brown, after long 
 weeks of drought. Oak and maple trees were touched with 
 the golden hue to which the springtime green fades when the 
 frosts are late in coming. In the valley lands the brown and 
 emptying cotton stalks waved in the gentle breezes that swept 
 northward from the Gulf, and along the winding roads that 
 led from plantations to towns lay the white waste of an 
 abundant harvest. 
 
 Past Tishomingo, Pennington Creek, shrunken in its rocky 
 course, hastened on with a softened sound that told how much 
 of its springtime power had been lost in the summer months. 
 Its quiet pools, over which the willows hung, were shallower, 
 and many a long-washed boulder was exposed high above the 
 level of the stream. Here and there foot bridges had been 
 thrown across the creek, which now hurried by an ambitious 
 town where once had stagnated a picturesque village. 
 
 Tishomingo had changed in the four years which had 
 passed since Hattakowa had borne for a brief month the title 
 and the responsibilities of the office of Governor of the 
 Chickasaw Nation. In those four years the white man had 
 gradually appropriated the Territory to his own uses. He 
 had established new towns, and in the old settlements he had 
 crowded out the Indian, whose lands he had coveted. Tisho- 
 mingo had been the last place to feel the transforming touch 
 of the dominant race. Long after Muscogee had become a 
 city which boasted its likeness to a state capital; long after 
 Ardmore had grown into an important centre of business 
 activity, Tishomingo remained undisturbed. Then the
 
 I 9 6 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 much-advertised Choctaw route extended its iron rails to the 
 Chickasaw seat of government. A picturesque station was 
 erected and travellers by the hundred stopped to admire the 
 big stone capitol, which had replaced the historic old brick 
 building on the hill. By and by, some of these travellers came 
 back to explore what they called the most beautiful valley 
 in the Territory. And then, almost before the fullbloods 
 who lived far out on the hills had heard that Tishomingo was 
 attracting attention, a new town had replaced the old settle- 
 ment. In thirty days a three-story brick hotel, with all 
 the latest modern improvements, was erected on the main 
 street, and opposite it rose a bank building of dressed stone, 
 like that which had been used in the walls of the new capitol. 
 Within the space of six months Tishomingo grew from a 
 population of a few hundred to two thousand. Mer- 
 chants rushed to the growing town, and stores which were 
 miniature copies of Chicago places of business, crowded out 
 the wooden shacks where general merchandise consisting 
 of tobacco, bandana handkerchiefs, and calfskin boots, had 
 been previously sold. 
 
 When Pakali looked down upon Tishomingo from the 
 place where she had stood with Hattakowa on the night of 
 Stuart's arrival ten years before, she had the feeling that she 
 was an alien. It was as if the old Tishomingo by some 
 strange magic had been replaced by a new city. Moma 
 Binna remained as the one of the few houses identified with 
 the old settlement. Pakali's school had made necessary the 
 addition of a large wing, with doors opening upon verandas 
 on both sides of the structure. Here, in company with 
 nearly one hundred Indian children, Miko's education was 
 now proceeding under the most favourable circumstances. 
 Most of the dozen pupils that had begun with the first 
 class, four years before, still contended with Miko for honour 
 marks in the primary studies. The manual training depart- 
 ment had proved most fascinating to the brown-skinned boys
 
 AUTUMN 197 
 
 and girls. Beaumont gave hearty assistance whenever finan- 
 cial aid was necessary. He declared that Pakali had in- 
 herited the missionary spirit from the Little Mother, and it 
 was as if he were helping some plan the wife he mourned 
 would have led him to encourage. 
 
 The new inhabitants of Tishomingo had little knowledge 
 of Indian life, and they often showed an insulting curiosity 
 concerning the rambling house on the hill, for the doors of 
 Moma Binna were closed to strangers. The newcomers 
 were disposed to assume a patronising attitude toward the 
 Chickasaws, and Pakali, quick to detect a supercilious note 
 in the tone of cordiality with which she was met at church 
 and elsewhere, held aloof from the families of the white 
 fortune seekers. She knew that tourists, from the big brick 
 hotel, w r atched the wagons and saddle horses which each 
 morning carried children up the hill to Moma Binna. Now 
 and then travellers ventured to climb up to the old garden, 
 made beautiful since city waterworks permitted lavish irri- 
 gation. Flowers had been one of the Little Mother's joys, 
 and Pakali cultivated the roses that she had been taught to 
 love. A smooth lawn now extended to the ledge where 
 Pakali stood so often to look out upon the little part of the 
 world which belonged to her life. When venturesome tour- 
 ists caught a glimpse of her, they acknowledged to one an- 
 other that the stories of her beauty were not exaggerated, 
 and they commented upon the fact that she dressed according 
 to the latest mode. 
 
 The years had changed Pakali, for the Indian of the South 
 matures early and ages quickly, but time had merely put a 
 mellowing touch upon her beauty. Her form, fuller and 
 stronger in its lines, had lost nothing of its supple grace. 
 She still had the girlish slenderness of waist and the litheness 
 of movement that had been counted among her youthful 
 charms. In repose her face had the settled sadness which 
 told of the soul's surrender to a haunting sorrow. In her dark
 
 i 9 8 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 eyes the lights of mirth and hope shone as if through shadows. 
 The Indian habit of reticence had taken hold of her; she 
 had learned the art of self-repression inasmuch as she had 
 discovered that one who had been robbed of love must make 
 terms with fate. She seldom permitted herself to indulge in 
 the luxury of remembering happier days. Upon Miko she 
 poured all the sweet incense of a heart capable of intense 
 emotion. 
 
 Pakali had been often lonely since Hattakowa had with- 
 drawn from all association with her. Twice in the four 
 years just passed, with her father and Miko, she had taken 
 long journeys. Once they had travelled for six months in 
 Europe, where she had vexed herself by trying to understand 
 how easily Stuart might have forgotten her in such surround- 
 ings. In Paris, the Territory appeared to be a part of an- 
 other age. Notwithstanding all her attempts at logic, Pakali 
 knew that what Hattakowa called the " great love " took no 
 account of time or place. When she visited cities she was 
 oppressed with the sense that she did not belong to the races 
 which had achieved all that was represented by the word 
 civilisation; she shrank from the attention that her father 
 attracted, for the old Chickasaw was easily recognised as 
 an Indian, and the scar on his cheek drew to him many ques- 
 tioning glances. 
 
 Miko each year showed more strongly his Chickasaw 
 blood. On shipboard he proudly proclaimed that he was an 
 Indian, and everywhere they went he was spoiled by women 
 who admired his peculiar type of physical attractiveness. 
 With a sense of relief Pakali had returned to Tishomingo; 
 each excursion into the white man's world helped to reconcile 
 her to the surroundings that had been hers since babyhood. 
 
 After the building of the railroad Marchand came oftener 
 to Tishomingo. The years had proved him worthy of a 
 woman's friendship, and Pakali had begun to treat him 
 much as she had treated Hattakowa.
 
 AUTUMN 199 
 
 The Creek, Seminole, and Cherokee allotments had in- 
 volved so much labour that the Chickasaws and Choctaws had 
 been compelled to wait for their apportionment, but the time 
 had now come when offices in the Tishomingo capitol were 
 being prepared for a corps of clerks from the force employed 
 by the Dawes Commission. 
 
 Marchand had been given the promise that he should be 
 one of the men entrusted with the Chickasaw allotment, 
 and he came frequently to Tishomingo in order to transact 
 preliminary business. On the morning after he had passed 
 a night at the new hotel the young Kentuckian went to Moma 
 Binna to see Pakali, for an hour, before he had to return to 
 Muscogee. He happened to reach the house just as the 
 Indian pupils were assembling for school. Miko, grown to 
 be a tall stripling of a boy, ran to meet him, for they had 
 become good friends. 
 
 " Don't you want me to ride with you? " asked Miko. " I 
 am tired of books, because it is a long time since the Man 
 Looking for the Sun let me go anywhere with him." 
 
 The boy had many of his mother's ways, and now he 
 looked up at Marchand with such pretty pleading in his big 
 eyes that it was difficult to resist the temptation to make a 
 holiday trip far into the country. 
 
 " You must not neglect your studies," admonished March- 
 and, with a smile, as he put his hand upon the child's 
 shoulder. " You have grown so fast that we must all realise 
 how soon you will be a man." 
 
 Miko knitted his strongly marked black brows, as he 
 thought for a moment: 
 
 " I am only nine," he said, " and the Man Looking for 
 the Sun always tells me that I can learn much from the 
 forests and rivers." 
 
 At this moment Pakali, who had been tying up a rose bush, 
 came to greet the visitor. 
 
 " I can guess that Miko has been trying to make you a
 
 200 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 conspirator who will help him escape from school to-day," 
 she remarked. " My son has the Indian love of the woods. 
 Every day he seems to develop some trait of the savage. Last 
 summer he rebelled against the tyranny of clothes." 
 
 " All boys are two-thirds barbarian," Marchand declared, 
 " and they don't lose all their primitive instincts even when 
 they are grown to be men. If you will be a partner in an 
 outdoor expedition to-day, I will play truant with Miko, for, 
 like him, I am tired of books." Addressing the boy, he 
 added : " My books are worse than any that the teachers 
 give you here in Moma Binna. I have to study big white 
 pages covered with puzzling figures which designate land 
 measurements." 
 
 Pakali shook her head, and, with something of her old 
 girlish manner, answered: 
 
 " There is no favouritism here at Moma Binna. If you 
 take Miko and me out into the woods, you will have to 
 invite three teachers and one hundred pupils, including Billy 
 Blikens." 
 
 " Much as I crave your society, Mrs. Stuart, I believe that 
 when it is diluted by the presence of a hundred other persons 
 it is a pleasure too tantalising to be sought without careful 
 deliberation." Marchand spoke in a bantering tone, which 
 carried with it more than the supeficial meaning of his 
 words. 
 
 " Remember you are setting aside an opportunity to be- 
 come acquainted with Billy Blikens," warned Pakali. 
 
 " Couldn't I be introduced to Billy now ? " suggested the 
 Kentuckian. " I confess I am curious to see Gee-Haw's 
 daughter, who is likely to cause me much trouble in the 
 course of the inevitable litigation which must accompany the 
 settlement of Mr. Brown's numerous claims." 
 
 At that moment Gee- Haw Blikens drove up the hill a 
 harnessed team of oxen, that had been attracting much atten- 
 tion in Tishomingo, which now counted the shiftless Blikens
 
 AUTUMN 201 
 
 among its residents. Gee-Haw's financial resources had been 
 steadily reduced since the birth of the little girl upon whom 
 he had promised to bestow the banker's name, and he had 
 lost his last horses. In earlier days he had acquired his 
 nickname because his laziness enabled him to drive oxen with 
 inexhaustible patience, and, when he needed beasts of burden 
 he naturally recalled his former ability in managing the slow- 
 going animals. He had a set of harness on his hands, and 
 the idea of utilising it had been applied with moderate 
 success. 
 
 Marchand could not help smiling when he saw Gee-Haw 
 pull upon the spliced lines in order to halt a badly matched 
 yoke of oxen. From a rickety old wagon the squaw man 
 lifted a small child, barely four years old. The little girl 
 wore a faded sunbonnet and a torn gingham frock. Her thin 
 legs were encased in stockings much in need of mending, and 
 her whole appearance betokened neglect. 
 
 " Come here, Billy," called Pakali, " I want this gentle- 
 man to see you." 
 
 Billy hung back. Upon her wizened, colourless little face 
 was a look of shrewd caution, and she immediately took 
 refuge behind the skirt of Pakali's linen gown. 
 
 " The other younguns are comin' a-foot," Gee-Haw an- 
 nounced, as he stood holding his team, which was restless 
 under the difficult task of chewing the cud while horses' bits 
 were adjusted to their mouths. 
 
 Marchand nodded to the squaw man, whom he despised, 
 because he knew that Beaumont and Dixon had been fre- 
 quently called upon to contribute to the support of the 
 Blikens family. Pakali, who had taken little Billy's hand, 
 spoke a few kindly words to the child's father, and then, 
 when the ox-team had been started down the hill, she led the 
 way back to the house, where Billy and Miko were turned 
 over to their teachers. 
 
 While the children were gathering for the morning session,
 
 202 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 Pakali and Marchand sat upon the veranda. The brooding 
 quiet of the autumn soothed their spirits. For several 
 moments Pakali looked out upon the distant hills. In the 
 garden, beds of dahlias were contrasting their flaming colours 
 with the green of the smoothly shaven lawn ; the vines and 
 rose bushes that covered the porch were crimson and yellow 
 and brown, and, as the fresh morning breeze stirred their 
 foliage, it carried away with it the scent of the drying leaves. 
 As Pakali's gaze was withdrawn from the hills, her eyes 
 caught the panorama presented by the spreading town of 
 Tishomingo, and she exclaimed: 
 
 " Each day I feel more and more an alien in my own land. 
 Behold the white man's city! " 
 
 " Tishomingo has changed so much that I forget I am in 
 the Chickasaw Nation until I come to Moma Binna," 
 Marchand answered. " You know I am often ashamed to 
 think that, in my humble way, I am helping this metamor- 
 phosis." 
 
 " My father reminds me almost daily that we must be 
 reconciled to what is inevitable," said Pakali. " In this 
 march of civilisation the red man must be trampled upon 
 and annihilated. It would be easier, however, to take a 
 philosophical view of the situation if what is proudly spoken 
 of as Tishomingo's boom had not brought so many unde- 
 sirable persons from Wauchula." 
 
 " Gee-Haw Blikens and his family are not exactly the 
 sort of settlers that an ambitious town would like to add 
 to its population," averred Marchand. 
 
 Marchand left the chair in which he had been sitting. 
 Leaning against one of the pillars of the veranda, he looked 
 down upon Pakali and, when she met his gaze, she felt the 
 delicate understanding Marchand had of her peculiar posi- 
 tion as an Indian woman among the white usurpers in 
 her native village. Always reverential toward women, the 
 young Kentuckian gave to Pakali the homage which had in 
 it tenderness as well as admiration.
 
 AUTUMN 203 
 
 " You do not find many friends among the white women. 
 Why is it? " he asked. 
 
 " Most of the newcomers have the feeling of contempt for 
 the Indians." An indignant light came into Pakali's eyes. 
 " Even when they realise that we are educated, they treat 
 us with an air of condescension which is intolerable. Some- 
 times I wish I could be as sarcastic as Hattakowa, of whom 
 they are all afraid." 
 
 " Where is Mr. Dixon now?" Marchand made the in- 
 quiry in a constrained voice. Since the day when he had 
 discovered Hattakowa's love for Pakali, he had avoided men- 
 tioning the Indian who had once called him " friend." 
 
 " Hattakowa has been away on another of his long hunt- 
 ing expeditions. He is coming back next week for the 
 opening of the legislature." 
 
 Pakali spoke of Hattakowa in a natural way that put 
 Marchand at his ease. After a brief pause she went on: 
 
 " You know our legislature will meet but a few times 
 more, and father says this is the last session in which any 
 important business can be transacted. The Non-Progressive 
 party intends to make a last stand against the land syndi- 
 cates." 
 
 " It will be a hopeless fight," declared Marchand. " I 
 happen to know that certain bills, drafted by Elisha Ford- 
 ham, the former congressman, will be rushed through by 
 the Mattison faction. Even if your father and Mr. Dixon 
 could prevent the bills from receiving the official acquiescence 
 of the Chickasaw Nation, the land-grabbing would go on 
 just the same." 
 
 The mention of Fordham's name brought back to Pakali 
 the recollection of Stuart's mission to the Territory, but she 
 had learned to bear the pangs of memory without betraying 
 any sign of the pain she suffered. She turned her face away 
 from Marchand, and, carefully measuring her words, said: 
 
 " I think I am a little morbid these days, but I am 
 haunted by a dread of impending trouble. It is impossible
 
 204 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 for me to escape from the feeling that I am waiting for some 
 tragedy. I don't know why I tell you this, but you are the 
 only person to whom I can speak. It is a relief to mention 
 my forebodings." 
 
 " I cannot see how anything very serious could possibly 
 happen," answered Marchand, seating himself in a chair near 
 Pakali and leaning forward so that he could compel her to 
 meet his steady gaze. " There is no danger of any violent 
 clash such as the one which took place when Mr. Dixon was 
 elected governor. The battles will be fought with words, 
 not firearms." 
 
 " My fears are vague," Pakali said after a moment's 
 silence. " They have never taken form, but it is as if I 
 watched for a great sorrow." 
 
 " Often our worst presentiments precede i.jme period of 
 real happiness," Marchand replied. " You will understand 
 what I mean, however, if I tell you that I am selfish enough 
 to be almost glad because your mental depression has given 
 me the chance to be your confidant, and now I mean to exact 
 a promise on the strength of this evidence of friendship. 
 If any severe trial comes to you, assure me that you will turn 
 to me as to one who is desirous of giving you aid and sym- 
 pathy." 
 
 Pakali would have made an evasive answer, but he took 
 her hand in both of his while he added: 
 
 " I mean that I want to be the person upon whom you 
 will depend in time of trouble." 
 
 " You have proved yourself so much my friend that I shall 
 not hesitate to exact from you whatever service I may need," 
 Pakali answered slowly. 
 
 , Their eyes met for a moment, the man striving to read 
 some sign to give him hope of a growing faith and an awak- 
 ening passion in the woman's heart, but he saw only the 
 shadows that darkened her spirit. Then Marchand remem- 
 bered that it was near train time, and he went away.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 HATTAKOWA AT MOMA BINNA 
 
 ON the eve of the assembling of the Chickasaw legislature, a 
 fortnight later, Hattakowa and his mother dined at Moma 
 Binna. Mrs. Dixon had arranged to occupy, during the 
 legislative session, a cottage owned by Hattakowa, and, while 
 the servants were making it ready, Pakali insisted that the 
 first day should be passed in the house on the hill. Mrs. 
 Dixon and Pakali had had a long talk before the arrival of 
 Hattakowa, who found them and Beaumont waiting on the 
 veranda. Miko, who had made many excursions to the foot 
 of the hill, triumphantly conducted Hattakowa along the 
 broad path from the ledge. As Pakali watched them coming 
 she saw that Hattakowa's appearance had altered greatly 
 since the days when he came often to Moma Binna. His 
 tall, well-knit figure had retained its fine proportions and he 
 walked with his youthful elasticity of step ; he had the swing- 
 ing gait of the Indian. It was his face that told the story of 
 years in which he had been a prey to warring impulses. The 
 outline of cheek and chin had become distinctly racial, and 
 his eyes appeared to be deeper set so that the sockets were 
 strongly marked. As he uncovered his head his glossy black 
 hair fell upon a forehead heavily lined. Hattakowa had been 
 a handsome youth; he was now a man to whom had been 
 given a rare distinction of appearance. Passions, not always 
 subdued, had put their impress upon his features, and yet his 
 experiences had left him with an added strength. When he 
 touched her hand Pakali knew that Hattakowa had built 
 between them a barrier of vagrant acts and thoughts which 
 must forever be hidden in his memory. 
 
 " It seems like old times to have you back with us, Hatta- 
 
 205
 
 206 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 kowa," Beaumont declared heartily, when they were seated 
 at the table. 
 
 " We thought you were going to desert the Territory," 
 Pakali said, and Miko supplemented in his childish treble: 
 
 " The Man Looking for the Sun has stayed away from 
 our house a long time." 
 
 " How many moons has it been, Miko? " questioned 
 Hattakowa. 
 
 But the child shook his head and replied: 
 
 " Miko did not count the moons." 
 
 " My grandson has not forgotten how to adapt himself 
 to the Indian forms of speech, even though you have neg- 
 lected the training of our young brave," remarked Beau- 
 mont. 
 
 " The Little Chieftain and I will resume our nature 
 studies to-morrow," Hattakowa announced, as he placed his 
 hand upon the boy's shoulder. " We have already made ar- 
 rangements for a fishing trip. We shall spend the day luring 
 the biggest catches from the waters of the Washita." 
 
 " And I may take the rod and reel from my bedroom, 
 mayn't I?" asked Miko. 
 
 Pakali, remembering the days when Stuart had used the 
 fishing tackle, gave a half-articulate consent, and her hand 
 trembled as she served the " Tom Fuller " from one of the 
 silver dishes. Hattakowa gave no indication that he under- 
 stood about the rod and reel. He persistently avoided 
 Pakali's glance; he seldom addressed her. After dinner he 
 and Miko stole away, and it was not until the shadows had 
 begun to fall upon the hills that they returned. Beaumont 
 had driven Mrs. Dixon down to her cottage, so Hattakowa 
 found Pakali sitting alone upon the veranda steps. Long 
 ago, on the night when he had given her the first kiss, she 
 had leaned back against the vine-covered pillar in just the 
 same position that she had taken unconsciously this autumn 
 afternoon. In memory again he beheld the girlish face. He
 
 HATTAKOWA AT MOMA BINNA 207 
 
 recalled her joyous voice, he heard her laugh, and he saw in 
 her eyes the expectant look of dawning womanhood. Now 
 the sweet face was matured by maternity and moulded by a 
 sorrow which had reshaped the rounded contours of youth. 
 The fierce rebellion that surged through his heart whenever 
 he thought of Pakali's wrongs sent the blood to his head. 
 As he paused, while he gained control of himself, he realised 
 that the years had intensified his longing for vengeance. He 
 had tried protracted absences, but when he returned to his 
 Star Woman it became apparent to him that time had merely 
 stored in him the accumulated resentment he could not con- 
 quer. 
 
 " The Man Looking for the Sun took me for such a long 
 walk that I wore out my shoe," said Miko, running to his 
 mother to display the broken sole of a much-scuffed shoe. 
 The boy's eyes were sparkling and his face was flushed. 
 
 " I see you have been enjoying yourself," Pakali answered, 
 returning the hug which her son gave her. Miko went into 
 the house to find a pair of slippers, and, for the first time in 
 many months, Hattakowa and Pakali met under circum- 
 stances that made it impossible to avoid a personal conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 " Tell me what you have been doing this half year or 
 more ? " It was Pakali who spoke first. With a woman's 
 instinct she sought to put her kinsman at ease. 
 
 " I have been trying to forget that I am an Indian and 
 that Aiahnichih-Choyoh is forever beyond my reach," said 
 Hattakowa. " Although I have been much in the white 
 man's cities I cannot learn to pretend, and so, when I come 
 back to you, I must tell you that nowhere in my wanderings 
 could I find the lotus fields." 
 
 " We must live in the present and in the future," Pakali 
 answered. " I often feel grateful to Heaven because the 
 sorrows that I have known are behind me. I cannot have 
 just the same griefs again."
 
 208 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " When we live in the future we must have some hope." 
 Hattakowa, leaning forward, as he sat upon the step beside 
 her, rested his face upon his hand, and, as if he were stating 
 a natural condition of mind, he went on: "When I am 
 far away, still you draw my thoughts to you. Often I have 
 said to myself, ' Choctah siah,' and then I have gone forth 
 to the hunt. Yet in field and forest I saw always my Star 
 Woman. Then, yielding to the knowledge that I have the 
 white man's tendencies mingled with the impulses of the 
 savage, I have tried the dissipations of civilisation. I have 
 made myself unworthy to come into your presence. But 
 stronger than all the distractions which cities offer is my 
 craving for your presence." 
 
 Pakali's face paled as she listened. With her hands 
 tightly clasped in her lap she waited until Hattakowa had 
 revealed all the tumult of his heart, and when he had ceased 
 to speak she could not find words with which to answer him. 
 Side by side they sat silent while the hills turned purple in 
 the fading light. Tears gathered in Pakali's eyes, and 
 through a mist she saw the glory of the dying day. The 
 consciousness that somehow all her life was wrong pressed 
 in upon her. The love she had wanted had been taken from 
 her, and a love to which she could not open her heart en- 
 compassed her. Presently she said : 
 
 " Oh, what can I tell you except that time has made no 
 changes which can affect you and me! Dear Hattakowa, 
 I have been thinking that I was attaining a serenity which 
 might make middle age a period of contentment, but you will 
 not let me enjoy even a pretence of peace." 
 
 Hattakowa put out his left hand, the hand upon which 
 gleamed the ruby, and, touching her reverently, compelled 
 her to look at him. 
 
 " You are right to rebuke me," he said. " My savage 
 instinct makes me want you to suffer with me, even though 
 my love forbids me to hurt you. Pakali, if you knew how
 
 HATTAKOWA AT MOMA BINNA 209 
 
 many fierce battles have been fought within me, you would 
 forgive me for so often importuning you in the hope that 
 you may answer the call of my heart. You women learn 
 submission, but I know only rebellion." 
 
 Pakali rose to her feet, and, in an agony of emotion, looked 
 up at Hattakowa, who came near her. Before either could 
 speak Miko claimed attention. Running down the steps he 
 paused to glance from his mother to her kinsman. Even to 
 his childish mind it was apparent that their conversation had 
 touched the deeps of feeling. 
 
 " Why has The Man Looking for the Sun made my 
 mother sad ? " he asked. 
 
 " We talked of the sad things of life," Pakali answered, 
 drawing her son to her and pressing his head against 
 her breast. Miko gently freed himself so that he could 
 stand between his mother and Hattakowa while he de- 
 manded : 
 
 " Why do you not tell my mother pretty stories and amuse 
 her as you do me, Man Looking for the Sun? " 
 
 " We are too old to enjoy pretty stories, Little Chieftain," 
 replied Hattakowa, " for even when we tell them to one 
 another they seem sad." 
 
 ' That is queer," declared Miko, shaking his head. 
 " When you tell me of famous chieftains like Apushmatahah, 
 who fought great battles, and of handsome braves like Ossika, 
 who won the fairest maiden in the tribe, I do not feel like 
 crying." 
 
 " Yet every pleasant tale has a sorrowful side." Hatta- 
 kowa folded his arms over his deep chest, and, looking over 
 Miko's head at Pakali, he said, slowly: 
 
 " You are not old enough to understand that every victory 
 means death to the vanquished; that every happy wooing 
 means disappointment for the discarded. Your mother and 
 I have been speaking of one who loved a Star Woman whom 
 he could never reach."
 
 210 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " He was a foolish brave," commented Miko. " I shall 
 love an earth woman." 
 
 Silently they stood there for a moment in the fading light, 
 then Hattakowa, touching Miko upon the shoulder, said: 
 
 " Come, walk down the hill with me." 
 
 Miko hesitated. 
 
 " I must not leave my mother when she is sad," he de- 
 murred, but Pakali bade him accompany The Man Looking 
 for the Sun.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 STUART RETURNS TO THE TERRITORY 
 
 HATTAKOWA and Miko were returning from the promised 
 fishing trip when they stopped at the railway station. A 
 negro servant was driving the horse attached to the light 
 spring wagon in which they had ridden to the Washita River. 
 It happened that the train from Ardmore arrived while 
 Hattakowa was transacting some business with the station 
 agent. The brief twilight of early autumn had fallen, and, 
 boylike, Miko jumped from the wagon in order that he 
 might have a closer view of the passengers. Several travel- 
 ling men had alighted upon the platform, when a tall, broad- 
 shouldered man, inclined to stoutness, stepped from the last 
 car. A brakeman put off three or four large leather 
 bags and received a tip. Then the stranger, who wore 
 glasses, looked about for a drayman. The Tishomingo hotel 
 did not send its omnibus to meet the evening train, and 
 Hattakowa's spring wagon was the only vehicle at the 
 platform. 
 
 "Is that a baggage wagon?" the stranger inquired of 
 Miko, who had come near to look at the luggage, which had 
 a distinction not characteristic of most of the impedimenta 
 carried by Indian Territory travellers. Miko removed the 
 broad-brimmed hat that had been set on the back of his head, 
 and answered: 
 
 " No, it is our spring wagon, which we took out this 
 morning when we went fishing." 
 
 The stranger walked down the platform, in a vain search 
 for a cab, and then came back to where Miko was standing. 
 
 " How far is the hotel from here ? " he asked. 
 
 211
 
 212 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " Quite a walk," Miko replied. " If you wouldn't mind 
 riding with the fish, we could take you with us." 
 
 It was still the custom at Moma Binna to greet chance 
 visitors with cordiality, and Miko's grandfather had often 
 given strangers a " lift," so that the offer was quite natural 
 to the boy. The man looked at the child, whose corduroy 
 clothes had at first given the impression that he was the 
 ordinary village lad waiting for passing trains. The traveller 
 saw a face of such unusual beauty and refinement that he 
 asked: 
 
 " What is your name? " 
 
 " Miko," was the brief reply, as the child lifted one of 
 the bags. He called the servant to carry the others and the 
 stranger was soon made comfortable on the back seat of the 
 wagon. Several minutes elapsed. Still Hattakowa was 
 detained. The stranger took off his stiff hat, for the evening 
 was warm. He had a fair complexion, which showed the 
 flush of heat, and his light hair, grown thin at the temples, 
 was parted near the middle. He was more than com- 
 monly good-looking, and his dress told that he was a man 
 of fashion. He had a pleasant manner, which won the con- 
 fidence of Miko, who was usually reticent. 
 
 " Do you live here in Tishomingo? " asked the stranger. 
 The boy answered that he did, adding that he thought it 
 was the best place in all the world. 
 
 " You haven't seen the whole world," suggested the 
 traveller. 
 
 " I have seen a great deal of it," declared Miko, and the 
 statement was corroborated by the negro servant, who ex- 
 plained: " He's been to Europe and back again, sah." 
 
 " Oh." The stranger smiled. " At first I thought you 
 were an Indian," he said, half apologetically. 
 
 Miko's eyes flashed. 
 
 " I am an Indian," he declared, proudly. " I'm a Chick- 
 asaw."
 
 STUART RETURNS 213 
 
 Before Miko had a chance to go into his family history, 
 Hattakowa came to the wagon. 
 
 " Man Looking for the Sun, this is a gentleman who 
 came on the train and he couldn't find anybody to take him 
 to the hotel, so I asked him to ride with us," said Miko, 
 turning on his knees in the seat and leaning over the back. 
 
 The stranger bowed, and the two men stared at each 
 other in astonishment. The look of surprise on the Indian's 
 face changed to one of such contempt and hatred that the 
 traveller could not conceal his embarrassment. " I gladly 
 accepted the child's offer," he stammered, " because I did not 
 wish to leave my luggage in the station." 
 
 Hattakowa bade the servant drive quickly, and, taking* his 
 place beside the stranger, he said, without so much as a pre- 
 liminary word of greeting: 
 
 " How dared you come back to the Territory? " 
 
 " I came on business." The stranger turned himself in 
 the seat in order to face Hattakowa. " Stop your horses," 
 he said with an assumption of resentment at the curt ques- 
 tion. " I desire to walk to the hotel." 
 
 " You have no choice but to ride now." Hattakowa spoke 
 in a low tone so that Miko, who had been jolted off his 
 knees, could not hear what was said. " I have the right to 
 ask what sort of business has brought you to Tishomingo. 
 I may compel you to go away on the next train." 
 
 " Aren't you rather impetuous, Mr. Dixon ? " The 
 speaker drew off his gloves with elaborate carelessness. " I 
 am not aware that you have any right to inquire into my 
 affairs." 
 
 " I shall have no difficulty in making you recognise my 
 right, Mr. Stuart," returned Hattakowa. " Before I per- 
 mit you to get down at the hotel I shall have your word that 
 you do not intend to trouble my kinswoman. I must know 
 that your business has nothing to do with anyone at Moma 
 Binna."
 
 2i 4 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " Were you asking the gentleman to come to Moma 
 Binna? " inquired Miko, pulling himself upon his knees 
 again and casting a friendly glance at the stranger. " My 
 mother will be glad to see you." 
 
 In an instant Stuart's face took on a pallor of a sudden 
 fear. He gazed at the boy as if he sought to recognise some 
 feature, but he quickly put away what was an intuitive flash 
 of knowledge. The perspiration stood out upon his fore- 
 head. The words he would have said choked him. 
 
 " Turn around in your seat." Hattakowa gave the com- 
 mand sternly to Miko, who obeyed with reluctance. 
 
 " The boy is your son, I presume," Arnold Stuart said, 
 when he could control his voice. The years had given him 
 much experience in managing men. He had become a lawyer 
 whose fame hung upon his readiness of resource, his easy 
 adaptation of circumstances to his own will. 
 
 The wagon rattled around a turn in the road, and Hatta- 
 kowa waited to answer until his voice could be heard with 
 a distinctness not to be misunderstood. 
 
 " Miko is the son of Lenore Beaumont, who was married 
 ten years ago to a treacherous, cowardly white man." 
 
 Stuart chose to ignore the insult, because he hoped to 
 escape from a predicament more awkward than any he had 
 feared when he first contemplated a trip to the Terri- 
 tory. 
 
 In a few moments since the question of Miko's parentage 
 had come up the white man's mind had tried to grasp the 
 logic of the situation. Stuart had not lost his old habit of 
 rejecting unpleasant suggestions, and, even if his nature had 
 not been evasive, wherever disagreeable facts were concerned, 
 the idea that Miko might be his own child seemed too absurd 
 for consideration. The boy was one of whom any man 
 might be proud. This acknowledgment came to him as 
 he turned to Hattakowa with the desire to retaliate for the 
 Indian's studied affront.
 
 STUART RETURNS 215 
 
 " You have avoided a direct answer," he said, with an 
 assumption of suavity, " but it is evident that you mean me 
 to understand that you are not the father of the boy you 
 call Miko. He is very much of an Indian, and I still see a 
 strong resemblance to you." 
 
 Hattakowa raised his hand as if he would have struck the 
 white man, but he controlled himself and with such fierce 
 hatred in his face that Stuart involuntarily shrank from him, 
 he spoke as if he were pronouncing sentence: 
 
 " I shall claim from you blood vengeance for this insult 
 to my kinswoman. You have forgotten that the Chickasaws 
 protect the good name of their women." 
 
 Arnold Stuart had never been a coward. Indeed, his 
 careless nature had given him a recklessness helpful to him, 
 inasmuch as it often served as a wise audacity. He hastened 
 to apologise now, not so much because he feared Hattakowa's 
 threat, as because he knew that he had been a craven to utter 
 an insinuation against the woman who had given him her 
 love and her life. 
 
 " I spoke at random," he declared. " Surely you know 
 that I would not cast any reflection upon " 
 
 " The woman who is your wife." Hattakowa completed 
 the sentence, speaking the words between closed teeth. " We 
 shall take this subject up later," he continued. " Just now I 
 desire you to pledge yourself to attend strictly to whatever 
 business gave you an excuse for returning to the Territory. 
 You must give me your word that you will not try to see 
 Miko's mother." 
 
 The wagon had stopped at the hotel. In a conciliatory 
 tone, Stuart said : 
 
 " You have the word of a gentleman." He stepped out 
 upon the big stone on the edge of the sidewalk. After a 
 second of uncertainty he leaned over the negro's knees to 
 touch Miko's hand. " Good-night, little man," he said, 
 looking into the child's face.
 
 2i6 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 Father and son gazed at each other for a moment. Some 
 stirring of instinct made each recognise dormant sympathies 
 in the other. 
 
 " Good-night," returned Miko. " I hope you will have 
 a pleasant visit in Tishomingo."
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 MIKO AND HIS NEW FRIEND 
 
 AFTER leaving Stuart at the hotel, Hattakowa took Miko to 
 Moma Binna, where they found Pakali watching rather 
 anxiously for them. 
 
 " You are late, Miko," said the child's mother. " I try 
 to be a true squaw when my boy goes forth to hunt or to 
 fish, but I find I am beset by a white woman's apprehen- 
 sions." 
 
 Hattakowa forced himself to make a light answer. 
 
 " We would have been here sooner if we had not taken a 
 stranger to the hotel," Miko explained. " I found him at 
 the station, and I think The Man Looking for the Sun 
 knew him, for they talked a great deal." 
 
 "Who was it?" 
 
 Hattakowa had declined to go into the house, and he was 
 standing beside the wagon, from which a servant was un- 
 loading the fish. He pretended to be busy disentangling 
 Miko's line, which had not been wound upon the reel. 
 Pakali repeated her question, and he answered, carelessly: 
 
 " A traveller from the States." Hattakowa sent the 
 wagon away and walked down the hill. Crossing the bridge, 
 he turned his steps away from the town. He passed several 
 hours alone in the darkness. Before consulting with Beau- 
 mont, he desired to think out what would be the most merci- 
 ful course of action, so far as Pakali was concerned. If it 
 were possible to prevent her from knowing that Stuart was 
 in Tishomingo, she would be spared poignant suffering 
 which might not be less intense than the agonies she endured 
 when she first realised that her husband had deserted her. 
 But the question was how to protect her from the knowledge 
 
 217
 
 218 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 of the white man's presence in the Territory. Even though 
 Stuart kept his promise not to seek her, she might encounter 
 him in her morning walks. She often went to the hotel to 
 visit friends, and chance would be likely to bring about some 
 painful meeting. Hattakowa could not think out a plan of 
 action because he could not sustain any train of thought 
 which was not interrupted by the overpowering idea that fate 
 had given him the opportunity to punish Stuart. He was 
 fair enough to know that the white man's insult, spoken at 
 random, touched him the deeper because it suggested that his 
 heart's desire had been gratified in the possession of his Star 
 Woman and the fatherhood of her son. He knew that 
 Stuart had not felt the full significance of the affront, but 
 such an excuse did not absolve the offender from the obliga- 
 tion to pay the penalty. 
 
 It was midnight when Hattakowa awoke his mother to 
 ask her advice. 
 
 " Oh, my poor girl, my poor girl ! " cried Mrs. Dixon. 
 " I have always known that Miko's father would bring 
 more trouble to her. For a month I have read warning 
 signs. Only last week a cricket fled from the hearthstone at 
 Moma Binna, and a whip-poor-will has lingered long in the 
 old ash tree." 
 
 " We haven't time to talk of anything but some plan to 
 prevent Pakali from enduring fresh sorrow," Hattakowa 
 answered, gently, and his mother, sitting up in bed with 
 feet crossed and grizzled head resting upon her bony arms, 
 rocked herself to and fro while she tried to control her 
 troubled thoughts. 
 
 " Perhaps I could take Pakali to Ardmore," she suggested. 
 " Several new colonies of Mississippi Chickasaws and Choc- 
 taws are said to be starving there, and I can persuade her to 
 make the trip if it is represented as an errand of mercy." 
 
 " She must go to-morrow morning," Hattakowa declared. 
 " I shall see her father before breakfast, and you must per-
 
 MIKO AND HIS NEW FRIEND 219 
 
 suade her that delay is cruel to the duped Indians who have 
 just been imported into the Territory." 
 
 Mrs. Dixon had little trouble in luring Pakali to Ardmore, 
 and, when they found how pitiable was the state of the old 
 men, the women, and children among the helpless colonists, 
 no excuses were needed to convince Pakali that she must 
 stay until conditions were improved. The Indians had been 
 brought in carload lots from Mississippi. The latest ar- 
 rivals were quartered in a vacant store building on the main 
 street of Ardmore. This building had once represented 
 certain commercial ambitions of the owner. It had an im- 
 posing stone front, and space for two stores was divided off 
 on the ground floor. A stairway went up in the middle of 
 the building, and in half a dozen rooms more than one 
 hundred Indians were quartered. Not so much as a bed or 
 a chair was provided for the convenience of the half-civilised 
 men and women, who dwelt in the filthy rooms until camping 
 places could be prepared for them. The most meagre rations 
 of corn meal and bacon were distributed each day. 
 
 These Mississippi Chickasaws and Choctaws were exam- 
 ples of racial deterioration. They had been contaminated 
 by contact with low whites ; they were ignorant, diseased and 
 unclean. A flush of shame dyed Pakali's cheeks as she 
 greeted the Indians who belonged to her own Nation. Their 
 ancestors had abandoned all aboriginal industries and they 
 had not learned the white man's trades. They wore ragged 
 clothing such as the negroes of Moma Binna would have 
 scorned. The younger women passed their days in idleness 
 while their children were neglected. Babes, infested with 
 vermin, crawled in the streets, and half-naked boys played 
 ball in a vacant lot. Some of these Indians had the mis- 
 fortune to be among those whose names had been stricken 
 from the rolls because they were not legally entitled to the 
 lands claimed for them by the syndicates. These were in a 
 pitiable plight of poverty, for, as soon as they were declared
 
 220 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 ineligible to citizenship, their rations had been withdrawn. 
 With Ogden Maury's assistance, Pakali compelled the syn- 
 dicate's agent to remove most of the Indians from the build- 
 ing in which they were herded as if they were cattle. Those 
 who had ceased to be of interest to the \vhite land-grabbers 
 were cared for temporarily. 
 
 While Pakali was busy in Ardmore, Miko remained in 
 Moma Binna, where one of the teachers and Mammy 'Liza 
 took care of him. 
 
 Pennington Creek always had had a fascination for the 
 child, and often he went to play beside the clear waters. At 
 first he had been forbidden to climb upon the big rocks, or 
 to wade in the alluring pool that felt but lightly the force 
 of the waters; but, by and by, Pakali had come to trust his 
 Indian instinct, which combined childish daring with the 
 caution of the natural woodsman. Although she had never 
 permitted herself to go with the boy to the place, she listened 
 often to what he said about making whistles of the twigs 
 from the overhanging willows, and about floating the dog- 
 wood blossoms down the stream. 
 
 One warm afternoon, when Miko was sailing a raft in 
 the pool, the stranger whom the child had met at the railway 
 station picked his way over the stones and slowly descended 
 the steep bank of the creek. The man paused when he saw 
 the boy, but, after a moment of indecision, went down to 
 the water's edge. Miko guided his raft into a harbour be- 
 neath the big boulder. Then he looked up. 
 
 " How did you find this place ? " he asked, without wast- 
 ing words in any formal salutation. 
 
 " I I " the man hesitated ; " I thought it would be 
 
 cool down here by the creek," he answered. 
 
 ' There's a good seat up on this big rock," Miko said, 
 hospitably, wading toward his newfound friend. " I will 
 take your hand, sir, and steady you if you want to cross on 
 the stones."
 
 Stuart studied the child's face and forgot to make any 
 reply, but Miko took for granted the acceptance of the offer 
 to act as guide. Putting his damp, brown fingers into the 
 stranger's unresisting hand, he led the way to the boulder 
 against which the tall man leaned his heavy body, while he 
 looked down upon his companion. Miko had his mother's 
 eyes, and, when he glanced up at the face of the man, its 
 florid hue grew pale. 
 
 " Does your mother know you come here to play? " the 
 stranger asked. 
 
 Miko gave an affirmative nod. 
 
 " Does she ever come here with you? " 
 
 " We often walk by Pennington Creek," the child replied, 
 " but she will not let me bring her here." 
 
 " Where is your mother? " The question was asked in- 
 voluntarily and it had to be repeated, inasmuch as Miko 
 had begun to chase a pollywog. It required an extensive 
 amount of cross-examination to bring out the fact that Pakali 
 had gone to Ardmore to help the Indians, who were starving 
 because wicked white men had been unkind to them. The 
 pollywog escaped and Miko made a brief excursion a few 
 yards down the creek. 
 
 When he was left alone Arnold Stuart scanned the shady 
 nook that Pakali had called her place of peace. Here Pen- 
 nington Creek had taken a broader sweep and worn away a 
 wider course. Some of the willows had been cut, and a new 
 bridge had been thrown across the channel. 
 
 On the face of the bank near the boulder Stuart recognised 
 the ledge where Pakali had placed the sticks marking the 
 days of his former sojourning in Tishomingo. A flood of 
 memories swept over him even as the waters poured across 
 a fallen log near the place where he stood. For a moment 
 Pakali in her girlish charm was near him, breaking into bits 
 the branches of dogwood and pointing out the significance of 
 the flowers upon them.
 
 '222 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 The ledge was filled in with stones, tightly wedged to- 
 gether. He would have obeyed an impulse to open the 
 crevice, but, although he was a man who had outlived the 
 romance of his youth, he could not bring himself to desecrate 
 what had become a shrine commemorative of lost love and 
 ruined faith. With half shut eyes he listened to the music of 
 the waters; he heard again above the sound of the creek the 
 voice of Pakali telling him that, according to the old Indian 
 custom, she arranged a great number of sticks to show that 
 he would be welcome to remain in her village many days. 
 
 Stuart had grown accustomed to look upon his love for 
 Pakali and his marriage to her as a piece of youthful folly. 
 In ten years he had lived much and even his most vivid im- 
 pressions connected with his Indian Territory visit had faded. 
 He was now nearly forty years old, and he had become a man 
 of large affairs, although he had not made the fortune he 
 coveted. The letters in which Beaumont and Pakali had 
 severed all connection with him had aroused his deep resent- 
 ment. At first the emotion he had dignified as love for 
 Pakali caused him to suffer a certain amount of regret. He 
 had deceived himself into the belief that he would one day 
 go -back to claim his wife. In a few weeks the relief that 
 he felt in the situation, which made it unnecessary for him 
 to confess his marriage to his mother and to his friends, 
 became dominant, and he had readjusted himself to his city 
 environment. His mother's social ambitions had soon made 
 him a conspicuous figure in an exclusive clique where Eleanor 
 Dudley was a favourite. His name and Miss Dudley's be- 
 came so constantly associated that their acquaintances be- 
 lieved them to be engaged. Stuart's sense of justice had 
 caused him to devote himself more and more to his business, 
 in order that he might break off what had become an em- 
 barrassing friendship, but fate, in the form of his mother, 
 threw Miss Dudley and him much together. Stuart's easy- 
 going nature yielded readily to whatever temptation prom-
 
 MIKO AND HIS NEW FRIEND 223 
 
 ised pleasure. At the end of five years Miss Dudley, who 
 had denied her hand and fortune to many suitors, held him 
 in a thrall from which he had no desire to escape. Although 
 he had never told her that he was not free to marry, she 
 accepted their rather vague relation without inquiry, because 
 she was one of the class of women to whom marriage means 
 a bondage more or less disagreeable. The last five years, 
 however, had changed Miss Dudley's point of view. She 
 was no longer young, and society had become less fascinating 
 since she could not overlook the fact that she was passe. 
 
 Eleanor Dudley had become necessary to Stuart's life; her 
 homage had made even his minor political success worth 
 winning. She had supplied a motive more potent than sel- 
 fish ambition. At the time when the man and the woman 
 faced a crisis in their lives, Stuart had been forced to make 
 this second trip to Indian Territory. The fortune he, 
 whose habits were self-indulgent and extravagant, needed 
 more and more each year, depended upon the success with 
 which he executed his mission. His friend, Elisha Ford- 
 ham, gave him no opportunity for choice when it was neces- 
 sary for the syndicate to send an agent to the Chickasaw 
 legislature. Stuart still cherished a belief in a happy-go- 
 lucky destiny; he hoped that his trip to Tishomingo might 
 suggest some excuse for obtaining a divorce from his Indian 
 wife. But chance, which delights in playing queer tricks, 
 had sent the son of whose existence he was unaware, to 
 meet him at the moment he set foot in Tishomingo. 
 
 Standing there with his back against the boulder, Stuart's 
 thoughts travelled to and fro over the ten years. The rush- 
 ing waters seemed to mock him with the steadiness of their 
 onward course. His mind was a whirlpool of doubts and 
 uncertainties. He, who ever avoided disturbing reflections, 
 now confronted his future, which rose before him like one of 
 the blank rocky walls that Pennington Creek had worn so 
 smooth. Stuart had grown into a middle-aged dignity which
 
 224 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 was the result of association with successful men rather 
 than the expression of his own mental growth. 
 
 Miko, who had stealthily climbed upon the boulder, 
 startled the man, who had passed a most unhappy quarter of 
 an hour. 
 
 " You forgot I was here, didn't you? " cried the child, 
 looking down from the place where his mother had sat when 
 she talked to the white man on the first day of their ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 " I am afraid I shall have difficulty in forgetting you 
 from now on," Stuart answered, and, as he noticed the boy's 
 unusual beauty, the consciousness of fatherhood awoke in 
 him. He reached up and put his hand upon the child's bare, 
 brown knee. 
 
 " Your father must be proud of you," he said, with a 
 sudden desire to discover what explanation had been made 
 concerning his own existence. 
 
 Miko was on his guard in a moment. 
 
 " My grandfather and The Man Looking for the Sun 
 are teaching me to be an Indian the Chickasaw Nation need 
 never be ashamed of," he replied. 
 
 " And is your father one of the Non-Progressive Indians 
 who dislike the white men ? " Stuart persisted. 
 
 Miko cast upon him a rebuking glance. 
 
 " I belong to my mother's people," the boy answered, 
 simply, as he slid down from the boulder to a place beside 
 Stuart. 
 
 " I should not have asked you so many questions if I had 
 not thought you were a boy worth having," apologised 
 the man. 
 
 Father and son looked at each other, and Stuart stooped 
 to put his arm around the child in order to draw Miko 
 nearer, so that he could examine each feature with a curious 
 scrutiny. When he felt the contact with the little body, 
 which was his own flesh and blood, the man forgot what part
 
 MIKO AND HIS NEW FRIEND 225 
 
 Eleanor Dudley had in his life. The shame of his dis* 
 loyalty to the child's mother put a fever into his veins. He 
 pushed Miko's black hair away from the broad brow and 
 gently stroked the childish cheek. In the chin he saw the 
 faint dimple which gave his own face a charm the Indian 
 despises. As if he read the thought that took special cogni- 
 sance of the childish chin, Miko said: 
 
 " I am to be so strong and brave that no Chickasaw will 
 know I have a dimple in my chin." 
 
 "What is your name, my boy?" As the father asked 
 this question of his son he felt a jealous fear lest the answer 
 should show that all trace of his own relationship had been 
 ignored. 
 
 " My name is Miko Stuart," replied the child. 
 
 " Miko has a pleasant sound. What does it mean? " 
 
 " My grandfather calls me Push-Kush-Miko The 
 Little Chieftain," explained the boy ; " but I was baptised 
 Arnold Stuart, which is my father's name." 
 
 The man tightened his embrace and then put the boy from 
 him. Trembling, Stuart leaned against the boulder. Pres- 
 ently he found himself staring at the walled-in crevice. 
 
 " Do you see that place where the stones are wedged in 
 the rock? " he asked, and Miko ran to it. In the spring- 
 time mosses had overgrown Pakali's shrine of love, but now 
 they were dried and falling away. Obeying the iconoclastic 
 instinct of boyhood, Miko began to tear away the stones. 
 
 " Here are a lot of little sticks all in a row," he announced ; 
 and Stuart, looking over his shoulder, saw the broken 
 branches from which all the withered flowers had fallen.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 HATTAKOWA AND STUART 
 
 ARNOLD STUART passed an uncomfortable night after his 
 interview with Miko. For the first time in all his life he 
 felt an apprehension of impending trouble. This feeling was 
 one quite apart from his disturbed condition of mind caused 
 by the discovery of the existence of his child. Fordham had 
 already realised immense returns from his Indian Territory 
 enterprises, and he demonstrated a plan by which Stuart 
 could obtain possession of land enough to make the hazards 
 of the trip to Tishomingo appear insignificant. Stuart's 
 faith in his luck which, according to his theory, enabled him 
 to do whatever seemed most pleasant and most profitable, 
 had led him to marry Pakali. He had enjoyed a brief period 
 of happiness, and he had escaped all immediate consequences 
 of his cowardly course of action. It had seemed easier to 
 take the risk of confronting Beaumont and Hattakowa than 
 it would be to decline an opportunity to acquire valuable 
 property. The possibility of obtaining the right to marry 
 Eleanor Dudley had presented more alluring pictures for the 
 future than the continuance of his present position as the 
 discarded husband of an Indian woman. His encounter 
 with Hattakowa had been disturbing, because it had put him 
 on the defensive, and made him appear at a disadvantage, 
 He was not a coward, and he gave hardly more than a second 
 thought to Hattakowa's threat. Miko had touched the 
 deeps in him. The child born of the best love that could 
 come into his life, because it was love spontaneous and de- 
 void of mercenary motives, embodied the sacred aspirations 
 of two souls untouched by the sordid impulses of life. He 
 
 226
 
 HATTAKOWA AND STUART 227 
 
 longed to claim Miko before the world, and then, remember- 
 ing Pakali's dismissal, he knew that such a claim would be 
 the crowning indignity of his pusillanimous conduct toward 
 his wife. 
 
 It was no wonder that when Mr. Billy Brown found 
 Stuart at breakfast, in the hotel dining room, he noticed an 
 apathetic attitude concerning the bills to be forced through 
 the legislature. Brown had grown heavier and coarser with 
 the passing years, and the black moustache that he twisted 
 frequently was streaked with grey. The banker had ar- 
 rived on the early train from Wauchula. He had brought 
 with him a most encouraging report of what had been accom- 
 plished in handling the Progressive Indians, who were now 
 in the majority in both houses. 
 
 " We've got the Federal Government back of us," said 
 Brown, after he had outlined the plan of procedure agreed 
 upon with the elder Mattison. " There isn't any reason 
 why we should not make the fullbloods do just about as we 
 want them to." He helped himself to an orange, which he 
 peeled while he waited for Stuart's answer. 
 
 " Anything you do will be all right," declared Elisha 
 Fordham's confidential agent, whose tone was indifferent. 
 After a little pause he inquired: 
 
 " Has our syndicate done much harm to the Chickasaws 
 who know enough to take care of their lands? " 
 
 " Of course it has," admitted Billy Brown, not without 
 some pride in his diplomatic achievements. 
 
 Stuart polished his glasses, and, avoiding his companion's 
 glance, replied : 
 
 " I have no compunctions about acquiring property from 
 the fullbloods, who would get rid of it to someone, but I 
 must confess that I dislike the idea of defrauding the educated 
 people of the Nation." 
 
 " It's rather late to have qualms of conscience," com- 
 mented the banker. " I am told you've been the lawyer that
 
 228 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 has guided the syndicate for ten years. If it hadn't been 
 for you none of us might have thought of bringing in those 
 Mississippi Chickasaws and Choctaws." 
 
 The accusation caused Stuart to wince, and Billy Brown, 
 seeing his advantage, went on : 
 
 " There's one rich halfbreed here who has spent thousands 
 of dollars righting for the rights of the Indians, but we 
 always beat him at every turn. He is an intelligent old 
 fellow named Beaumont, and he has a daughter who is a 
 beauty. She helps him spend his money in schools and 
 schemes intended to improve the condition of the red man." 
 
 With trembling hands, Stuart put down the cup of coffee 
 he had raised to his lips. 
 
 " I believe I've heard of the Beaumonts," he said. 
 
 " The daughter isn't called ' Beaumont ' any more," ex- 
 plained Brown. " She was married ten years ago to a 
 white man, who deserted her. By the way, his name was 
 Stuart, the same as yours. The wedding took place before 
 I came to the Territory, but it has always seemed strange to 
 me that any man would repent of marrying such a woman 
 as Mrs. Stuart." 
 
 It was evident that the banker had no suspicion that the 
 syndicate's agent could be Pakali's husband, for he spoke 
 with the manner of a person who retails a well-known piece 
 of gossip. Stuart pushed away his plate, and hurriedly left 
 the table. 
 
 Arnold Stuart was too clever a lobbyist to let his presence 
 in Tishomingo be publicly associated with the schemes of 
 the land syndicate. He had taken care to give out the 
 information that he was the attorney for a company holding 
 a mineral lease. He pretended that he came to the Chicka- 
 saw capital to look over certain records. He remained in 
 his room during the daily sessions of the legislature, and there 
 the Mattisons and Billy Brown went to report to him. On 
 this particular day Billy Brown returned late in the after-
 
 HATTAKOWA AND STUART 229 
 
 noon with the announcement that Joseph Dixon had madt 
 trouble in the lower house. 
 
 " Dixon can't do much, though," averred the banker, 
 " for we have most of the Senate on our side. Beaumont 
 and Sands know it isn't worth while to make any fuss, and 
 old John Oaktree is practically helpless, because he has to 
 speak through an interpreter." 
 
 Gee-Haw Blikens hung around the hotel the greater part 
 of the day. After losing his farming machinery and live 
 stock through his deal with the banker, he had become a 
 bitter enemy of Billy Brown. He took care that Hatta- 
 kowa and Beaumont should hear of the conferences with 
 the stranger in the hotel. 
 
 A week passed without the occurrence of any incident of 
 a disturbing character and Stuart regained his mental 
 balance. With minute interest he followed each day's pro- 
 ceedings of the Chickasaw Legislature, and when he was as- 
 sured that the syndicate's most important bills would pass 
 with little opposition, his usual complacency returned to him. 
 At the time when he felt most composed, however, he had a 
 brief conversation with Hattakowa which unnerved him for 
 twenty-four hours. Stuart was standing in the arched en- 
 trance of the hotel one evening when Hattakowa approached 
 him, with the evident intention of demanding an interview. 
 There was no chance to escape the Indian, who said: 
 
 " When are you going away from Tishomingo? Your 
 work with the legislature is about completed, and it seems 
 unnecessary for me to suggest that you would better not 
 remain after you are assured there is no danger your thieving 
 plans can miscarry." 
 
 Stuart's anger blazed up. 
 
 " I am not so fond of staying among savages as to remain 
 longer than necessary," he retorted ; " but I do not ac- 
 knowledge your right to inquire into my affairs." 
 
 " We have discussed that question before," replied Hatta-
 
 230 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 kowa. " I have the right, whether you acknowledge it or 
 not. I have not interfered with your nefarious schemes be- 
 cause I want to delay the day of reckoning until I can 
 measure the exact debt of vengeance I owe you." 
 
 The two men stood for a moment looking at each other, 
 as if each would read what the future held. Again there 
 seemed to come to Stuart the prescience of ill, not altogether 
 explainable in the Indian's reference to the day when they 
 would balance their accounts with each other. 
 
 Stuart loved life, since it meant to him an opportunity to 
 enjoy in a gentlemanly way all the pleasures that civilisation 
 offers. He had dabbled in politics because it added zest to 
 his professional experiences and helped him to become con- 
 spicuous as a legal practitioner. Now that he was likely to 
 obtain enough money to make possible the indulgence of 
 costly recreation, he could look forward to years of luxur- 
 ious existence. 
 
 His fears took the form of dread lest in some manner the 
 fortune within his grasp might slip from him. Hattakowa, 
 standing there before him, in appearance was so far from the 
 Indian that it seemed absurd to imagine that he could resort 
 to physical violence in order to achieve any vengeful purpose. 
 He was too much civilised to shoot a man in the back, and 
 at the worst he was likely to do harm through some legisla- 
 tive coup d'etat. Even this suggestion Stuart dismissed as 
 absurd, when he remembered Brown's assurance that the 
 Progressive party was in control of the Chickasaw govern- 
 ment. 
 
 " We might as well reach an understanding now," the 
 white man said, carelessly lighting a cigar. " Has it oc- 
 curred to you that you might attribute to me many evil 
 designs of which I am innocent? " 
 
 " The fact that you have dared to return to the Territory 
 is enough to prove that you are absolutely without any feel- 
 ing of regret for your conduct toward my kinswoman,"
 
 HATTAKOWA AND STUART 231 
 
 Hattakowa answered. " You have demonstrated that you 
 are devoid of the commonest human feeling, since, after 
 discovering the existence of your son, you have continued to 
 carry out the plan by which you will complete the work of 
 robbing him, as well as other members of our Nation." 
 
 Stuart grew pale beneath Hattokowa's contemptuous 
 glance. 
 
 " You forget one thing," he said. " Mr. Beaumont and 
 his daughter forbade my return." 
 
 " You had neglected your wife for months. The pride of 
 the Indian could not endure such treatment. George Beau- 
 mont intended to come with me to-night, for he has certain 
 things to say to you, but he is unable to leave Moma Binna 
 because he is helpless from a sudden attack of rheumatism. 
 In his name, as well as my own, I command you to leave 
 Tishomingo to-morrow." 
 
 " I cannot go to-morrow," Stuart answered, in a defiant 
 tone, as he flicked the ashes from his cigar. 
 
 Hattakowa looked at him between half-closed eyes, then, 
 suddenly turning upon his heel, the Indian walked down 
 the street.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 A CHANCE MEETING 
 
 STUART lingered in Tishomingo for several days after Hatta- 
 kowa had commanded him to leave the Territory. Brown 
 had presented promising opportunities for investment, and, 
 now that he felt the greed for wealth, Stuart was willing 
 to take any chances which offered quick returns in money. 
 He had signed a mineral lease on what promised to be a 
 valuable coal mining property, and this new venture detained 
 him in Tishomingo over Sunday, inasmuch as he wished to 
 meet Brown and the elder Mattison at South McAlester the 
 next day. 
 
 After dinner, Sunday, Stuart, who had nothing better to 
 do, drove toward a strip of woodland. The autumn after- 
 noon was warm and he let the horse go slowly, without 
 caring whither the road led. He thought with relief that 
 within a week he would be back in Chicago, where he could 
 forget everything concerning the Indian Territory, except 
 the lands that he would acquire. 
 
 A turn in the road brought into view two horses tied to a 
 fence. It was not until he was within a few yards of them 
 that Stuart saw their owners, and recognised Miko and 
 someone who must be the child's mother. The woman was 
 sitting with her back against a tree, so that Stuart could catch 
 but a glimpse of a light grey habit and a broad-brimmed 
 hat. He might have turned back even after Miko called 
 loudly, " Good-evening." 
 
 The child ran out into the road, and the woman, rising to 
 her feet, turned toward him a face in which there came a 
 gradual perception that the hour she had dreaded for years 
 
 232
 
 A CHANCE MEETING 233 
 
 had come to her. She stood in much the same attitude that 
 the man remembered when she had smiled at him from 
 among the yellow sunflowers, but now the light was gone 
 from her eyes, which looked at him with a fascination that 
 held his gaze, while her dark skin took on a livid hue. It 
 would have been merciful for Stuart to drive on, but he had 
 never denied himself the gratification of any whim, and now, 
 without counting the consequences, he stepped from the 
 buggy, leaving the spiritless livery horse standing in the 
 middle of the road. 
 
 " I did not mean to give you the pain of seeing me, 
 Pakali," said Stuart, pronouncing his wife's name with hesi- 
 tation. 
 
 He stood before her as if he were a distorted image of her 
 girlhood ideal. His figure had the heavy solidity of a well- 
 fed middle age. The expression of his face had changed. 
 In youth the eyes behind the glasses had been quite wide 
 open and the mouth had had a pleasant upward curve, while 
 the cleft chin had been well molded. Now the ease-loving 
 man of the world betrayed his nature in his countenance. 
 Self-indulgence was written in every line marking eyes and 
 mouth. Nevertheless, Stuart was still handsome, for he 
 had escaped grossness. As Pakali looked at him she no- 
 ticed every alteration of outline and expression made by 
 time. 
 
 " Why did you come back to Tishomingo ? " she asked, 
 with a tremor in her voice. 
 
 " I came on business," he answered. " I have been here 
 some time." 
 
 Miko, who had been examining the livery horse, heard his 
 mother's question, and, after Stuart had answered it, he 
 explained : 
 
 " Mother, dear, this is the gentleman The Man Looking 
 for the Sun and I met at the station the day we went 
 fishing."
 
 234 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " Since then I have seen Miko on the street many times," 
 said Stuart, " and we passed one afternoon together down by 
 Pennington Creek." 
 
 " Why did no one tell me you were here? " Pakali ques- 
 tioned, with a rush of feeling. 
 
 " The Man Looking for the Sun told you we met a 
 stranger at the station. You have forgotten that we carried 
 the traveller to the hotel." As he spoke Miko slipped his 
 arm through his mother's, and, seeing the agitation in her 
 face, he cast a questioning glance at the stranger. 
 
 " Miko, will you ride over to the Blikens ranch without 
 me?" asked the child's mother. "You can do the errand 
 as well as I, and I will talk to this gentleman until you 
 come back." 
 
 Miko obeyed with visible reluctance, and, when he had 
 gone, Pakali said : 
 
 " All these ten years I have known that some day we 
 must come face to face again. I have thought of what I 
 desired to make you understand, but now that we are again 
 in the very place where the old grapevine once grew, I do 
 not know how to speak." She pressed her hand to her 
 bosom as she made an effort to control her emotion. " I 
 have always wanted you to know that, even if you had 
 obeyed a sense of duty, I could not have dwelt under your 
 roof. If love could not open the gates of your city, I am 
 glad they were barred against me." 
 
 Stuart went several steps nearer to her, but she put out her 
 hand, as if to command him to keep at a distance. 
 
 " You must know that I have tried to understand just 
 why you repented of our marriage, and now that I am older 
 it is all plain to me. I have been afraid you might imagine 
 I have judged you harshly, but I have tried to be just to 
 you." 
 
 As she spoke there was such majesty in her bearing, such 
 sublime submission to the facts of her life shone in her face,
 
 A CHANCE MEETING 235 
 
 that Stuart was awestricken. For a moment his self-respect 
 fell away from him and he beheld himself stripped of all 
 the best attributes of manhood. He had eased his conscience 
 by sophistries which seemed to justify his acceptance of 
 Pakali's dismissal, after his long months of neglect; now he 
 realised that he had won a love of which he 'had been utterly 
 unworthy. In Pakali's presence he felt again the fascination 
 of her personality. Her beauty, matured and softened, took 
 hold of his senses. 
 
 " You did not let me know why I was summoned back 
 to Tishomingo. Why was I not informed when the child 
 was -born ? " he inquired. 
 
 "If you could not heed the call of love, why should I 
 have played upon your sympathies? You knew I was ill, 
 and you did not come to me." Pakali spoke calmly, for she 
 had gained command of her emotions. 
 
 " I was a weak, cruel, selfish boy then, even though I was 
 of man's age," answered Stuart. " I have no explanation 
 to offer. What reparation can I make except to do some- 
 thing for our son? " 
 
 In Pakali's eyes blazed a sudden fire. 
 
 " Miko is mine, all mine now," declared the boy's mother. 
 " I have bought him with the price of pain and loneliness, 
 agony and despair. As soon as I knew that you did not love 
 me enough to hasten to my side, when my heart cried out 
 for you, I hoped you would never know that a son had been 
 given to me. I have looked upon Miko as a compensation 
 for the loss of your love." 
 
 " Pakali, you didn't lose my love; I loved you as much as 
 I could love any woman," faltered Stuart. 
 
 "Yes, I believe you did," Pakali answered; "you loved 
 me as much as you could. Perhaps the white man does not 
 know the love that is greater than all things else in the 
 world; perhaps civilisation puts wealth and ambition and 
 social station before love."
 
 236 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " I cannot bear your reproaches. Can you not forgive ra 
 and let me have a chance to retrieve myself in your eyes? " 
 the man pleaded. 
 
 " I have not meant to reproach you," Pakali's voice soft- 
 ened, and pity came into her eyes as she looked at her hus- 
 band. " There was a time when I would have reminded you 
 of all the promises of love which you made to me, but that 
 time has gone by. Your pledges have been like all the 
 pledges the white man has made to my people. You have 
 broken faith with me, and I am enough of an Indian to hold 
 that memory always." 
 
 The golden haze of the afternoon had deepened. The 
 man and the woman stood there in the silence of the sunset 
 hour as their thoughts bridged the years and travelled back 
 and forth above the ruins of their youthful hopes. 
 
 " I might yet win your respect, Pakali," Stuart said. He 
 had been standing with his head uncovered and now he 
 threw aside his hat in order that he might take both her 
 hands in his. She would have prevented him from touch- 
 ing her, but something of his old influence compelled her to 
 be passive. 
 
 " It is not too late for you to come away with me to my 
 city," he said. " Let me take you and Miko. I can change 
 my life; I can adjust it to your needs. I am not such a 
 contemptible man as you think me, and you can bring out 
 all the good that is in my nature. I have tried to forget 
 you ; I have even thought I could marry another woman, but, 
 since I first looked upon my own child, I have known it 
 would be worth while to live for my son and my son's 
 mother." 
 
 " Do you think you could erase all the memories of those 
 ten years, and restore the faith I gave you long ago? " asked 
 Pakali, looking at her husband through her tears. The 
 touch of his hand stirred in her the quick response that in
 
 A CHANCE MEETING 237 
 
 the old days his caresses had always called forth. While the 
 tears blurred her sight she saw again the youth whom she 
 had loved. 
 
 The man was quick to notice the advantage he had gained. 
 He would have drawn her closer to him, but she freed her- 
 self, and, with arms outstretched against the tree around 
 which the old grapevine had once entwined its tendrils, hid 
 her face while she wept as only a strong woman can weep 
 when her emotions gain the mastery over her. 
 
 Stuart waited until the storm of feeling had sub- 
 sided. He dared not touch her again, for she had 
 waved him away with a gesture so imperious he could not 
 but obey it. He passed a miserable five minutes, in which 
 the thought of Eleanor Dudley came to mock at him. Again 
 he had tried to do a thing that tempted him momentarily 
 because Pakali and Miko would be presentable in his world. 
 Even though his son was marked by an Indian ancestry, he 
 was a handsome boy, with a strong individuality and a 
 bright mind. 
 
 " I thought I could never be hurt by you again. I be- 
 lieved you had lost the power to make me suffer," Pakali 
 said presently. " You have dwelt as a guest in the house 
 of my heart ever since you ceased to be the lover welcomed 
 there. I have held you as one who must be ever part of my 
 thoughts, even though you could never again play upon my 
 emotions. You are not the man I loved ten years ago, and 
 I am not the woman whom you promised to care for until 
 death should part us. My tears are for the lost Pakali, who 
 was young; the Pakali who was shut out from your city. 
 You and I must face the future with the wisdom that ex- 
 perience has brought to us. If you want your freedom, you 
 shall have it. I have often wished for the courage to give 
 it to you. I exact no penalties except what is, perhaps, the 
 greatest of all that you shall never let Miko know you
 
 238 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 are his father. Is he not mine by every right? For what- 
 ever wrong you have ever done me, I would have him make 
 recompense by growing to be in sympathy an Indian who 
 shall work for the uplifting of his persecuted people. 
 Through my agonies there may be wrought out an atone- 
 ment for some of the injustice the white man has done the 
 Indian." 
 
 In the fervour with which she uttered her aspirations for 
 her son Pakali carried to her husband the conviction that he 
 had forfeited forever all claim upon her and Miko. He, 
 who seldom was thwarted in any wish, was unnerved by his 
 humiliation, yet the logic of circumstances was clear to him. 
 His plea for reinstatement in Pakali's respect could not be 
 anything but futile. 
 
 " It is likely we shall never see each other again," Stuart 
 said, slowly, after a painful silence, " and I should like to 
 feel that, as time goes by, you will try to remember only 
 whatever good you found in me when you believed me to be 
 worthy to marry you. The wrong I did you was the result 
 of weakness ; it was not intentional. I put off the announce- 
 ment of our marriage; then, after my return to Chicago, I 
 delayed the going back for you until my accumulated faults 
 became a barrier that separated us. If I had known about 
 the child I could not have refused to hasten to you. All 
 these years I have tried to retain my self-respect by making 
 myself believe that you and your father were to blame for 
 too hasty action." 
 
 " If you had loved me as I loved you, you would have 
 come to make explanations. You would have forgotten 
 every other consideration except the duty you owed your 
 wife, a duty that should not have been a galling load," 
 Pakali answered. " Ah, you bartered love for the world's 
 good opinion ; you sacrificed me to the gods that your civili- 
 sation has set up for the white man* to worship." Something 
 of the bitterness that springs in the heart of every sensitive
 
 A CHANCE MEETING 239 
 
 woman who has suffered, overflowed as Pakali remembered 
 the rebellion against which she fought in the first days of 
 her misery. She was standing with clenched hands and 
 with face turned away from her husband, for when she 
 looked at him she saw vaguely the Arnold Stuart whom she 
 had loved when she was a girl. 
 
 " I did betray your faith ; I did break every vow I made to 
 you," confessed Stuart. " There must be some way by 
 which I can make reparation." 
 
 " You do not understand a woman's nature or you would 
 not imagine it possible to repair such an injury as that from 
 which I have suffered." Pakali drew a long breath, as if 
 the pain in her heart stifled her. " Can you bring back 
 faith, and love, and hope? Is there any magic by which you 
 can restore my youth ? For ten years I have been denied all 
 the sweet inspiration of love, and I am grown to be a woman 
 quite different from the one who would have developed under 
 natural conditions. Only in my dreams have I the home 
 that is my right, and there dwell the sons and daughters that 
 might have been mine." he was looking toward him now, 
 but it was as if she did not see him, and she was transfigured 
 by the vision of her lost happiness. She w r as silent for a 
 moment. Then she went on: "I do not mean to accuse 
 you; I speak because it is right that you should know the 
 power that men have to make women wretched. I want you 
 to leave this place before Miko comes back, so I shall say 
 good-bye now. You go away with my forgiveness, though 
 memory cannot be blotted out." 
 
 Stuart would have touched her hand, but she drew away 
 from him. 
 
 " Go back to your city," she said, gently. " The gates 
 are barred forever against the Indian woman." 
 
 Stuart gazed at her as she stood there in the majesty with 
 which her sorrow clothed her. A sense of aloofness made 
 him dumb when he would have uttered a last plea in justifi-
 
 240 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 cation of himself. With bowed head he walked toward the 
 carriage, but he retraced his steps, and, standing near her, 
 said: 
 
 Pakali, when you are trying to forgive me, will you 
 teach Miko that his unknown father is not altogether 
 bad?" 
 
 " I have taught my son that you are only forgetful of his 
 mother," was the answer. 
 
 Pakali stood motionless there by the road for a long time, 
 after she was left alone. She was sitting upon a log when 
 Miko returned from the Blikens ranch with Hattakowa, 
 whom he had met riding toward Tishomingo. Miko had 
 told Hattakowa that the stranger was with his mother, and 
 the Indian had spurred his horse into its best speed. When 
 he found Pakali alone she had partially regained her com- 
 posure. She rose and walked unsteadily toward her horse, 
 in order that she might have an excuse for turning her back 
 upon Hattawoka, from whose anxious glances she shrank. 
 
 " Mother, where is the gentleman who stopped to talk 
 with you? " asked Miko. " I wanted to see him again, for 
 he said he liked me." 
 
 Hattakowa's face hardened and his brows met in a scowl, 
 but he pressed his lips together, while he waited for the 
 answer to Miko's question. 
 
 " He drove back to town," said Pakali, whose hand 
 trembled so that she could not undo her horse's bridle, which 
 she had tied to the fence. Hattakowa, who had been quick 
 to offer assistance, unknotted the reins, and put Pakali into 
 her saddle. The three horses were urged into a gallop, and, 
 with Miko far ahead, Hattakowa and Pakali rode back to 
 Tishomingo. They had reached Moma Binna before Hatta- 
 kowa spoke of what was uppermost in his mind. 
 
 " Forgive me for not telling you that Arnold Stuart was 
 in the Territory," he said, when Pakali had wearily ascended 
 the steps of the veranda. " He promised me he would not
 
 A CHANCE MEETING 241 
 
 ' 
 teek an interview with you, but I might have known that 
 
 he would not keep his word." 
 
 " It was a chance meeting," Pakali replied. " I know 
 you meant to save me from the pain of seeing" she hesitated 
 " my husband, after all these years, but I am glad that 
 I had the chance to tell him how I have felt about his forget- 
 fulness of me." 
 
 Hattakowa had too much delicacy to ask a question voicing 
 his desire to know how they had parted, and he 'waited in 
 the hope that Pakali would add some word of explanation, 
 but, suddenly overcome by her emotions, she hastily entered 
 the house.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 THE PRICE OF FORGETFULNESS 
 
 ARNOLD STUART left Tishomingo the day after he met 
 Pakali by the roadside. With a sense of relief he piled his 
 luggage i'nto one of the cars which belonged to the evening 
 train. He had passed through a period of intense perturba- 
 tion. All his life he had felt resentment whenever he was 
 compelled to suffer mental or physical distress. Pakali's 
 personality haunted him. Her beauty, tragic in its racial 
 distinctiveness, which was softened by the strain of Cau- 
 casian blood, had flowered even through sad experiences, and, 
 while he knew that, if she had accepted his impulsive offer 
 to make reparation for past neglect, he would not be happy, 
 yet he disliked the idea that he had lost a woman who would 
 have done credit to his discriminating taste. His mind was 
 in such a chaotic condition that he could not think con- 
 nectedly. It seemed as if all his affairs had become so en- 
 tangled that they could never be straightened out. 
 
 It is a human instinct for all who err to seek self-justifica- 
 tion, but the sophistries which were usually a balm to Stuart's 
 conscience did not avail to restore his equilibrium. All the 
 good in him had been momentarily awakened, but, even while 
 he felt anew the fascination which Pakali exerted over him, 
 and even though he coveted the possession of his son, he knew 
 that it would be impossible to readjust his life. One thought 
 comforted him wealth would give him the means of es- 
 caping taunting memories. Out of the fortune he hoped 
 to obtain through the syndicate, he would make provision 
 for Miko, even though the child's mother would inherit 
 wealth. This idea helped to mend the tattered vestment of 
 his self-respect. He would make a complete confession to 
 
 242
 
 THE PRICE OF FORGETFULNESS 243 
 
 Eleanor Dudley. She would give him the ready sympathy 
 which had drawn him to her even when he had thought to 
 break off their long friendship. She would be the one 
 woman who could understand. Perhaps she had guessed why 
 he had not asked her to marry him; she might suggest some 
 way of solving the problem of his future. 
 
 While he was thinking, as, with hat drawn over his eyes, 
 he sat in the corner of the car seat, the train bumped along 
 for several miles over a rough roadbed. He did not notice 
 a short stop at a flag station, where a man who paused to 
 look at Stuart's head and shoulders outlined against the dusty 
 window-pane, entered the first coach, which happened to be a 
 combination baggage and smoking car, where he sat in the 
 dim light, which but partly revealed his form. 
 
 There were many delays, which Stuart endured with but 
 scant patience. Once he walked through the smoking com- 
 partment, passing the man without even glancing at the 
 vague figure. At last the train reached the station where 
 it was necessary to change cars for South McAlester. Sev- 
 eral negroes and Texas cowboys crowded ahead of Stuart, 
 whose luggage was taken off by two brakemen. As the 
 train was starting the man who had been sitting upon a 
 trunk jumped to the platform. 
 
 The late moon was rising, and Stuart, standing among 
 his travelling bags, looked up to recognise Hattakowa. The 
 appearance of the Indian gave the white man a foreboding 
 which made him shiver involuntarily. Stuart was quick of 
 resource, and, facing Hattakowa, he said: 
 
 " I did not notice you on the train, Mr. Dixon." 
 
 " I took care that you should not see me," answered Hatta- 
 kowa, " lest you might desire to put off our hour of reckon- 
 ing." 
 
 "What do you mean?" inquired Stuart, whose hasty 
 glance showed him that he and Hattakowa would soon be 
 the only ones left at the isolated station. The negroes and
 
 244 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 the cowboys had quickly disappeared and the sleepy agent 
 was locking his inside office. Two hours must pass before 
 the South McAlester train would come in, and Stuart 
 realised that he had been entrapped at a place where he 
 could not escape from whatever reckoning Hattakowa chose 
 to demand of him. 
 
 " You and I have many scores to settle," declare Hatta- 
 kowa. " I have given you a long respite, and now you 
 must answer to me for the wrong you did my kinswoman ten 
 years ago; for the insult to her you uttered the night 
 you arrived in Tishomingo, when you insinuated that her 
 son was mine ; and for the breaking of your promise not to 
 disturb her peace by seeking an interview while you were in 
 Tishomingo." 
 
 A cloud that obscured the face of the moon was slowly 
 swept away by the night wind, and the ghastly pallor on 
 Stuart's face was revealed to his enemy. Life was sweet to 
 the white man, and it was worth while to parry death. 
 Until that hour Hattakowa's threats had been indefinite and 
 therefore not alarming. The Indian had appeared far too 
 civilised to commit murder, but here, late in the night, at a 
 lonely railroad junction, it was possible that Hattakowa had 
 come to take blood vengeance. 
 
 " Mr. Dixon, you have the right to resent the wrong I 
 have done my wife," Stuart said, in a propitiatory tone; but 
 the fact that he referred to Pakali as his wife added fuel to 
 Hattakowa's anger. " If I could make amends, I would 
 do so, yet if I gave up my life it would not make your kins- 
 woman any happier. I did not seek the interview with 
 Pakali, but I used the chance meeting as an opportunity to 
 offer all the reparation in my power. I would have taken 
 her and our son back to Chicago with me." 
 
 " So you condescended to invite Pakali and her child to 
 live under your roof where you could find new ways of show- 
 ing your indifference to them," retorted Hattakowa. " How
 
 THE PRICE OF FORGETFULNESS 245 
 
 dared you think yourself worthy to associate with the woman 
 who is unfortunate enough to bear your name? " The In- 
 dian looked at the white man with such contempt that 
 Stuart's pale face flushed beneath his gaze. 
 
 "What amends do you exact from me?" Stuart asked 
 after a moment's silence. " I made the only offer that a man 
 in my position could make. What more can you expect ? " 
 
 Hattakowa stooped to open a small leather handbag from 
 which he took two revolvers. As the Indian raised himself 
 Stuart saw a gleam of metal and understood that the Indian 
 demanded blood vengeance and nothing less. He stood 
 paralysed for a moment. With the full realisation that he 
 had come face to face with death, Stuart waited while Hatta- 
 kowa examined the firearms. 
 
 " The Indian despises the white man's duel," said Hatta- 
 kowa. " It is the red man's custom to hunt his foe as he 
 hunts the wild beast in the forest, but I am not so much a 
 savage that I will not give you a chance to defend yourself. 
 Here, take this revolver, and at fifteen paces we will settle 
 our differences." 
 
 " I decline to take part in a shooting affray," Stuart de- 
 clared in a husky voice. "If you came here to murder me 
 you must not expect me to help you escape from hanging by 
 giving you the chance to make the plea of self-defence." 
 
 As he spoke he looked around in the vain hope that some 
 chance passerby might come to his rescue. He stifled a cry 
 for help which came to his lips, for he knew that his voice 
 could not be heard in the nearest house. Although he was 
 a man of courage he was not brave enough to contemplate 
 the surrender of life without feeling the fear of death. The 
 world held him by the strongest interests. An impulse of 
 self-protection made him turn quickly and run to the end of 
 the platform, but Hattakowa overtook him, and, gripping 
 him by the shoulder, forced one of the revolvers into his right 
 hand.
 
 246 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " You cannot save yourself," the Indian said, quietly. " I 
 shall shoot you in the back if you are such a coward as to 
 run away. I have waited until now, for I could not kill you 
 in Tishomingo where Pakali and Miko might look upon 
 your dead face." He glanced at his watch. " I will give 
 you ten minutes in which to write any notes that you may 
 think important in case your business affairs, including your 
 interests in the lands you have helped to steal from the In- 
 dians, may have to be settled by some of your friends." 
 
 Holding the revolver in his nerveless grasp, Stuart an- 
 swered : 
 
 " If I must die there is no reason for waiting ten minutes, 
 unless I may be able to argue with you concerning my right 
 to live." 
 
 " Words will be of no avail ; your deeds have given you 
 the right to die instead of the right to live," answered Hatta- 
 kowa. " The ten minutes begin now." 
 
 He counted off the fifteen paces and stood with folded 
 arms while Stuart waited miserably for his small chance of 
 escaping the shot of his enemy. As if it were a panorama 
 spread out before him the white man saw his whole life. 
 Already he seemed to be looking back upon it from the van- 
 tage ground of eternity. The scenes revealed in that hour 
 were pleasant to look upon, and yet, turning from the past 
 to the future, he beheld the promise of days that made exist- 
 ence of two-fold value to him. Involuntarily he pressed his 
 left hand to his eyes while for a few seconds he persuaded 
 himself that he was dreaming, but when he looked ahead of 
 him he saw Hattakowa watching him with the quiet patience 
 which was a last refinement of cruelty. It seemed as if an 
 hour had passed when he saw down the track the headlight 
 of an engine. Hope rose in his breast, but he held himself 
 immovable lest Hattakowa should know that he looked for 
 help from the coming train. Brighter and brighter shone 
 the headlight; nearer and nearer came the sound of the car
 
 THE PRICE OF FORGETFULNESS 247 
 
 wheels. Stuart held his breath as with drawn face he looked 
 toward the engine, but hope died when its speed did not 
 slacken. He was dazzled by a flood of light as the train 
 swept on. 
 
 " We have five minutes more," announced Hattakowa. 
 Something in the Indian's voice reminded the white man of 
 the night when they had first met. Again Stuart saw Pakali. 
 Once more he was young. The joy of living possessed him ; 
 he could not lose it. Each year brought him new pleasures, 
 yet he was standing now before a man who would rob him 
 of life and its possibilities. The instinct of self-preservation 
 told him to make one supreme effort to escape Hattakowa's 
 blood vengeance. He rushed at the Indian and had gripped 
 his right hand when Hattakowa, who was much the stronger 
 of the two, threw him off and commanded him to take his 
 place. In desperation Stuart fired at his enemy but the ball 
 whizzed above the Indian's head. 
 
 Hattakowa sprang upon Stuart and wrenched the revolver 
 from his grasp. 
 
 " For the last time you have exercised the white man's 
 privilege of dealing unfairly with the Indian," declared 
 Hattakowa, " but I still give you a chance for your life." 
 He put Stuart in position; then he examined both the re- 
 volvers, and, retaining the one which Stuart had fired, he 
 gave the other to his opponent. 
 
 "One! Two! Three! Four!" Hattakowa counted; 
 and the ball from Stuart's revolver grazed his forehead. 
 " Five! " Hattakowa shot with a sure aim; he meant to hit 
 the heart that had been untrue to Pakali. Stuart staggered, 
 and fell forward upon his face. 
 
 Hattakowa went to the white man's side, and, turning 
 him over, raised his head. Stuart drew a long breath as if 
 he sighed to leave the pleasant world. His eyes closed. 
 Hattakowa knew that he was dead.
 
 BEHIND STONE WALLS 
 
 THERE was still more than an hour before the coming of the 
 train for which Stuart had been waiting when Hattakowa 
 awoke the station agent, who was dozing in the main room 
 of the one-storied, slab-covered building that bore the am- 
 bitious name of " Hotel." 
 
 " I want you to send some telegrams for me," he said 
 calmly. Going to an ink-stained deal table he wrote several 
 messages, one of which was addressed to the United States 
 marshal at Ardmore. A number of men had been attracted 
 to the station by the sound of the shots. There had been a 
 time when shooting affairs had been too common in the Ter- 
 ritory to arouse more than casual notice, but the lawless 
 period had passed, and, when it was known that Hattakowa 
 had killed a white man, the settlers at the junction manifested 
 much excitement. 
 
 Through the night Hattakowa remained outside the hotel. 
 He had bound the wound on his forehead with a handker- 
 chief, and, as he sat in the darkness, he became conscious of 
 the nervous reaction which follows intense excitement. He 
 had obtained the blood vengeance of which he had dreamed 
 for ten years, but he felt none of the elation the Indian ex- 
 periences when he has vanquished his enemy. Stuart's re- 
 luctance to give up life left Hattakowa with a haunting 
 memory of the handsome, pale face, the symmetrically pro- 
 portioned body, and the well-modulated voice of the white 
 man. 
 
 Stuart had deserved death, and Hattakowa was willing to 
 give up his own life in order to compel the white man to pay 
 
 248
 
 BEHIND STONE WALLS 249 
 
 the penalty for his misdeeds. The Indian knew that there 
 would be no mercy for him when the Federal Court passed 
 judgment for exacting blood vengeance from a white man 
 who had had influential political friends. He could not un- 
 derstand the white man's fear of losing life, but he shrank 
 from the ignominious death of a felon. He knew that his 
 trial would bring out many facts concerning the causes 
 which led up to the night's tragedy. Through him publicity 
 might be given concerning the many frauds of which the au- 
 thorities at Washington were ignorant. He had thought he 
 would be willing to suffer the ordeal of trial in the Federal 
 Courts if, without bringing Pakali into notoriety, he could 
 expose conditions that were a reproach to the United States. 
 
 Pakali! His thoughts always came back to Pakali. He 
 could not guess how her husband's death would affect her, 
 but he knew that he had cut himself off from her forever 
 since her woman's heart would remind her that the dead man 
 was the father of her son. He loved Miko, and he won- 
 dered whether the child could be kept in ignorance of the 
 fact that The Man Looking for the Sun had murdered his 
 father. 
 
 The savage in Hattakowa had exacted the life of his 
 enemy; now the influence of his Caucasian ancestry domi- 
 nated him for a brief time. The last ten years had taught him 
 that the Indian could not obtain any recompense for his 
 wrongs; he had taken the law into his own hands, and, 
 beyond the regret that he had caused Pakali added suffering, 
 he had no concern about the consequences of his deed. With- 
 out his Star Woman life meant nothing to him, yet the man 
 who had won her had put her aside because he had found 
 many distracting interests in his world. Hattakowa could 
 not comprehend Stuart's attitude toward life. 
 
 As the hours dragged by, now and then he thought he felt 
 the dead man's hands clasping his wrist; the winds repeated 
 Stuart's last sigh as he gave up life. In the dull grey of the
 
 250 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 early morning the men carried into the hotel a stretcher 
 covered with a dark blanket. Hattakowa glanced at it in- 
 differently, for the thing they carried was no longer his 
 enemy. 
 
 The United States marshal came on an early train and 
 Hattakowa surrendered himself. At noon, after a coroner's 
 jury had rendered a verdict declaring that Arnold Stuart 
 had come to his death by the hand of Joseph Dixon, Hatta- 
 kowa went back to Ardmore with the Federal officer. 
 
 The news that Hattakowa had killed a white man had 
 spread rapidly, and at the station the Indian saw the faces 
 of many of his friends. Foremost among them was Judge 
 Maury, who had come to Ardmore from Wauchula to at- 
 tend court. 
 
 " This is a bad business, a bad business! " said the Judge, 
 pressing close to Hattakowa. " I've been to see whether I 
 could get you out on bail, but there is no help for it; you 
 will have to be locked up." 
 
 The three Federal prisons of the Territory long had been 
 a reproach to a civilised country. The jail situated in Ard- 
 more was one of the sights which tourists declared reminded 
 them of stories of mediaeval times. It was in the centre of 
 the town, and thither Hattakowa was driven in what is 
 called a " hack " everywhere west of the Mississippi River. 
 Upon a sixteen-foot wall of masonry two armed guards paced 
 back and forth all day and all night. An iron-barred door 
 opened into this wall and gave entrance to a long, narrow 
 enclosure. A whitewashed wooden shack occupied the cen- 
 tre of the jail yard, leaving a narrow passageway on each 
 side, and a place ten or twelve feet long at each end. In the 
 wooden shack, which was divided into two rooms, slept and 
 ate two hundred prisoners. The Southern race prejudice 
 compelled the division of space so that the negroes could be 
 separated from the whites and Indians. At night, when 
 filthy mattresses were spread upon the floor of the shack,
 
 BEHIND STONE WALLS 251 
 
 there was hardly room enough for the men to crowd under 
 shelter, even though they lay in closely-packed rows. Ab- 
 solutely no sanitary provisions were made for the helpless 
 prisoners who, each morning, rolled up their vermin-infested 
 bedding before they ate the meagre breakfast, which was 
 placed upon the dirty floor, tin plates being distributed among 
 the men as they sat with legs drawn under them. Hatta- 
 kowa had often climbed the narrow stairs which led to the 
 wall and thence looked down upon the miserable occupants 
 of the enclosure. All summer the southern sun poured down 
 upon the whitewashed roof and walls, and, after the welcome 
 rain came to the relief of the gasping prisoners, the water 
 stood in puddles that moistened the accumulated filth of 
 months. 
 
 When Hattakowa and Judge Maury entered the jail en- 
 closure on this day after the killing of Stuart, their presence 
 was hardly noticed, inasmuch as visitors were not uncommon, 
 but, after Hattakowa was left alone, and it became plain 
 that the man whose wealth and prominence had made him 
 known everywhere in the Nation was confined with them, 
 the prisoners made overtures of friendship. Furtively they 
 glanced at the wound upon the newcomer's forehead, but 
 they took no notice of it even when fresh bleeding made 
 necessary the adjustment of a bandage. Hattakowa, who had 
 seated himself upon one of the long benches built against 
 the wall, made no answer in return to adroit questions in- 
 tended to give him an opportunity for telling why he was 
 there among those who had broken Federal laws. Three or 
 four halfbreeds and tw r o fullbloods, all of whom knew Hatta- 
 kowa, gathered around him and, concealing whatever curi- 
 osity they might have, began to talk of the allotment and of 
 other subjects interesting to the Chickasaws. 
 
 Hattakowa had not been in jail an hour before he was 
 conscious that several persons were gazing at him from the 
 wall. He recognised Billy Brown and Cole Mattison, who
 
 252 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 were staring at him with evident enjoyment of the situation. 
 His choler rose, and, with the wish that he might have dealt 
 with them as he had dealt with Arnold Stuart, he rose from 
 the bench and went inside the whitewashed shack. Here the 
 air was stifling. Fifty men were lying upon the floor, some 
 of them napping, others smoking. 
 
 Night came on. From a place on the bench against the 
 wall Hattakowa watched the bedtime preparations. The 
 jailer had given him a mattress more unclean than most of 
 the others he had noticed, but, even when warned that the 
 signal for quiet would be given in five minutes, the latest 
 arrival at the Ardmore jail made no effort to find a place for 
 his bed. Instead, he obtained permission to remain on the 
 bench all night. 
 
 With his head resting upon his hands Hattakowa gazed 
 upward at the stars and forgot that he was a prisoner, except 
 now and then when the figures of the guards crossed his 
 vision as they passed to and fro upon the wall. In the free- 
 dom of the forest he had often lain upon the ground whence 
 he could look up to the heavens, and now he saw between 
 him and the skies the face of his Star Woman, who looked 
 upon him accusingly. He glanced at his watch, and, at the 
 hour when Stuart had given up life, Hattakowa tried to 
 rejoice because he had obtained the blood vengeance. A light 
 wind sweeping over the walls of the prison seemed to bring 
 to him his victim's last sigh. 
 
 Hattakowa rose to his feet and would have paced the 
 narrow passageway, but he remembered that he dared not 
 disturb his fellow prisoners. He lay down again ; his body 
 burned with a fever; his throat was parched. Removing his 
 shoes, he softly crept to the big barrel that contained the tepid 
 rain water provided for drinking purposes. The odour of 
 rotting wood nauseated him as he dipped a cupful of the stag- 
 nant water. He went back to the bench to dream of Pen- 
 nington Creek, coolly flowing over the smooth boulders.
 
 BEHIND STONE WALLS 253 
 
 Long ago its clear pools had mirrored Pakali's face and his 
 own as they leaned over to read their future from the col- 
 oured pebbles. Once as they looked into the limpid depths 
 of the stream, Pakali had cried that she saw blood in the 
 place where Hattakowa rested his right hand. Laughingly 
 he had shown her how the red sandstone was reflected through 
 the water. Now the ill omen had been fulfilled. While his 
 thoughts taunted him in a hundred ways, Hattakowa scorn- 
 fully told himself that the Indian should have no qualms 
 about killing a foe, and he reasoned that the white blood in 
 him had made him too tender-hearted. Stuart had but paid 
 the right penalty for his ignoble deeds. 
 
 After all, it was only because of Pakali that Hattakowa 
 permitted himself to review the incidents of the preceding 
 night. He would have to forfeit his life as the price of his 
 blood vengeance, and surely that was a fair exchange, one 
 which would ease even the conscience of a white man. In 
 the dim, leaden light, just before dawn, all the hideous de- 
 tails of the prison revealed themselves with an added look 
 of squalor. Hattakowa wondered how long he would be 
 compelled to stay there, and whether Pakali would let him 
 say good-bye to her before he died. Then he remembered 
 his mother, whose heart must be breaking over his plight. 
 
 In the early morning the prisoners' activities diverted 
 Hattakowa's thoughts from himself. The two hundred men 
 had a system of self-government. A code of strict laws was 
 enforced by a kangaroo court, and severe punishments were 
 inflicted for any infraction of its rules. The prisoners 
 took turns in cleaning the shack and in sweeping the jail 
 yard. 
 
 Breakfast was brought in several hours after the rising 
 time. This meal consisted of hunks of fried mush, simmer- 
 ing in grease. When the jailer offered Hattakowa his share 
 of the rations the Indian contemptuously declined to accept 
 the coarse fare. A liberal bribe enabled him to have a trayful
 
 254 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 of palatable food sent in from Ardmore's leading hotel. Of 
 this Hattakowa ate but little. When Judge Maury visited 
 him the Indian's first care was to make arrangements for a 
 feast of meat and vegetables for all his comrades in trouble. 
 By ordering this from the man who was making three hun- 
 dred per cent, profit on his contract to feed the prisoners, 
 Hattakowa knew that no objections would be offered. Judge 
 Maury made but a brief call, for he was evidently too much 
 upset by the killing of Stuart to outline a plan of defence. 
 He remarked that he would wait for Beaumont and Sands, 
 whom he expected on the noon train. 
 
 " You didn't sleep much, I reckon," said the Judge, as, 
 with a silk handkerchief he dusted a place on the bench be- 
 side Hattakowa. After he had seated himself he silently 
 stared for a time at one of his gaitered feet. 
 
 " Somehow I never thought you would kill Arnold 
 Stuart," he said, presently, " but it was an affair of honour, 
 and, from the standpoint of a Southern gentleman, I must 
 say that you did just right. It's a wonder you waited so 
 long." 
 
 " If I had killed him in Tishomingo, Pakali never after- 
 ward would have been contented in the town she has always 
 loved," explained Hattakowa. " I wanted to spare her as 
 much as I could." 
 
 " That was well, that was well," agreed the Judge, " and 
 I warrant he was afraid to die." 
 
 " He loved life," commented Hattakowa. 
 
 Judge Maury glanced at Hattakowa's forehead, which 
 bore the mark of the bullet Stuart had fired in his last 
 frenzied attempt to save himself. 
 
 " He tried to take advantage of you, didn't he? " asked 
 the old lawyer. 
 
 " He did not wait until I had counted five," said Hatta- 
 kowa, carelessly. 
 
 " That wound, even though it be slight, can be made to
 
 BEHIND STONE WALLS 255 
 
 avail much in your favour when you are tried," asserted 
 Judge Maury. 
 
 " I desire to make no defence," Hattakowa declared. " For 
 ten years I waited for the chance to kill the white man who 
 had wronged Pakali. I cannot expose my kinswoman's sor- 
 rows to save myself." 
 
 " You talk as if you were a madman ! " exclaimed the 
 Judge, who went off in a dignified huff. 
 
 In the afternoon Judge Maury returned to the jail with 
 Beaumont and Sands. Pakali's father looked pitifully bent 
 and aged, and, owing to a recent attack of rheumatism, he 
 walked with difficulty. He sank heavily upon the wall bench 
 before he spoke to Hattakowa, who had come forward to 
 meet him. Then he looked up to say: 
 
 " Hattakowa, I wish you could have been less the Indian. 
 After all these years we might have let Arnold Stuart live 
 out his allotted time. The Little Mother's religion taught 
 me to remember the words, ' Vengeance is mine; I will re- 
 pay, saith the Lord.' ' The old man's face had become so 
 deeply furrowed that the scar upon his cheek appeared to be 
 but one of his many wrinkles; he had lost flesh, and showed 
 an extreme feebleness of movement. 
 
 " If Stuart had not come back to Tishomingo; if he had 
 not helped to rob every person in the Nation; if he had not 
 dared even to cast an insinuation upon your daughter's name 
 I would have spared him for betraying the trust you had 
 given him," Hattakowa answered, with the old hate blazing 
 in his eyes. " Now I have set Pakali free. Her living sor- 
 row, turned to the dignity of a grief for the dead, may bring 
 her something like serenity after I have given my life for the 
 life I have taken." 
 
 " You shall not give your life for Arnold Stuart's," in- 
 terposed Sands. " You had a just provocation, and no jury 
 will convict you." 
 
 " It was a premeditated murder and I am ready to take
 
 256 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 the punishment for it." Hattakowa made the statement in 
 a decided voice and Judge Maury caught him by the arm. 
 
 " Hush! How dare you speak so recklessly! " he said, 
 as his florid face turned purple with excitement. " I mean 
 to defend you as I have never defended man before." 
 
 " I don't want any defence," Hattakowa answered. " If 
 it were not for my mother I should rejoice over the fact that 
 death is near to me." 
 
 " You seem to have lost all trace of common sense, Hatta- 
 kowa! " exclaimed Sands. " You have done a service to the 
 whole Nation by making an example of Arnold Stuart. I 
 am Indian enough to wish that you had killed the whole 
 syndicate. If Elisha Fordham had died ten years ago the 
 Chickasaws might have escaped wholesale robbery." 
 
 " I thought you were reconciled, Sands, to the fact that 
 we must be victims of progress," said Beaumont, shaking his 
 head rebukingly. 
 
 " The Indian in me rebels often," Sands answered. He 
 drew Judge Maury aside to confer with him, and Hattakowa 
 took advantage of the opportunity to ask Beaumont about 
 Fakali. 
 
 " She is overcome by the horror of it all," Beaumont an- 
 swered. " She mourns for the man she loved ten years ago, 
 and even reproaches herself for some of the words she spoke 
 to him the day before he died. She grieves, Hattakowa, 
 because his blood is upon your hand." 
 
 " Pakali may live to understand that I have been her 
 liberator," Hattakowa answered, slowly. " It is a galling 
 trouble to me that she and my mother must suffer for what 
 I have done, but my mother is so much an Indian that she 
 will not blame me." 
 
 " You have been to me all that a son could be," Beaumont 
 said, rising and putting his wrinkled brown hands upon 
 Hattakowa's shoulders. " You have brought a great sorrow 
 to me."
 
 BEHIND STONE WALLS 257 
 
 ;< Yet, when Pakali suffered in the months before Miko 
 was born, did you not desire blood vengeance? " The 
 younger Indian asked the question in a respectful tone, and 
 Beaumont answered: 
 
 " The Little Mother's religion restrained me, but I will 
 confess I was often tempted to kill the man who betrayed 
 my daughter's faith."
 
 CHAPTER XXXHI 
 THE WAY OF A WOMAN 
 
 PAKALI'S chance meeting with her husband had stirred every 
 emotion which she long had tried to repress. She went back 
 to Moma Binna with a feeling that she had been face to face 
 with the ghost of all her lost hopes. Arnold Stuart's voice 
 recalled the words of love he had spoken when she was a 
 girl ; the touch of his hand made every nerve vibrate. After 
 she had shut the door of her little room she rebuked herself 
 for having spoken accusingly to the man who was the father 
 of her child. The mother love, which enters into every love 
 a true woman harbours in her heart, went out to the white 
 man with a rush of pity for his weakness. Although her 
 reason assured her that it was too late for her to enter the 
 white man's city, still she tormented herself with remorseful 
 thoughts. After all, his had been a great temptation, and 
 the white man could not know how much the Indian could 
 love. For hours the world seemed blank to her, but Miko's 
 voice calling at her door reminded her that she had been 
 given a definite object in life the training of her child to 
 be a better man than the father who had dishonoured her by 
 his neglect and indifference. She opened the door, and in 
 the dusk of the evening saw her son's head outlined against 
 the grey of the sky as he stood upon the porch. The head 
 was like his father's. Pakali turned to the table upon which 
 stood one of her mother's water-lily candelabra, and, striking 
 a light, drew Miko to a place where she could study his 
 features while she listened as he told her that Gee-Haw 
 Blikens had brought him a pair of guinea pigs. 
 The greatest tragedies are interwoven with the commonest 
 
 258
 
 THE WAY OF A WOMAN 259 
 
 incidents of life ; perhaps that is why the human mind is able 
 to bear its most poignant griefs. Sinking into a low chair 
 Pakali waited while Miko described the fine points of his 
 newly-acquired pets. The cleft chin and the full under lip 
 were like Stuart's, and yet they lacked the weakness .of the 
 white man's features. Impulsively Pakali put out her arms 
 to embrace Miko, who stopped his narrative long enough to 
 kiss her. 
 
 " There, mother, dear, now you will come out to see the 
 guinea pigs, won't you ? " coaxed the boy. 
 
 Pakali shook her head and Miko noticed that her face was 
 sad. 
 
 " You have been so quiet ever since you saw that stranger 
 to-day," he said. " I hope he did not hurt your feelings. I 
 almost thought you had been crying when The Man Looking 
 for the Sun and I came back to you." 
 
 " Don't worry about mother," Pakali answered, with a 
 faint smile. 
 
 " I can't help thinking the stranger must be a bad man," 
 observed Miko, leaning his elbows upon the table and resting 
 his chin in his hands. " He made The Man Looking for 
 the Sun very angry that night I invited him to ride in our 
 wagon, and you are unhappy after you have talked with him. 
 But he was kind to me the day he came down to the big 
 boulder where I was playing." 
 
 " What big boulder, Miko? " Pakali had leaned back in 
 her low rocking-chair, which was drawn so that she was in 
 the shadow of a high screen. 
 
 " The one down in Pennington Creek in the place where 
 you will never go with me." 
 
 " Did he find you there? " cried Pakali with an accent 
 which startled Miko so that he left the table and went to 
 lean against her knee. 
 
 " We talked a long time there," the boy said, " and, oh, 
 mother, he pointed out a big crack in the rock where someone
 
 26o THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 had put in a lot of little stones, and I pulled out the stones. 
 You cannot guess what I found ! " 
 
 Pakali gripped the child's arm and waited breathlessly for 
 him to continue his story, but he would not say another word 
 until she had guessed that perhaps an old bird's nest, or a 
 horse shoe had been concealed in the rock. 
 
 " No, no." Miko shook his head. " It was just a row 
 of little sticks, and the stranger took one look at them and 
 then went away." 
 
 Pakali rose hastily. She walked to the window, where she 
 remained until she could control her agitation enough to send 
 Miko away upon an errand. 
 
 The next night when she put Miko to bed in the room that 
 for such a brief time had been his father's, she stepped to 
 the dressing table beside which through all the years had 
 hung the spurs once the property of Stuart. These she re- 
 moved, and, rolling them in the canvas hunting suit, which 
 had been allowed to remain in the closet, she went out into 
 the living room. The boy's father had come and gone with- 
 out being recognised. The time had arrived when she must 
 remove from Moma Binna all that reminded her of Arnold 
 Stuart. She had thought he might return, but he had not 
 come near the house where she had lived alone, dreaming of 
 him, longing for him, mourning for him. A feeling of re- 
 sentment took possession of her as she realised for the first 
 time that her husband had returned to Tishomingo on a quest 
 which in no way concerned her except so far as she was a 
 part of the Chickasaw Nation. He had even carelessly 
 promised not to seek her. This thought touched her pride. 
 
 Pakali went to bed early, but she could not sleep. Toward 
 midnight, when half dozing, something aroused her. She 
 thought Stuart spoke her name, and it was as if he walked 
 through the door into Miko's room. Her dream made such 
 a vivid impression upon her that, slipping out of bed and 
 throwing a dressing-gown around her, she went to Miko, who
 
 THE WAY OF A WOMAN 261 
 
 w sleeping in the happy unconsciousness of childhood'* 
 slumber. She kissed the boy's cheek. As she moved away 
 from his bed her eyes fell upon the armchair and the stool 
 m the bay window. An irresistible impulse caused her to 
 sink upon the stool, and, stretching out he* arms so that they 
 rested upon the chair, she hid her face in the cushioned seat. 
 
 " Suppose I should forget to come back to my Chickasaw 
 wife," she heard Stuart say in a bantering tone, just as he 
 had spoken on the day he left her. 
 
 The breeze moved the window curtains, and Pakali raised 
 her head. She felt her husband's presence for a moment; 
 she thought she saw his face wearing a look of such fear that 
 the handsome features were distorted. She put out her hand 
 as if she would touch him, and then the vision was with- 
 drawn. Involuntarily she spoke his name. The wind stirred 
 the curtain again and she knew that she was alone. She 
 stood there trembling until Miko, laughing in a pleasant 
 dream, broke the spell that was upon her. 
 
 An hour after breakfast the next morning when Pakali, 
 listless and exhausted, was reclining in an easy chair on the 
 veranda at Moma Binna, Beaumont told her as briefly and 
 as kindly as possible, that Hattakowa had killed Arnold 
 Stuart. For a few moments the whole world was blotted 
 out. When she came back to consciousness someone was 
 bathing her head, and Miko, pale and big eyed, was rubbing 
 her hand. Beaumont lifted his daughter in his arms and 
 carried her into her bedroom. 
 
 " Be brave, little girl," he whispered, arranging her pillow 
 for her and stroking her head, just as he had done when she 
 was a child. " I don't know what to say, but if the Little 
 Mother were here she could remind you of some Divine 
 promise that would give you comfort." 
 
 " I know you are grieving over Hattakowa," Pakali an- 
 swered, " and I am the cause of all this terrible trouble." 
 
 " You must not be morbid," her father admonished. " We
 
 262 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 are all but puppets in the hand of fate. Hattakowa has 
 assumed the primitive man's right to punish a transgressor. 
 Don't judge him too harshly." 
 
 All day Pakali lay in a darkened chamber. At first she 
 felt only the horror that the knowledge of Stuart's death 
 brought her. He had died in the very prime of life because 
 Hattakowa sought vengeance for her wrongs. Although she 
 was an Indian she had never harboured bitter resentment 
 against her husband. She had mourned over her lost love. 
 After all, Stuart's greatest fault had been his weakness. The 
 white man's civilisation corroded the human heart; it set up 
 golden idols in the shrines where love should be worshipped. 
 Stuart's shortcoming was the result of his education. Be- 
 fore the greed of gold and the lust for power had taken hold 
 of him; before he had bowed down to the social Moloch 
 which exacted the sacrifice of love and duty to selfish aspira- 
 tion, he had come to her, and she would remember him as 
 he was in the days marked by the flowering branches of the 
 dogwood. 
 
 So Pakali wept for the Arnold Stuart to whom she had 
 opened the door of her heart. She remembered how he had 
 come back to her after he had ridden away without her 
 promise to be his wife. Through all the ten years uncon- 
 sciously she had waited for his return. Whenever a horse- 
 man rode up the hill she had felt a quickened heartbeat, even 
 though her reason rebuked her for clinging to a futile hope. 
 At night often she had dreamed that he called to her, and, 
 until in reality he had come to her there in the road near 
 the place where the old grapevine once grew, she had been 
 ready to answer his summons, even though as time went by 
 she came to understand that their paths lay forever apart. 
 
 For her father's sake Pakali used all the self-control that 
 she could command. Within a week, as if no tragedy had 
 touched her, she had taken up her life at Moma Binna. To 
 Miko she preserved the calmness that gave the boy an abiding
 
 THE WAY OF A WOMAN 263 
 
 trust in her strength, thus enabling her to control him with- 
 out difficulty. In these days she managed never to be alone 
 except at night. 
 
 Day after day passed and no one mentioned Hattakowa's 
 name in her presence. She had been so much preoccupied 
 with her own sorrow that she did not notice this strange 
 reticence until one evening when Miko thoughtlessly said in 
 response to a question: "The Man Looking for the Sun 
 told me." The child put his hand to his mouth, and, look- 
 ing at his mother made quick apology. 
 
 " Grandfather told me not to talk of The Man Looking 
 for the Sun and I forgot. Mother, where is he? Why 
 mustn't I talk of him? " 
 
 " You must obey your grandfather without questioning 
 his commands," answered Pakali. 
 
 Beaumont had gone to Ardmore that day and Pakali 
 waited for the late train in order to ask him about Hatta- 
 kowa. Now it flashed upon her that he might be in prison. 
 Poor Hattakowa! It was for her sake that he had hated 
 Stuart with a twofold intensity. To avenge her wrongs 
 he had killed her husband. For the first time she compre- 
 hended that she had not drained the cup of sorrow, since 
 Hattakowa might be compelled to pay the extreme penalty 
 in exchange for the blood vengeance he had exacted. 
 
 She was distraught by this new terror, and, after Miko 
 was safe in bed, she went down the hill to wait on the bridge 
 for her father. In the darkness of the early night the waters 
 of Pennington looked black. The voice of the creek was 
 hushed by long, dry days which had drunk so copiously from 
 pool and channel that all the falls and ripples were stilled 
 in their onward flow. " As long as water runs " she had 
 promised to love Stuart, but now the waters were black in 
 the darkness, as black as the pall that covered him who had 
 become but a sorrowful memory. Once the waters had been 
 red upon Hattakowa's hand. The recollection caused Pakali
 
 264 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 to grasp the bridge railing in order to steady herself. The 
 sound of wheels announced Beaumont's coming. 
 
 " Are you too tired to walk up the hill ? " Pakali asked, 
 after she had stopped her father's carriage. 
 
 " I am very weary," replied Beaumont. " It would be 
 much easier for you to ride with me." 
 
 Pakali climbed into the seat beside her father and waited 
 impatiently until they could be alone together. 
 
 " Father, I want to ask about Hattakowa," she said, de- 
 taining Beaumont, who would have gone into the house. " I 
 know you have been trying to spare me all knowledge that 
 may disturb me, but I am strong enough to bear anything 
 now." 
 
 " Hattakowa gave himself up to the officers of the law. 
 He is in the Ardmore jail." Beaumont gave the informa- 
 tion grudgingly. 
 
 " You have seen him to-day, haven't you? " Pakali asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Is he sorry for what he has done ? " 
 
 " Only so far as it makes you and his mother suffer." 
 
 "Aunt Totopehah! " Pakali exclaimed. " How selfish I 
 have been! Why have I not gone to comfort her? " Pakali 
 put her arms about her father's neck. " I have acted as if 
 I were the only one troubled, and you have been grieving 
 as much as anyone. Forgive me, dear, for being so unmind- 
 ful of you." 
 
 " There, there, don't bother about me." Beaumont laid 
 a big hand upon his daughter's shoulder. " Don't bother 
 about me, but give Hattakowa some measure of sympathy. 
 He believes that he has separated himself from you forever, 
 but we must remember that he acted under great provoca- 
 tion, and that he defended the honour of his kinswoman." 
 
 " My honour? " questioned Pakali, drawing away from 
 her father. " What do you mean ? "
 
 THE WAY OF A WOMAN 265 
 
 " Arnold Stuart cast an insinuation upon the parentage of 
 Miko," Beaumont answered in a stern voice. " He spoke 
 his taunting words the night he arrived in Tishomingo. I 
 had meant not to tell you, but you owe justice to the living, 
 and Heaven knows Hattakowa's death may not be far off. 
 So be as kind as you can to him."
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 MARCHAND OFFERS AID 
 
 INDIAN TERRITORY had been the scene of many tragedies, 
 but for a decade none had attracted more than passing notice 
 from the newspapers of the United States until the story of 
 how Arnold Stuart had met his death at the hand of a 
 Chickasaw was chronicled far and near. The Chicago jour- 
 nals gave many columns to the sensational discovery that the 
 lawyer, politician, and club man, who was supposed to be one 
 of the most eligible bachelors in society, had lost his life 
 because he had incurred the resentment of an Indian by 
 marrying and deserting a woman of one of the Five Nations. 
 Illustrations, added to large type, gave prominence to what 
 soon became a celebrated case. In all the pictures the artists 
 freely indulged their imaginations and' represented Hatta- 
 kowa as a brave who wore a war bonnet and carried a toma- 
 hawk. Stuart's connection with Elisha Fordham, who, since 
 he had ceased to be a Member of Congress still remained a 
 conspicuous figure in national politics, drew the attention of 
 Federal authorities to his slayer. Long editorials, which re- 
 viewed the crimes and cruelties of the American Indians, 
 declared that speedy punishment should be administered to 
 the savage murderer. 
 
 Many of the newspapers reached Hattakowa, who chafed 
 under weeks of confinement in the jail of Ardmore. He 
 read the accounts of what had been labelled, " The assassina- 
 tion of a white tourist in Indian Territory," and he echoed 
 the hope that there would be no unnecessary delay in punish- 
 ing the slayer. As the days passed life in the jail became 
 almost unendurable. The place was infested by vermin; 
 foul odours permeated the air, and there was no such thing 
 
 266
 
 MARCHAND OFFERS AID 267 
 
 as privacy. The close contact with persons of every degree 
 of degeneracy was sickening to a man who had lived close 
 to nature. 
 
 Mrs. Dixon was a daily visitor at the jail. Her fortitude 
 proved her to be worthy of her Chickasaw and Choctaw 
 traditions. She had taught Hattakowa the significance of 
 blood vengeance as' it was demanded by his ancestors. From 
 the day when, as a little child, he had seen the miracle which 
 transformed a wounded eagle that beat its wings against the 
 ground into a motionless mass of shining feathers, Hatta- 
 kowa had been schooled to look upon death with a reverence 
 for its mystery and a scorn for whatever superstitions made 
 men fear it. After Mrs. Dixon had told him that she was 
 proud to know he had defended the honour of Pakali, the 
 mother and son never discussed Hattakowa's position as a 
 prisoner. They ignored every subject which turned upon 
 the great fact that Hattakowa's life was in jeopardy. 
 
 It was more than a month before Pakali's name was men- 
 tioned. Then one day Mrs. Dixon took to the prison a long 
 letter from Pakali, who told her Aunt Totopehah how much 
 Hattakowa had been to her, and how deeply she grieved 
 because for her sake he had done a desperate deed. 
 
 " She seems to understand why I could not let Stuart 
 live," said Hattakowa, putting the letter into his coat pocket. 
 " I have wanted to write to her, but, even though a letter 
 from me might be received with charity, I have not the power 
 to put upon paper what I would say. I was never ready with 
 the pen, you know, mother." 
 
 " Time will put you right in Pakali s eyes," Mrs. Dixon 
 answered with conviction. 
 
 And so Hattakowa was content to wait. 
 
 Late one afternoon, when Hattakowa was pacing up and 
 down the narrow alley between the wall and the prison shack, 
 Philip Marchand came to see him. After the iron gate had 
 closed behind him, Marchand said:
 
 a68 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " Mr. Dixon, you will not misunderstand me when I tell 
 you that no one in the world can comprehend as I do your 
 desire to call Arnold Stuart to account." 
 
 The two men looked at each other. The delicate, hand- 
 some face of the white man was pale and the Indian knew 
 that he was labouring under mental stress. 
 
 " You are the last person in the world to sound the depths 
 of an Indian's wild nature," Hattakowa answered brusquely, 
 as he looked at the well-groomed figure which confronted 
 him. Marchand typified the extreme refinement bred of 
 generations of wealth and culture. He was essentially mas- 
 culine, but his physical strength had the quality produced by 
 scientific training. While Hattakowa had the large frame 
 and big muscles which had been developed by an outdoor 
 life, Marchand's body was that of the college athlete. Each 
 man was a good specimen of his type. 
 
 With flushed face Marchand waited a moment before he 
 replied to Hattakowa. Weighing his words, he said: 
 
 " I do not pretend to sound the depths of your nature, 
 Mr. Dixon, but I do believe that I comprehend the ruling 
 motives of your life. I know the feeling which compelled 
 you to kill Arnold Stuart. I have come to offer you what- 
 ever service I can render." 
 
 The light of a new knowledge burst upon Hattakowa, and 
 for a moment he was blinded by the discovery that Mar- 
 chand loved Pakali. His first impulse was one of resentment 
 because another white man had presumed to look with long- 
 ing eyes upon his Star Woman. Almost roughly he said : 
 
 " I do not need your help, Mr. Marchand." 
 
 " It is true, you do not need my help," was the reply. 
 " You have many friends who will do all in their power to 
 obtain a just judgment for a righteous act. It is I who 
 need your friendship, for you can teach me to deserve to be 
 counted as worthy of the trust of the Chickasaws." 
 
 Hattakowa made no answer. He had looked upon Philip
 
 MARCHAND OFFERS AID 269 
 
 Marchand as a careless, light-hearted youth who had not yet 
 acquired the hereditary vices of the white man. Now he 
 beheld him as a lover who raised longing eyes to Pakali. 
 Abruptly the prisoner dismissed his caller, but Marchand 
 went away with the assurance that he would return the next 
 morning. 
 
 All that night Hattakowa lay upon the wall bench looking 
 up at the stars. He had always been a fatalist, but now he 
 was forced to learn that, by his acts, man weaves the web of 
 his own destiny. By staining his hands in blood he had given 
 Pakali liberty ; he had freed her from the marriage bonds 
 that held her to Arnold Stuart. He had been willing to 
 pay the supreme price for the blood vengeance which he had 
 coveted through the ten years of his mature manhood, but 
 Marchand had brought to him the realisation that after he 
 had given up his own life Pakali's liberty might mean happi- 
 ness to a white man. This idea was insupportable. Only 
 one comforting thought came to him as he tried to look into 
 the future the Indian woman loved but once. If Pakali 
 could be won, would not his own worship have availed some- 
 thing? He had trusted Marchand because the Kentuckian 
 was young, and now again a white man had betrayed his 
 faith. The old hatred for the race which had persecuted the 
 red man burned in his heart through the night, but when 
 the dawn came Hattakowa remembered that Pakali would 
 live long after he had met death. He must become accus- 
 tomed to think of his own life as ended, since in a little time 
 he must pay the price of the blood vengeance he had taken. 
 As he had suffered in loving Pakali, could he not feel sym- 
 pathy for Marchand? But there still surged in him a vig- 
 orous life, and intense emotions swayed him. He was a man, 
 not one of the saints that Pakali's religion taught her to 
 venerate. " Pakali, Pakali! " His spirit cried out for 
 Aiahnichih-Choyoh. Until the end he could dream of her. 
 Perhaps when he was gone she would need a friend like
 
 270 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 Philip Marchand; she and Miko might miss their kinsman. 
 He would try to be just to the white man. He would probe 
 Marchand's character and strive to find him worthy of 
 Pakali's trust. 
 
 The next day when Marchand went to the prison Hatta- 
 kowa's mood had changed. The Kentuckian found that all 
 friendly overtures were accepted in the spirit that prompted 
 them. The two men talked a long time about the pre- 
 liminary hearing which was to take place that afternoon, and 
 Marchand announced that he would like to accompany 
 Hattakowa to the court house.
 
 THE LAW'S DELAYS 
 
 IN Indian Territory at this period the law's delays were 
 longer than in any other part of the United States. Hatta- 
 kowa's preliminary hearing had been postponed from time 
 to time because Elisha Fordham had influence enough to 
 have the case held until a certain date when a Chicago law- 
 yer could be present. On the day of the hearing Ardmore 
 was crowded with white men whose curiosity brought them 
 to the town, and with Indians whose sympathy caused them 
 to assemble near the jail. The United States marshal called 
 out the Indian police, and the main streets were patrolled 
 by mounted men. 
 
 The court room was crowded, although admission had been 
 limited to persons who had some special claim to places in 
 the hall of justice. Mrs. Dixon, severe in her stern com- 
 posure, occupied a front seat with Mrs. Maury. Judge 
 Maury, with his assistant counsel, sat at one of the tables, 
 and next to him was the district attorney, half hidden behind 
 a pile of law books. Two court reporters sharpened their 
 pencils and waited listlessly. The Judge, a handsome, grey- 
 haired man, took his place upon the bench, and Hattakowa, 
 accompanied by Beaumont, Sands, Marchand, and the jailer, 
 entered the court room. 
 
 Hattakowa had lost flesh in the weeks of his imprisonment, 
 but after his night's vigil he carried himself with a repose 
 which was less forbidding than his usual hauteur. He had 
 the air of a man who has nothing to fear, and he showed 
 little interest in any of the proceedings until the Chicago 
 lawyer arrogated to himself the privilege of speaking upon 
 
 271
 
 272 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 the subject of Arnold Stuart's unsullied reputation in the 
 business world. Although Judge Maury raised numerous 
 objections, judicial courtesy permitted the attorney from the 
 States to indulge in a lengthy harangue which brought out 
 a demonstration from Billy Brown and his clique of fol- 
 lowers. Judge Maury had given instructions to Hattakowa 
 to plead not guilty, but when the prisoner at the bar was 
 called upon to answer to the charge of murder, he slowly 
 rose to his feet, scanned the faces in the court room, and 
 answered in steady tones: 
 
 " For just cause I killed Arnold Stuart." 
 
 " Do you plead guilty, or not guilty? " he was asked. 
 
 Judge Maury rose from his seat, and, leaning upon the 
 table before him, tried to attract Hattakowa's attention, but 
 the prisoner purposely looked away from him. 
 
 " I desire to plead guilty," was the answer. 
 
 Judge Maury fell back in his chair. There was a stir in 
 the crowd. Mrs. Dixon sat immovable. 
 
 The hearing was adjourned and Hattakowa was sent back 
 to the prison, after Beaumont, Sands, and all his friends had 
 accused him of foolhardiness in declining to take advantage 
 of every legal expedient. Judge Maury, who sat with his 
 head in his hands, made no attempt to move from his chair 
 until the court room was almost empty. 
 
 " Your client didn't leave us much to do," said the Chicago 
 lawyer with a laugh. 
 
 " Perhaps he knew that it would be useless to make a 
 fight against the prejudices of the white man's courts of 
 justice," replied Judge Maury. 
 
 Ogden Maury, who had gone over to the prison with 
 Hattakowa, returned to his father. 
 
 " It won't do any good to be upset, dad," he declared, put- 
 ting his arm through the Judge's. 
 
 " I declare, I feel as weak as if I'd had a sunstroke! " 
 exclaimed the old lawyer. " We might have saved him, but
 
 THE LAW'S DELAYS 273 
 
 now he's spoiled his case. He is afraid of bringing the Beau- 
 monts into notoriety, and, although I promised to protect 
 Mrs. Stuart, he would not take any chances. Still, I had 
 no idea that he would plead guilty." 
 
 " Can't you make him change his plea? " suggested Ogden. 
 " Come, cheer up, dad." 
 
 Dreary days followed. A week of summer heat came as 
 a surprise in the autumn and the prison was a place of tor- 
 ment. Strong men became seriously ill; one of the Indians 
 died. The meagre rations were so unpalatable that the two 
 hundred prisoners were reduced to the starving point; the 
 water in the cask was so warm that no one could drink it. 
 Maddened by hunger and thirst the prisoners quarrelled with 
 one another. They came to hate the guards who paced back 
 and forth upon the walls. Little groups of conspirators 
 planned reckless acts which no one had the courage to carry 
 out because physical strength had been reduced by famine. 
 
 In this period Hattakowa had much to think of inasmuch 
 as the date of his trial had been put forward on the court 
 calendar in order that the Chicago attorney might be spared 
 a second visit to the Territory. After the preliminary hear- 
 ing Judge Maury had gone back to Wauchula for a short 
 time, leaving Beaumont and Sands in Ardmore. Every morn- 
 ing the two old Indians visited Hattakowa, who gradually 
 persuaded them that it would have been cowardly for him 
 to plead not guilty, and, at the end of a week, they were 
 discussing the white man's penalty for blood vengeance. 
 
 " The Chicago lawyer and the district attorney will try 
 to make a record in this case," asserted Sands. " It is at- 
 tracting national attention, and if they compel the Indian 
 to pay the extreme penalty provided by law they will earn 
 the commendation of Elisha Fordham and other politicians 
 who are interested in the land-grabbing schemes connected 
 with the Territory."
 
 274 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " Even though you had taken advantage of every means 
 of defence you would be convicted of murder in the first 
 degree, Hattakowa," declared Beaumont. 
 
 " I can accept the death sentence philosophically," said 
 Hattakowa, " but I shrink from the rope because hanging 
 is such an ignominious manner of ending life." 
 
 " We must deliver you from that humiliation," said Sands, 
 in the steady, guttural voice that carried with it the as- 
 surance of power. " I have been thinking out a plan by 
 which, if you must die, you can die as befits a Chick- 
 asaw." 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 " Our Nation can demand the right to carry out whatever 
 sentence is passed upon Hattakowa. It is true he has killed 
 a white man, and therefore must accept Federal justice as it 
 is meted out to the Indian, but we could argue that, since 
 Arnold Stuart was married to a Chickasaw woman, we are 
 entitled to the privilege of dealing with the convicted pris- 
 oner according to our own customs." 
 
 " Do you think they would let me be shot? " asked Hatta- 
 kowa. 
 
 " I believe that if we wait until sentence is passed upon 
 you we can have you given into our custody after we have 
 pledged ourselves to inflict the death penalty," answered 
 Sands. 
 
 " You have given me a hope that takes away the last ves- 
 tige of regret which my position causes me," exclaimed Hatta- 
 kowa, standing with his head lifted up and his shoulders 
 thrown back as if he felt renewed vitality. His drooping 
 body had shown the listlessness and weariness long confine- 
 ment lends to the spirit. Now he was suddenly embued 
 with the confidence that by his death he might yet bring help 
 to his people. 
 
 " I have been reluctant to die before I could be of service 
 to the Nation," Hattakowa confessed; "and, as I have lain
 
 THE LAW'S DELAYS 275 
 
 here looking up at the sky night after night, I have longed for 
 just one month of freedom." 
 
 " Ah, my boy, what could you do from moon to moon ? " 
 inquired Beaumont, unconsciously assuming the paternal 
 tone he had used when Hattakowa was a child. 
 
 " Let the Chickasaws give a pledge for me and I will 
 attempt a mission that may make my life seem not alto- 
 gether worthless," promised Hattakowa, as he looked from 
 one furrowed face to the other. In his eyes was the light 
 of a lofty determination. 
 
 " Well, we can do nothing until after the trial," com- 
 mented Sands. 
 
 All that day Hattakowa was unconscious of his surround- 
 ings, and at sunset, when Marchand came to see him, he 
 declared that the young Kentuckian had answered an inartic- 
 ulate summons. 
 
 " You offered to help me," said Hattakowa when he had 
 made Marchand sit close to him upon the bench. " Did you 
 mean what you said enough to devote your entire time to 
 my affairs until " he hesitated a moment and then finished, 
 gravely " until I set forth into the world of shadows? " 
 
 Marchand answered in the affirmative, and the Indian 
 knew that he was sincere. 
 
 " I want you to give up your work with the Dawes Com- 
 mission," Hattakow T a began. 
 
 " I resigned more than two weeks ago," answered Mar- 
 chand. " I could not longer endure assisting at the labour 
 of land allotment." 
 
 " That is good," said Hattakowa. " I believe you were 
 sent to aid me. Will you accept the management of my 
 ranch, and incidentally take charge of all that concerns me? 
 My business must be settled up with Judge Maury's assis- 
 tance, and I must be aided to make real a dream which comes 
 to me night after night when I am shut within these walls." 
 
 Marchand was too much surprised to answer immediately.
 
 276 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 " You shall become my partner," said Hattakowa, as if to 
 give Marchand assurance of financial support. 
 
 " Believe me, the money consideration did not cause me 
 to hesitate," Marchand replied. " An uncertainty concern- 
 ing my capabilities makes me slow to accept your offer." 
 
 " I know what your business capabilities are. If you do 
 not mind staying at the ranch near Tishomingo we can easily 
 come to an agreement," said the Indian. 
 
 " Nothing would please me better than a ranch," asserted 
 Marchand. " Remember, I am a Kentuckian with a Ken- 
 tuckian's love for the outdoor life, and the Kentuckian's ap- 
 preciation of fine horses." 
 
 They talked for a long time. Marchand remained in Ard- 
 more several days, and when he left the town he went to 
 Hattakowa's ranch.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 MIKO ASKS QUESTIONS 
 
 As the weeks passed Pakali devoted more and more time to 
 the school at Moma Binna and she watched Miko with the 
 fear that someone would tell him the story of how his father 
 had been killed by Hattakowa. The first few weeks she 
 made excuses for keeping him away from his classmates, but 
 when he passed the first day after his return to school with- 
 out learning anything about the tragedy which touched the 
 inmates of Moma Binna, she gradually relaxed her vigilance, 
 although she could not dismiss from her mind the dread of 
 some chance enlightenment. Beaumont went often to Ard- 
 more, but between father and daughter there was a guarded 
 silence concerning his trips. With a heavy heart Pakali saw 
 that her father was becoming more and more bowed under 
 the weight of trouble that he bore. To her had come a 
 merciful reaction after the first intense agony of grief over 
 Stuart's terrible death. She had suffered until she had ex- 
 perienced the uttermost pang, then, with a sense of doubled 
 pain, she took up the daily task that she had set for herself. 
 As time went by she thought more and more of Hattakowa. 
 Her father's plea that she would judge him mercifully had 
 its effect. Although she seldom spoke of her kinsman she 
 kept herself informed concerning him. When she heard that 
 he had deliberately pleaded guilty at the preliminary hearing, 
 the horror of his possible fate overwhelmed her. He was so 
 splendidly alive; he had such strength, such magnificent 
 vitality, that the possibility of his life being taken from him 
 came to her with a distinct meaning quite apart from her 
 personal interest in him. George Beaumont was too honest a 
 man to offer sympathy in the form of false hopes for his 
 
 277
 
 278 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 final escape from punishment. He counselled Pakali to 
 summon to her aid all the patience and courage that was hers 
 by right of heritage from her Chickasaw ancestry, and, for 
 her father's sake, she tried to make no sign of her suffering. 
 
 The day of Hattakowa's trial came and in a state of fever- 
 ish excitement Pakali went about her morning tasks. In the 
 afternoon she took Miko for a walk upon one of the hills. 
 At a place where a group of fir trees clung to the rocks she 
 rested while the boy hunted squirrel's nests. It was a grey 
 day. In the stillness of the woods she unconsciously listened 
 for voices she could not hear. Long ago, when she had stolen 
 away to weep over Stuart's absence, Hattakowa had found 
 her retreat. Even while she thought of that evening she 
 imagined that the tread of a horse stirred the dead leaves in 
 the road below her. She Lad missed Hattakowa often since 
 he had ceased to be her frequent companion; she knew that 
 his love had glorified her, even though she had rejected it. 
 She had not been worthy of such unwavering devotion. To 
 that love Hattakowa was to surrender life. She sprang to 
 her feet. The pain of it all overcame her. She looked 
 around for Miko, and she saw coming toward her Marchand, 
 who had not been at Moma Binna since Hattakowa's im- 
 prisonment. 
 
 " I would not have intruded upon you had I not been the 
 bearer of a message," said Marchand. " I come from Ard- 
 more." 
 
 Pakali's eyes gave him the question she could not speak. 
 
 " Mr. Dixon desired me to tell you that he is quite satis- 
 fied with the verdict brought in this noon. There was no 
 trial, for he pleaded guilty again, and, after the barest for- 
 malities, sentence was pronounced." 
 
 Pakali stifled a cry. 
 
 " I cannot bear it ! I cannot bear it ! " she repeated again 
 and again as she strove to realise that the dreaded death 
 penalty had been legally demanded for Hattakowa.
 
 MIKO ASKS QUESTIONS 279 
 
 " Your kinsman is likely to have a period of freedom," 
 
 said Marchand. " He wishes you to believe that before " 
 
 he hesitated " before the end comes all whom he loves will 
 be reconciled to his going away." 
 
 Too weak to stand, Pakali sank upon the ground, and, 
 while Marchand waited for her to speak, Miko, accompanied 
 by a ragged boy, came running toward her. 
 
 " Mother, mother," he called, " I have something to tell 
 you." Wide-eyed and trembling with excitement, Miko 
 dragged forward the boy who tried to escape from him. 
 " Tommy Blikens, who was out on the hill gathering wood, 
 told me that The Man Looking for the Sun is in jail. I hit 
 him across the mouth, but, while he cried like a baby, he 
 shouted that The Man Looking for the Sun had killed my 
 father, and he said I should ask you." 
 
 Tommy Blikens cowered before Pakali, who had thrown 
 her arms around her son. 
 
 " Go away from here, Tommy," she commanded, and 
 the freckle-faced son of Gee-Haw Blikens wasted no time in 
 running over the rocky hillside. 
 
 Miko, gazing into his mother's face, said: 
 
 " Where is The Man Looking for the Sun? " 
 
 " He is in prison, Miko," answered Pakali. " He is to 
 give up his life because he thought your father deserved 
 punishment for wronging us you and me." 
 
 " Then he is not a murderer? " said Miko. 
 
 " According to the Indian tradition he is a brave who 
 defended his kinfolk," explained Pakali. " He killed your 
 father because for many years you and I were neglected. 
 The Indian has different ideas from the white man; he does 
 not hold life so dear. The Man Looking for the Sun did 
 what he believed to be right." 
 
 Miko thought for a moment. 
 
 " Who was my father? " he questioned. 
 
 " He was the stranger who talked to you down by Pen-
 
 28o THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 nington Creek; the man .whom you met at the railway 
 station." 
 
 " That man was kind to me. I liked him," declared 
 Miko. " Oh, I am so sorry he is dead ! " The child's lip 
 trembled and his eyes filled with tears, and thus it happened 
 that Arnold Stuart's son mourned for him sincerely, even 
 though his grief lasted but a brief time. 
 
 " Why did no one tell me the stranger was my father? " 
 the child questioned, as one who demanded to know why 
 he had been defrauded of a natural right. 
 
 " We thought it was best to keep your mother's troubles 
 from you until you were older," Pakali explained with a 
 break in her voice, and Miko, putting his arms around her, 
 kissed her with many a word of endearment. 
 
 As soon as he heard Miko ask about his father Marchand 
 had walked away for a little distance. Now he came near 
 to the mother and son as they sat upon the ground beneath 
 one of the fir trees. 
 
 " It is growing late," he said. " We would better walk 
 toward Moma Binna." He helped Pakali to rise, and, with 
 a delicate tact that was one of his characteristics, began to 
 talk to Miko of the nuts hanging upon the brown-leaved 
 trees, of the sumach, still red with the splendour of autumn 
 colour, and of the squirrels that made but scanty preparation 
 for the mild southern winters. 
 
 Miko's replies showed his preoccupation, and, as soon as 
 there was a brief silence, he asked the question upon which 
 he had been pondering. 
 
 " Mother, may I go to see The Man Looking for the 
 Sun? I want him to tell me why he killed my father. I 
 love The Man Looking for the Sun, and he will explain 
 what Indian sign told him to kill." 
 
 " If your grandfather thinks it is right, you shall go to 
 Ardmore, and you shall see The Man Looking for the Sun," 
 Pakali promised.
 
 MIKO ASKS QUESTIONS 281 
 
 " I think Miko has solved the problem of how he may 
 best learn the tragic facts that touch his life," said Pakali. 
 " He has enough Chickasaw blood in him to feel certain 
 things that cannot be explained in words." 
 
 " Yes, he will be a brave worthy of the Chickasaws," 
 answered Marchand; and Miko, glancing from his mother 
 to the white man, vaguely realised that a great responsibility 
 rested upon him. 
 
 They walked on through the brown fields, and it was 
 not until they had entered the grounds of Moma Binna that 
 Marchand told Pakali he had taken charge of Hattakowa's 
 affairs. 
 
 " I am glad you are to be my kinsman's trusted agent," 
 Pakali said, with such sincerity as to leave no doubt of her 
 approval. 
 
 After the evening train came in the whole town of Tish- 
 omingo heard of Hattakowa's sentence. At the post-office 
 the news was repeated from man to man and little groups 
 gathered beneath the electric light in front of the hotel. 
 There was plainly a reaction in sentiment, for even the local 
 speculators, who had found Hattakowa one of the most 
 stubborn of the Indian obstructionists, declared that he had 
 just provocation for the killing of Arnold Stuart. Southern 
 traditions justify the protection of women at any cost, and 
 those who heard how Pakali had been deserted, and how 
 Arnold Stuart had returned to the Territory in order that 
 he might promote a scheme to obtain possession of large 
 tracts of Indian lands, admitted that the white man deserved 
 death. Even though Hattakowa had held himself aloof 
 from the enterprising settlers who were booming Tishomingo, 
 he had won the respect of every intelligent white man. 
 
 A late comer to the hotel attracted attention. It was 
 Ogden Maury, who had made the trip from Ardmore with 
 Beaumont, because the old Indian was almost prostrated by 
 the strain of the court scene. Ogden Maury had seen Beau-
 
 282 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 mont safe inside the door of Moma Binna, and now, elbow- 
 ing his way through the crowd, he reached the doorway of 
 the hotel. Here someone stopped him to ask about the 
 trial. Maury quickly felt the sympathy of those who 
 awaited tidings from him. 
 
 " Joseph Dixon would not permit us to defend him," 
 said Maury. " He desired to give a life for a life, and so 
 he must die within thirty days. Although he carries on his 
 head the scar of a wound made by Arnold Stuart's prema- 
 ture shot, he declined to let the truth be known, for he 
 avenged more wrongs than I may mention." 
 
 A North Carolina lawyer, who stood upon the edge of 
 the sidewalk, cheered for Joseph Dixon, and the cry was 
 taken up by the crowd. 
 
 The next day Beaumont was too much exhausted to leave 
 his bed, and Miko, who had gained consent to visit Hatta- 
 kowa, asked if he might ride to the ranch whence he could 
 go to Ardmore with Marchand. Permission was given be- 
 cause, as Beaumont repeated again and again, there was no 
 time to be lost. 
 
 So it happened that the second day after Hattakowa was 
 sentenced Marchand went to the jail with Miko. 
 
 The child made no comment when he saw the heavy doors 
 swing open so that he might enter the crowded prison yard. 
 He was quick to notice that Hattakowa looked haggard 
 and thin, but the face of The Man Looking for the Sun 
 brightened when he saw the boy. 
 
 " I have missed you for more than a moon," said Miko, 
 standing before Hattakowa. The child's face had taken on 
 a new gravity, and his manner had something of a sweet 
 dignity, which reminded Hattakowa of Pakali. 
 
 " It has seemed as if the grass had had time to die and 
 to become green again since last I saw the Little Chieftain,"
 
 MIKO ASKS QUESTIONS 283 
 
 answered Hattakowa, waiting anxiously to learn what the 
 child's attitude toward him would be. 
 
 "I did not know where you were until yesterday," ex- 
 plained Miko. " No one told me, and I just happened 
 to find out." 
 
 " Do you know why I am shut in here? " asked Hatta- 
 kowa. 
 
 " I know what you did." The child looked at him with 
 Pakali's eyes, yet there was no reproach in his glance; " I 
 know what you did, but my mother let me come to ask you 
 why you killed my father." 
 
 Why? The child Hattakowa loved had come to judge 
 him. With earnest gaze Miko looked up at the slayer of 
 his father. Hattakowa, after scorning those whom the 
 United States Government had appointed to weigh and to 
 measure his deed according to the law, now trembled before 
 the son of his Star Woman. 
 
 " The Indian believes that when a man has broken a 
 pledge, or wronged a woman, he is no longer worthy to 
 live." Hattakowa spoke slowly. " According to our 
 Chickasaw and Choctaw traditions the kinsman of a woman 
 who is wronged has the right to take blood vengeance." 
 
 "And how was my mother wronged?" Miko would 
 have touched Hattakowa's right hand, but it was drawn 
 away because the Indian remembered that it was stained 
 with the blood of the boy's father. 
 
 " The white man, who promised to love and to cherish 
 and to care for your mother until she died, broke his pledge. 
 He went away and forgot her. He would not come back 
 even when she was ill." 
 
 " But he did come back to Tishomingo, and perhaps he 
 was sorry." 
 
 " He came back to help his friends take our lands 
 from us."
 
 284 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 Miko's eyes wandered beyond Hattakowa to the rough 
 men who were his kinsman's fellow prisoners. 
 
 " It seems as if you did right," the boy decided, after a 
 moment's reflection, " but why are you in prison? " 
 
 " Because," replied Hattakowa, with a touch of his old 
 contempt for the changing order of things in the Territory; 
 " because the white man holds it but a light offence to desert 
 wife and children, and because he calls blood vengeance a 
 crime." 
 
 Hattakowa raised his face to the patch of sky above the 
 prison walls and for a moment forgot his surroundings while 
 he felt again the fierce spirit of the avenger. 
 
 Miko touched him upon the arm. 
 
 " Does blood vengeance help those who are wronged ?" 
 the boy asked. " My mother is very sad, Man Looking for 
 the Sun." 
 
 Does blood vengeance help? Hattakowa repeated the 
 question to himself. In the days of his imprisonment he 
 was coming to comprehend that blood vengeance meant not 
 alone punishment for the offender, but sorrow for those 
 whose wrongs demanded action on the part of the avenger. 
 The white man's creed of toleration had altered the code so 
 that woman must suffer without redress. Hattakowa bowed 
 his head. 
 
 " I have asked too many questions," said Miko, when he 
 saw that Hattakowa was silent. " The Little Chieftain 
 must not be troublesome, but Miko is sad since his mother 
 told him The Man Looking for the Sun must give up his 
 life." 
 
 " Hush, my boy." Hattakowa roused himself from his 
 abstraction. " Let us talk of the woods and the creek. It 
 is almost time for the wild turkey hunt you and I were to 
 enjoy together."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 RESPITE 
 
 FOR many days George Beaumont and Henry Sands had 
 been working out a plan by which the Chickasaw Nation 
 could assume the responsibilities of Hattakowa's custody. As 
 soon as they knew that Hattakowa would make no defence 
 and that sentence of death must therefore be passed upon him, 
 they prepared a petition to the Federal Court. This docu- 
 ment, which bore the names of the leading men of the Na- 
 tion, asked that the prisoner who had killed Arnold Stuart, 
 be delivered to the tribal authorities on condition that the 
 Nation pledge itself to inflict the death sentence according 
 to the manner established by the Indian laws. Although 
 jurisdiction in criminal cases had been withdrawn from the 
 Chickasaws, the plea was made that exception be taken in 
 this instance in which the victim was entitled to partial recog- 
 nition as an intermarried citizen. Arnold Stuart had never 
 qualified as a member of the Chickasaws, but he was the 
 father of a boy duly adopted by the legislature. He had 
 been slain by the kinsman of the wife he had deserted. 
 Joseph Dixon, upon whom the death sentence had been 
 passed, had made no effort to defend himself, and had 
 announced that he was ready to pay the price of blood ven- 
 geance. For these good and sufficient reasons the Chicka- 
 saw Nation prayed that it might have the privilege of carry- 
 ing out the white man's sentence according to the red man's 
 methods. 
 
 Judge Maury forwarded a copy of this document to the 
 Department of the Interior the day Hattakowa was sen- 
 tenced. The Secretary was prepared to take special notice 
 
 285
 
 286 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 of the case when it was referred to him by the Judge of the 
 Southern District of Indian Territory. 
 
 The request from the Chickasaw Nation was so unusual 
 that one of the Secretary's assistants mentioned it to Gen- 
 eral Chillingsworth, who was no longer an attache of the 
 Department, although his advice often was sought. 
 
 " The United States Government ought to prevent the 
 Heath sentence from being inflicted," declared the General, 
 who showed the greatest perturbation when he heard that 
 the law gave Hattakowa but a month of life. Back and 
 forth he turned the pages of the strange petition. As he 
 read it the veins swelled in his forehead. 
 
 " This man, Joseph Dixon, is the Chickasaw who was 
 elected governor several years ago. He was defrauded of 
 his place by the native party which is the instrument of 
 crafty politicians, who are using the United States Govern- 
 ment for their personal schemes to plunder the red men." 
 
 The department attache smiled indulgently upon the old 
 soldier, as he replied: 
 
 " Ever since you made that first trip to the Territory, 
 General Chillingsworth, you have been such an enthusiastic 
 partisan of the Indians that I am justified in doubting your 
 judgment. A lot of sentiment is being wasted nowadays 
 upon the ' vanishing race ' which has been an expense and a 
 nuisance to the United States Government ever since the 
 establishment of the Republic." 
 
 " The vanishing red race understands the impossibility of 
 overcoming the prejudice of the encroaching white race," 
 General Chillingsworth replied. " But we need not dis- 
 cuss the whole Indian question. What do you intend to 
 do with this petition ? " 
 
 " It will cause a lot of trouble if the Department grants 
 the plea of these Chickasaws," the attache remarked, 
 carelessly. " I think it is best not to interfere with the 
 case."
 
 RESPITE 287 
 
 " I know it would be wise in the United States Govern- .- 
 ment to let the Indians execute this man Dixon, who is a 
 splendid fellow, wealthy, well educated, and a gentleman in 
 the widest sense of the word," said the General. 
 
 The Secretary's assistant smiled another indulgent smile. ; 
 
 " I'll think it over," he promised. " As soon as I have a! 
 chance I will ask the Secretary to take up the matter." 
 
 "There's no time to be lost," warned the General.' 
 " Joseph Dixon has been confined in the Ardmore jail for 
 many weeks. It is a prison that would make the officials 
 of Siberia blush. Since Dixon is to live so short a time, 
 turn him over to his people as soon as possible. You will 
 pardon an old man for seeming presumptuous in giving ad- 
 vice, but, as a favour to me, will you not see that this case 
 has special attention ? " 
 
 The Secretary's assistant considered it worth while to 
 humour an old man, and, in order to avoid further impor- 
 tunity, he made the desired promise. 
 
 Thus it happened that a week later the Governor of the 
 Chickasaw Nation gave to the Secretary of the Interior, rep- 
 resenting the United States Government, a pledge that, on 
 the thirtieth day of November, Joseph Dixon should be pub- 
 licly shot. 
 
 When the doors of the prison opened upon Hattakowa, 
 he was met by all the Chickasaw officials. Beaumont, Sands, 
 Marchand, and Judge Maury had gone to the jail at an 
 early hour. They found Hattakowa distributing among his 
 fellow prisoners the numerous possessions which had added 
 to his comfort. He greeted his friends with a cheerfulness 
 that would have been natural if he had been going out to 
 meet life instead of death. 
 
 " As soon as I see the rolling prairies, the stretches of 
 timber land, and the clear waters of Pennington Creek I 
 shall forget all the horrors of this place," he said, as he
 
 288 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 waited inside the iron gate. " I mean to make the best of 
 the days still belonging to me." 
 
 Judge Maury looked down at his gaitered feet, and it 
 was as if Marchand saw death hand in hand with Hatta- 
 kowa. Neither of the old Indians showed that he compre- 
 hended what was in the condemned man's mind. 
 
 They stood near the younger Chickasaw, waiting pa- 
 tiently until the hour of his freedom should arrive. The 
 key turned in the padlocked gate. Once more Hattakowa 
 shook hands with the prisoners. The iron hinges grated. 
 Outside, the Chickasaws cheered. On the wall the guards 
 stopped their monotonous march as they watched Hattakowa 
 step out into the narrow quadrangle, where his friends 
 greeted him with a demonstrativeness unusual among Indians. 
 In the crowd were many fullbloods, conspicuous among 
 whom was Jimmy Sunfish. John Oaktree's sons w r ere 
 there, bringing messages from their aged father. Last of 
 all, Cole Mattison pressed forward to offer his hand. 
 
 " Blood is thicker than water," he said. 
 
 Hattakowa and the Chickasaw officials went to Tisho- 
 mingo on the train which left Ardmore within an hour. 
 Beaumont, Sands, Marchand, and Judge Maury accom- 
 panied the party, but they went into a separate car, where 
 they could discuss many things which concerned Hattakovva. 
 
 When Tishomingo was reached, several hundred men of 
 the Nation waited to escort Hattakowa to the capitol, where 
 he gave his promise to appear before sundown on the thir- 
 tieth day of November at a place which should be selected 
 by the Governor, there to meet death, according to the 
 tribal law inscribed upon the statute books of the Chickasaw 
 Nation. 
 
 It was an hour before Hattakowa could leave the friends 
 who gathered around him on the capitol steps. The full- 
 bloods showed toward him the pride they would have felt 
 for a chief who returned from a victory. He had proved
 
 RESPITE 289 
 
 that he had not the white man's fear of death ; he had shown 
 that, while the white man's law might take away his life, 
 it could not break his spirit. He had been chosen their 
 Governor, and the Federal authorities had decided against 
 him, but he was by nature a leader, and, although he had 
 been educated in the white man's schools, and had passed 
 months in the white man's cities, he was always an Indian. 
 In other halfbreeds they had resented the metamorphosis 
 wrought by civilisation, but Hattakowa's individuality al- 
 ways had been so strong that his fashionable dress, his 
 polished manners, and his luxurious way of living had been 
 accepted without criticism, for was he not the Great Hunter? 
 And did he not cherish all the traditions of his race? The 
 white man's religion had not supplanted the superstitions 
 of the red man, therefore he would die with the grim indif- 
 ference befitting the descendant of a great warrior. He 
 would be worthy of his illustrious kinsman, Apushama- 
 tahah. 
 
 Some of the Indians rebelled against the loss of a tribes- 
 man whose help the Nation needed, but when they voiced 
 their feelings Hattakowa bade them to believe that through 
 his death good might come to the Chickasaws. 
 
 At last he was free to descend the hill from the capitol to 
 the street where, in a covered carriage, waited his mother. 
 Mrs. Dixon pressed her thin lips against her son's cheek, 
 and, in silence, sat beside him many minutes after he had 
 taken the lines from her hands. Marchand and a coloured 
 servant followed them on horseback as they drove into the 
 gate leading toward the ranch. 
 
 " It seems as if years had passed since last we went this 
 way together," said Mrs. Dixon, after they had reached a 
 bridge crossing Pennington Creek. She turned to her son 
 with the intense look of maternal solicitude, which mingled 
 with the natural animal instinct of motherhood the tender- 
 ness of a woman of intelligence. Her face had a withered
 
 290 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 look, and her dark eyes burned in sockets deepened by sleep- 
 less nights and racking anxieties. 
 
 " I have made you suffer terribly, mother," answered 
 Hattakowa. " That is my only regret, but I know you 
 understand." 
 
 " Yes, I understand," said Mrs. Dixon, with a sigh, and, 
 as if that understanding reminded her of Pakali, she drew 
 from a little handbag a letter which she gave to her son. 
 
 " Pakali sent this to you." She spoke quietly, but her 
 thin lips tightened and she sat upright with folded hands 
 lest she should see the joy in Hattakowa's face. 
 
 " You and Pakali must be nearer than ever before 
 when " Hattakowa hesitated " I am not here." 
 
 Mrs. Dixon, with a convulsive motion, loosened the bon- 
 net strings which seemed to choke her. '* Your life seems 
 wasted. You will lose it before you have what belongs to 
 you," she cried, in a voice which carried a heart-broken 
 protest against his destiny. 
 
 " I have been trying to understand myself," answered 
 Hattakowa. " I have come to realise that my spirit is a 
 strange survival from the past, or, rather, I might say that 
 I came into the world several generations too late. If I 
 could live many years I should still be out of place. I could 
 not conform to existing conditions without constant inef- 
 fectual resistance which would always prevent me from 
 knowing anything like peace. Mine is an insurgent spirit 
 that must meet defeat." 
 
 " How shall I be able to bear your going! " Mrs. 
 Dixon grasped Hattakowa's wrist, as if she would hold him 
 forever. " I am trying to be brave, but it seems as if I 
 could not endure what is before me." Her dark skin took 
 on a leaden hue, and her thin face was stamped with the 
 terror of the thought that constantly haunted her the 
 thought of her son's death. 
 
 " I shall try to make it as easy for you as possible," Hatta-
 
 RESPITE 291 
 
 kowa said, with tenderness in his voice. " If I can cause 
 my death to be of some benefit to my people, you can 
 bear it." 
 
 They drove on, and Hattakowa spoke no more of him- 
 self, but instead he rejoiced over the beauty of the purple 
 hills, the sweep of the rolling prairies, and the quiet of the 
 autumn day. 
 
 " It is good to be free," he said, when they were near the 
 large rambling house which had long been his home. 
 " Mother, perhaps this sense of liberty is but a hint of the 
 freedom I shall feel when the spirit goes from my body. 
 From this day on you and I will give no vain regret to what 
 must be." 
 
 Hattakowa did not enter the ranch house until he had 
 gone away by himself into the little wood beyond a wide 
 stretch of pasture land. Here, where he was alone once 
 more with nature, he read Pakali's letter. The words, 
 penned with an unsteady hand, told him that she who un- 
 wittingly had brought him to the threshold of death, desired 
 to see him at Moma Binna. A postscript from Miko assured 
 The Man Looking for the Sun that the Little Chieftain 
 loved him. 
 
 For a week Hattakowa remained on the ranch, where he 
 had many business affairs to put in order. He found that 
 Marchand had proved an agent worthy of his trust, and the 
 young Kentuckian was a valuable aid in attending to details 
 which Hattakowa disliked. The two men became friends 
 in the best way, for each recognised and respected distinctive 
 individual traits in the other, yet the red man and the white 
 man represented types so widely at variance that it was not 
 easy to understand upon what common ground they met. 
 
 Until he had been confined in the Ardmore prison Hatta- 
 kowa had never analysed his emotions; he had merely recog- 
 nised them. The loss of his Star Woman had been his one 
 great sorrow; he had rebelled against it, and the years had
 
 292 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 failed to bring him resignation. Now that he was forced tc 
 look upon life as a traveller beholds for the last time a 
 panorama of plain and valley and mesa before he passes over 
 the mountain range, Hattakowa discovered that the white 
 man's philosophy was a help to him. He and Marchand 
 worked together all day, and at night they talked many 
 hours after Mrs. Dixon had gone to bed. In these days 
 Hattakowa grudged every moment spent in sleep. 
 
 Long after midnight he walked far afield over the prairies 
 or wandered through the wide strips of timber land, made 
 desolate by the cold of late autumn. It was in these periods 
 of solitude that Hattakowa strove for a triumphant spirit of 
 renunciation. Without regret he could put off the spirit's 
 garment of flesh. After he was dead he might still be near 
 to his Star Woman, through all the years that she remained 
 on earth, but if there came a time when she should belong 
 to another man, would not he be a tormented wanderer 
 traversing the vast moonlit plains in which the Indian dwells 
 through what the white man calls eternity? Hattakowa 
 liked to retain his faith in the old Chickasaw tradition that 
 after death the spirit might linger near to the earthly pre- 
 cincts wherein those whom it had loved still tarried until it 
 was content to cross the earth's great chasm beyond which 
 lay the land of the blessed. 
 
 From the first day in which he had contemplated the 
 payment of his life as a penalty for blood vengeance, Hatta- 
 kowa had been possessed with a longing to perform some 
 act which would prove his devotion to the Chickasaw Nation. 
 In the period of his incarceration land frauds had multiplied, 
 and the Government at Washington appeared ignorant of 
 conditions in the Territory. Why should not he carry the 
 truth to the President of the United States? While he was 
 in prison this question had presented itself again and again 
 as if to mock his helplessness. Now he was free. He 
 would have three weeks of liberty, ample time in which to
 
 RESPITE 293 
 
 make a journey to Washington. Carefully he thought out 
 every detail that might contribute to the success of his mis- 
 sion. He still had the copy of the syndicate's papers, which 
 the cyclone had been the means of putting into his posses- 
 sion, and from Sands and Beaumont he could obtain data 
 concerning illegal enrollments, bribery in obtaining mineral 
 leases, waste of the public school funds, and general rascality 
 in the conduct of tribal business. Through all the dishonesty 
 and injustice he could trace the influence of men who prosti- 
 tuted their political power and betrayed the confidence of 
 the United States Government. If he could gain the ear 
 of the President he would plead the cause of his people so 
 that their cry for justice would be heeded. 
 
 With feverish haste he transacted all his personal business. 
 Judge Maury was summoned to the ranch for the purpose of 
 giving advice. 
 
 " Before I agree to any scheme for the benefit of the 
 whole Chickasaw Nation, I want to speak of the welfare of 
 one Indian." The Judge unbuttoned his shiny broadcloth 
 frock coat as if to give himself more breathing space. " Jo- 
 seph Dixon, you must not sacrifice your life because of a mad 
 idea that you are protecting your kinswoman from notoriety. 
 It is not too late for something to be done." 
 
 Rising from his chair Hattakowa proudly faced the old 
 lawyer : 
 
 " I have chosen to die as a man should die," he answered. 
 '' The Chickasaw Nation has pledged itself to inflict upon 
 me the death penalty. Would you have me discredit my 
 people? Would you have the Indian become as indifferent 
 to the meaning of a pledge as his white brother? I com- 
 mand you now, as you value my honour, not to dare by any 
 legal subterfuge to attempt what you would call my 
 ' rescue ' from death. If I could have life for the asking, 
 I should not want it." 
 
 " You have everything that should make a man happy,"
 
 294 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 said the Judge. " I cannot understand why you have never 
 seemed contented." 
 
 Hattakowa, glancing past the Judge, beheld on Mar- 
 chand's face a look of such comprehension that beneath his 
 dark skin the blood surged to his face. 
 
 " One man can see but a short distance into the life of 
 another," he remarked, as he turned away with the pretence 
 that something on his desk attracted his attention. 
 
 " Are you ready to help me make my will now ? " he asked, 
 as he arranged a mass of papers, and Marchand, opening the 
 French window, went out of doors.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 THE HOUR OF CLEAR VISION 
 
 MOONLIGHT turned the autumn world into a place of vague 
 beauty. Tishomingo lay in the quiet of early night. Its 
 houses cast queer shadows upon the streets, white and waver- 
 ing, as they stretched from hill to hill. In the distance the 
 mountains were sharply outlined against the silver sky, in 
 which the stars were dimmed by the brightness of the moon. 
 As Pakali walked upon the ledge overlooking the town, she 
 felt as if the glory of sky and earth made the black despair 
 of the human heart more terrible. 
 
 Moma Binna, spread out upon the little plateau, appeared 
 as if it were the abode of peace and happiness. From the 
 great stone chimney of the living room curled a little thread 
 of smoke, for the night was chilly, and Beaumont craved the 
 warmth of an open fire. The vines over the porch were 
 bare, their tendrils forming a delicate network through 
 which the moonlight fell upon the floor of the veranda. The 
 house was in darkness, since Beaumont, gazing at the burn- 
 ing logs, was occupied with sad thoughts, and had no need 
 of candle or lamp. In the servants' quarter? some of the 
 negroes were singing, their rich, deep voices blending in a 
 minor melody. 
 
 Back and forth, up and down the garden path Pakali 
 paced, waiting for Hattakowa and Miko to return from a 
 long day's hunting trip. Hattakowa had come to Moma 
 Binna in the morning, but he had purposely avoided seeing 
 Pakali, for whom he left the message that he desired to 
 pass an hour with her in the evening. Unless some unex- 
 pected measure of mercy interfered, it would be the last time 
 that Hattakowa climbed the hill to Moma Binna. 
 
 295
 
 296 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 Pakali had put on a white wool dress, and about her 
 shoulders she wore a crimson scarf, that her kinsman had 
 given her when she was a school girl. It was not coquetry 
 which caused her to attire herself so that in appearance she 
 would be as far as possible the Pakali of the old days; a 
 sense of delicacy forced her to avoid all that might remind 
 Hattakowa of her tragic widowhood. She had never 
 changed her coiffure, and to-night the " tucking comb " 
 caught the heavy braids at the back of her head. 
 
 The glare of day showed lines in Pakali's face, but now, 
 in the moonlight, the woman who stepped forward to greet 
 Hattakowa, as slowly he came up the road, with Miko far 
 ahead of him, was so much like the girl from whom the 
 Indian had claimed the first kiss, that the strong man stood 
 speechless before his Star Woman. The Indian's hunting 
 costume, with long leggings and loose flannel shirt, made 
 him a picturesque figure, since it brought out his sturdy 
 strength of limb and his splendid breadth of shoulder. 
 
 " We have had the happiest day, mother," shouted Miko. 
 " We have brought home enough game to keep the 
 Blikens family for a week, and see! I am all safe, for my 
 gun did not go off at the wrong time, and we did not have 
 a single mishap." 
 
 Pakali forced herself to smile upon Miko. 
 
 " The Man Looking for the Sun talked much to me 
 when we were in the woods," said Miko, putting his gun 
 against a tree, and then reaching up to kiss his mother. 
 " The Little Chieftain has promised The Man Looking for 
 the Sun that he will care for Pakali, The Flower, and com- 
 fort her and protect her for the sake of one who could not 
 stay on earth to watch over her. Of course The Man Look- 
 ing for the Sun knew I would be good to my mother, but 
 he has told me why I must be more tender and more loving 
 than any other boy in the Chickasaw Nation." 
 
 Pakali held Miko in a close embrace.
 
 THE HOUR OF CLEAR VISION 297 
 
 "Why do you tremble so?" Miko asked, when he saw 
 that with shut lips and half-closed eyes his mother heard 
 his words. 
 
 " Let me tell your mother what I said, Little Chieftain," 
 suggested Hattakowa. " While you go in to see your 
 grandfather I will stay here with her." 
 
 Miko left Hattakowa and Pakali there together. 
 
 " This hour with you is a gift I have coveted from fate." 
 Hattakowa spoke quietly, as if he strove to make her under- 
 stand that his nearness to death troubled him little. He 
 cast aside the broad felt hat which he had worn, and, throw- 
 ing upon the ground his gun and game bag, he stepped for- 
 ward as if he would have touched her. Then, remember- 
 ing that blood of her husband was upon his hand, he drew 
 back. 
 
 " When you were in prison I wanted to visit you," con- 
 fessed Pakali. 
 
 " It was enough to know, Pakali, that you tried to under- 
 stand my action." 
 
 Pakali shrank away from him, as he spoke of what he 
 had done. 
 
 " Oh, if you knew how I have suffered, because I am 
 responsible for all this trouble! " she exclaimed, putting her 
 hands upon her breast. " Oh, I have thought and thought, 
 in order that I might find some way by which I could bear 
 my part of the punishment for all that has come to our 
 family since I gave my love to the white man, yet I am help- 
 less, helpless! " 
 
 " You must not feel as you do." Hattakowa went nearer 
 to his Aiahnichih-Choyoh. 
 
 When they were children he had often comforted Pakali, 
 and now, forgetting that he meant not to touch her, he 
 tenderly put his arm around her and led her toward the 
 house. She felt his strength, and quickly gained command 
 of herself. Looking up into his face, she saw for the first
 
 298 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 time the scar upon his forehead. Instantly Hattakowa, re- 
 membering, drew away from her. 
 
 " For the moment I forgot all else except that you needed 
 my sympathy," he said. " I have made myself unfit to 
 touch you." 
 
 " No, no, do not say that," Pakali protested. " I know 
 how you received the wound, and, even if that mark were 
 not significant, did not our old Indian law declare that when 
 a man pledged himself to give a life for a life it was as if 
 the deed for which he promised to suffer was forever blotted 
 out? And was not such a man received among his people 
 as one more honoured than all who had no chance to prove 
 their courage? I have thought much of this, and when you 
 came to me I hoped you would ignore all else except the one 
 fact that you are going away on a long journey." 
 
 " Pakali, could not we pretend for a little while that you 
 and I are here to talk as we talked long ago, just before we 
 were sent away to college? " Hattakowa drew a chair for 
 Pakali out into the space beyond the shadow of the vines, 
 and wrapped about her a shawl which he found upon a 
 bench. Then, sitting at her feet, upon the top step, he 
 waited for her to speak. 
 
 " My father has told me of your mission to Washington," 
 she said, presently. " I am sure no one could plead for the 
 Nation with more eloquence than you can command. If 
 you go away from us knowing that, through your interces- 
 sion, our people's wrongs will be diminished, you will be 
 sure your life has not been wasted." 
 
 " This hour will make the going away easier." Hatta- 
 kowa gazed at Pakali as if he would impress her image upon 
 his memory so distinctly that he would carry it through 
 eternity. 
 
 " There is so much to tell you, Pakali, that if we talked 
 here until sunrise I should not be able to say half that is in 
 my heart." Hattakowa spoke in low tones, that recalled
 
 THE HOUR OF CLEAR VISION 299 
 
 the beginning of many a boyhood confession. " Although I 
 may not share with you the thoughts which have come to 
 me since I have had death for a near neighbour, I know that 
 gradually they will reach you as if, from across the great 
 (fhasm, I sent them back to earth. You and I, who belong 
 to a vanishing race, have sorrow as our heritage, and we 
 must view our lives in their relation to the future. We 
 must see ourselves as overwhelmed by the great forces of 
 progress; we must become as the pebble lost in the river as 
 long as water runs, and as dust in the prairie as long as 
 grass grows; but dust and pebble may serve some high 
 purpose. I have been only half fatalist or I would not 
 have rebelled against destiny. Through my mistakes I 
 would have you strengthened in your belief that the Indian 
 can do nothing but conform to new conditions. Teaching 
 and preaching, you have already helped the children of the 
 Chickasaws. Show them how they may choose the best of 
 the white man's ways; how they may acquire true wisdom 
 from his vast fund of knowledge. Death, waiting at my 
 elbow for many a week, has taught me my lesson. I want 
 it to serve all the Five Nations who are soon to be recognised 
 as American citizens." 
 
 " I shall train Miko to devote whatever talents have 
 been given him to the service of the Indian race," Pakali 
 promised. 
 
 " And you will look upon my death without any feeling 
 of dread? Promise me that you will try to think of it as the 
 cutting down of a pine tree in the forest. I have often won- 
 dered why those who embrace the Christian religion do not 
 rejoice when the soul is set free. Cannot you go back to 
 your Indian belief enough to feel that death is a prize and 
 not a penalty? " 
 
 " I have a woman's heart," faltered Pakali. 
 
 " But it is the heart of a Chickasaw woman, therefore you 
 will meet me at the sunset hour when all my people shall
 
 300 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 have gathered to say good-bye to me. I am so selfish that I 
 would behold your face on that last day." 
 
 Nervously she clasped her hands in her lap, and whis- 
 pered : 
 
 " I am afraid I am afraid that I cannot bear it." 
 
 " You will be stronger when the time comes. It is a hard 
 ordeal I would have you endure, but somehow I believe the 
 power of this great love I have for you will sustain you so 
 that you can let me look upon your face when the last hour 
 of my life has come." 
 
 But while Pakali cowered before the image of death, 
 vainly seeking to give the promise Hattakowa asked of her, 
 Beaumont, leaning upon his cane, was slowly walking upon 
 the side veranda. Reaching the corner, he saw Hattakowa 
 and Pakali. 
 
 " I have been waiting for you to come in and see me," 
 he said, addressing Hattakowa, in a half reproachful tone. 
 " There are many matters to be discussed." 
 
 Hattakowa went with Beaumont to the living room fire- 
 side. Left alone, Pakali shivered in the moonlight. She 
 had asked how she might help to bear the punishment Hatta- 
 kowa would suffer, and now he had shown her the way. 
 She tried to summon what fortitude she had at her com- 
 mand, but this supreme test of her endurance appeared too 
 terrible to be borne. She went down into the garden, and, 
 looking up at the sky, tried to pray, but she found herself 
 too weak even to desire the strength that she would need 
 if she should go to the place of death. She paced the ledge 
 through a long half hour, and then Hattakowa came from 
 the house. 
 
 " It is farewell now," he said, softly. " Farewell, my Star 
 Woman." 
 
 She put out both her hands, and they looked into each 
 other's eyes. 
 
 In his heart rose the tides of feeling. They swept over
 
 THE HOUR OF CLEAR VISION 301 
 
 i 
 
 him until his spirit was submerged. For a moment all 
 that was human in him craved her. He would have held 
 her to his breast, telling her the hundred thoughts that the 
 surge of his heart cast upon his brain. Life had long meant 
 to him only Pakali, and now, when he was taking leave of 
 her, he was suffering the one death agony. The sunset hour 
 of the November day which was coming could bring him 
 little pain after he had given up the woman he loved. With 
 steady gaze he looked into her eyes, commanding her spirit 
 to meet his, and for a moment Pakali had the revelation of 
 a strong man's love the great love that survives years of 
 change, holding life as merely an opportunity for its ex- 
 pression. Her pulses quickened. The moonlit world took 
 on a strange glory. If, long ago, she could have under- 
 stood, if she could have but know r n that education, travel, 
 and all the civilised arts of men are as nothing when weighed 
 against the great primal impulse ; if she could have but known 
 the thing that the white man calls progress cannot change 
 the heart's desire for the encompassing, all-sufficient love 
 she and Hattakowa might have been delivered from tragedy ; 
 they might have known happiness! 
 
 They held each other's hands while a fragment of time 
 was added to their lives, but in those moments the trivial 
 things of the world fell away from them. Together they 
 beheld the vision which unveiled the mysteries of existence 
 and taught them the meanings of sorrow, the causes of 
 suffering. While they looked thus at each other the flood 
 tide from Hattakowa's heart receded and with its ebb came 
 an enduring calm. 
 
 " My Indian faith denies me the comfort of your belief in 
 a Heaven where those who love shall meet again," he 
 said, solemnly, " but somewhere my spirit will wait for 
 yours." 
 
 He put both her hands upon his breast, and held them 
 there, as if thus he would give courage to his heart, which
 
 302 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 failed him when he would have turned to go away from 
 her. 
 
 For another moment they stood there, and then Hatta- 
 kowa went away, walking as a soldier marches to victory. 
 At the ledge he stopped to wave his hand to Pakali in the 
 old gesture with which, ever since he was a boy, he had been 
 accustomed to go away from Moma Binna.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 WAITING 
 
 WHEN it was known that Hattakowa, accompanied by his 
 mother, had taken a journey, ostensibly to Washington, 
 many of the newcomers to the Territory declared that the 
 Indian had fled from what they called justice. Billy Brown, 
 who first heard the news from Jim Dalton, flew into a 
 violent rage at what he declared was the " laxity " of a 
 government which would entrust a man under sentence of 
 death to a lot of irresponsible Indians. Billy Brown's anger 
 was not altogether impersonal, for he immediately asked the 
 question : 
 
 " If Joseph Dixon went to Washington, what was his 
 errand?" 
 
 " Some say he went to complain to the President about 
 our syndicates and our schemes for the obstruction of State- 
 hood," explained Dalton. 
 
 " It's more likely he's gone to plead for his own life," 
 commented the banker, but he did not mean what he said. 
 He had gained too much knowledge of the Indian character 
 to imagine that Hattakowa would ask for mercy. ' 
 
 Judge Maury was in a state bordering on nervous prostra- 
 tion, inasmuch as he had exhausted every effort that might 
 persuade Hattakowa to invoke Federal clemency. Although 
 Hattakowa had forbidden him to make any move that would 
 call attention to the case, he had obtained General Chillings- 
 worth's assistance in again presenting it to the Department of 
 the Interior. While Hattakowa and his mother journeyed 
 eastward, the Judge impatiently watched the mails. In 
 those days he partook of copious draughts of whisky, im- 
 ported by a client who dealt in drygoods, and frequently
 
 304 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 brought In cases marked " hoisery " which contained liquors 
 of popular brands. The Judge passed much time pacing the 
 worn oilcloth of his office floor, and thinking of Hattakowa's 
 death sentence. Judge Maury had taken many bracing 
 drinks one day when Henry Sands climbed the steps leading 
 to the shabby office. Sands looked tired and worried. 
 Hattakowa was almost as dear to him as one of his own 
 sons, and now he found his Indian stoicism deserting him 
 when he contemplated the fate of the Chickasaw, whom he 
 considered best fitted to succeed Beaumont as an unofficial 
 guardian of the Nation. 
 
 " Have some firewater," suggested the Judge, with an 
 assumption of the jaunty manner that had once been one 
 of his distinguishing characteristics. 
 
 Sands shook his large head. 
 
 " Unless I took enough to make me forget everything, it 
 would not be worth while to taste the white man's liquor," 
 he averred. 
 
 " I've been wondering whether Hattakowa's mission to 
 Washington can possibly bring any good to the Five Na- 
 tions," Sands said, when he had seated himself in one of the 
 broken-springed chairs. 
 
 " I believe it will, I believe it will." The Judge had 
 taken enough whisky to brighten his view of any subject. 
 
 " Even if he obtains a hearing I fear he has so much to 
 say that the President will be tired listening to him long 
 before he has mentioned half our wrongs," remarked Sands. 
 
 " Don't worry about that, don't worry about that." The 
 Judge stopped pacing the floor, and, putting his thumbs into 
 the armholes of his waistcoat, stood prepared to give encour- 
 agement to his old friend. " I have never known a more 
 eloquent man than young Dixon. He will compel atten- 
 tion. I have hoped that he will be recognised as the Indian 
 who is under death sentence, but I know he will conceal 
 that fact lest it be supposed that he bids for sympathy."
 
 WAITING 305 
 
 " He appears desirous of dying," remarked Sands. " The 
 last thing before he left Tishomingo he insisted upon en- 
 trusting all the details of certain matters connected with the 
 execution to me." The Indian wiped the cold sweat from 
 his forehead. " He wanted me to use my influence with 
 the Chickasaw officials in such a way that the old tribal 
 ceremony of inflicting the death penalty will be followed as 
 closely as possible." 
 
 The Judge poured some whisky into a glass and offered 
 it to Sands, who declined to taste the liquor. The Judge 
 swallowed it at one gulp. 
 
 The short November days hastened by. In Tishomingo 
 business activity was increased by the coming of many new 
 residents who waited impatiently for opportunities to pro- 
 cure land from the Indians. The cry for Statehood was 
 taken up by the white men who were eager for the final 
 settlement of Indian affairs. In all parts of the Territory 
 broken-down politicians and friends of politicians from 
 various centres of America's boasted civilisation were be- 
 ginning to cherish congressional ambitions. 
 
 A new Governor, who was said to be allied with the 
 white politicians, had been elected. Sands had declared that 
 this man, who was to have the honour of being one of the 
 last of the Chickasaw chieftains, belonged to the party of 
 " addition, division, and silence." During the campaign, 
 which took place in August, Sands had rallied about him the 
 Non-Progressive faction of the Chickasaws, but, without 
 the aid of Beaumont, who was disabled by the tragedy which 
 touched his family, comparatively little had been accom- 
 plished. The younger Chickasaws espoused the cause of 
 the party which promised to hasten the full American citizen- 
 ship that would carry with it recognition of equality with 
 the white man. 
 
 Now Hattakowa's tragic position suddenly united all fac-
 
 306 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 tions among the Chickasaws. The whole Nation discovered 
 that the descendant of Apushamatahah had never done ill to 
 any man; it was remembered how lavishly he had spent his 
 money for whatever enterprise promised help for his people. 
 Many who had besieged the capitol on the night when Hatta- 
 kowa and his friends were entrenched within it, declared that 
 much fraud might have been prevented if he had been per- 
 mitted to hold the office of Governor. Doubts concerning 
 the probability of the voluntary return of an Indian sen- 
 tenced to death, when expressed by the white men in the 
 Territory, appealed to the tribal spirit and were resented by 
 all who belonged to the Nation. Although the Mattisons 
 and their supporters had espoused the principles cunningly 
 formulated by the political scapegraces who claimed to enjoy 
 the confidence of the Federal Government, their Indian blood 
 asserted itself when the honour of the whole Nation was at 
 stake. Hattakowa's death would show the white man how 
 the red man could keep a pledge. Never in the history of 
 the Chickasaws had it been necessary to imprison a man who 
 was to be executed. It was enough for a Chickasaw to give 
 his word that he would be present on the day and hour sig- 
 nified by the agents of the law. 
 
 Pakali counted the days as a miser who beholds his precious 
 hoard disappear, piece by piece. In the nights she strove to 
 make close acquaintance with the elusive idea of death, but 
 when she would have faced the dread presence it was far 
 away from her it was following Hattakowa. She tried 
 to comprehend how it would be when she w r as called to 
 put away life, but the blood beat in her head and she 
 could not think. She saw Hattakowa's face in the dark- 
 ness, and again and again she felt the consoling in- 
 fluence of his strength. At first in paroxysms of grief 
 she cried out that she could not have conditions as 
 they were. She prayed that in some way the cup of bitter- 
 ness might be taken from her lips. Her wish now and then
 
 WAITING 307 
 
 beguiled her into the belief that Hattakowa could not be per- 
 mitted to die; that, at the last, some power would interfere. 
 At first when she besought Heaven to spare the life of her 
 kinsman, to make less the burden of all her responsibility 
 for his terrible deed and its apportioned punishment, she 
 found but scant solace in seeking Divine help. Gradually, 
 as she recalled, word by word, all that Hattakowa had said 
 to her, she partook of his fortitude; she absorbed something 
 of his upreaching spirit. Like him, she groped toward the 
 light, then, after the precious store of days was greatly di- 
 minished, she learned to pray for the submission that had 
 in it an abiding courage. She asked for a larger faith; she 
 pleaded that the right knowledge might be given her. It was 
 after she had gone into the brown woods in the second week 
 of Hattakowa's absence that she returned to Moma Binna 
 there to search the pages of the Little Mother's Bible which 
 still remained in its old place on a small table in the living 
 room. Until late into the night she read of the half barbaric 
 peoples whose lives were chronicled in the Old Testament. 
 Long ago the Lord had been merciful ; he had provided cities 
 of refuge for the slayers of their fellow men. The pages 
 of Holy Writ bore the records of many lives in which blood 
 vengeance had been exacted. 
 
 When it was too dark to see the words, Pakali bowed 
 her head upon the Book of Books.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 SUNSET 
 
 IN the late autumn came a day that gathered to itself the 
 splendour of an earlier season. Summer lingers long in the 
 Territory, and now, although the winter was near, golden 
 rod still bloomed along the road, the yellow of the late flower 
 blurred by the feathery veil of tall grasses. In neglected 
 cotton fields here and there bursting bolls shed their snowy 
 store upon the dry earth. On the trees curling leaves clung 
 to branches outlined against the exquisite blue of a cloudless 
 sky. Gentle winds, sweeping up from the Gulf of Mexico, 
 bore the faint incense of the dried foliage that lay upon the 
 ground. It was one of those days when the world which 
 has sowed and reaped, garnered and stored, seems to listen 
 for the voice of God. 
 
 In the early morning the busy life of Tishomingo was 
 hushed, for in the Chickasaw capital there were few who 
 did not awaken with the thought that before night fell a 
 life would be taken from among those who comprised 
 the Nation. Some there were who marvelled that nature 
 should not mourn. A grey week of threatened storm sud- 
 denly had ended in a burst of golden sunshine which was 
 reflected in ripple and eddy of Pennington Creek as the 
 stream hurried by the town. 
 
 Far above Tishomingo lay a little park, heavily wooded. 
 Here Pennington Creek fell over a wall of rock and, dizzily 
 losing itself in whirlpools, hollowed out a wide, curved basin 
 before it went on to find the distant river. It was in this 
 park, a tiny valley as yet untouched by the hand of man, that 
 the Chickasaw Nation gathered to await the coming of 
 Hattakowa. 
 
 308
 
 SUNSET 309 
 
 At sunrise fullbloods and halfbreeds began to journey to 
 the place of death, and by noon the woodland had become 
 the camping ground of many hundred Indians. 
 
 Hattakowa had been expected to return to the Territory 
 at the beginning of the week, but he had sent a message to 
 Beaumont announcing his detention in Washington. This 
 delay gave some of the white men an opportunity to declare 
 that there would be no execution, and, whenever a train came 
 into Tishomingo, a curious crowd gathered at the station. 
 
 As the afternoon shadows began to lengthen, Marchand 
 rode along the main street of the town. He had been doing 
 many last errands for Hattakowa, and now, as he turned 
 into the street leading past the capitol, he stopped, wheeled 
 his horse, and, uncovering his head, looked toward Moma 
 Binna. He had thought constantly of Pakali, but he had 
 refrained from intruding upon her. With a dread that now 
 and then unnerved him he had looked forward to this day, 
 and he showed upon his face the pallor of sleeplessness. He 
 had written many letters to General Chillingsworth, whose 
 aid he asked in whatever device could be suggested for the 
 deliverance of Hattakowa. Now all effort would be un- 
 availing; it was too late to save the Indian whom he had 
 learned to love as a man loves the friend stronger than him- 
 self. 
 
 While with uncovered head he sat in the saddle, the horse 
 that he rode fretted at the bit. The animal was a splendid 
 mount, a favourite with Hattakowa, who called him Kanowa, 
 The Hunter. " Steady, old boy, steady! " said Marchand, 
 speaking the words in a. tone which lacked a reassuring ring, 
 for the Kentuckian, more than the horse he rode, needed a 
 cheering admonition. No Marchand had ever lacked the fine 
 courage that enabled him to meet bravely whatever life 
 brought him, but the spirit was sometimes stronger than the 
 body. Philip Marchand's flesh crept when he thought of the 
 sunset hour in which Pakali would endure the ordeal of
 
 3io THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 taking part in the ancient death ceremonies of the Chicka- 
 saws. 
 
 Kanowa threw back his head, and, not waiting for signal 
 from his rider, galloped down the road. The Kentuckian 
 let him have his way, reluctantly guiding the animal toward 
 the park where the Indians were assembling. 
 
 As Marchand came near the woodland the scene that met 
 his eyes was one of half barbaric picturesqueness. It was 
 as if the reversion to the death ceremony had recalled many 
 tribal customs. A clearing had been made among maple 
 saplings and here a camp fire had been built. Over it 
 swarthy-skinned women were cooking. One of them had on 
 a much-trimmed hat which gave an incongruous touch to 
 the picture, for her companions wore bright-coloured woollen 
 scarfs upon their heads. On the ground sprawled many 
 small children, and the men, smoking solemnly, sat in groups. 
 The bright print frocks of the little girls and the gay gowns 
 of the halfbreed women gave touches of colour to the scene. 
 
 Dismounting, Marchand tied Kanowa to the slender trunk 
 of a young oak. He was glad to have reached the place of 
 death early so that he might have time in which to borrow 
 from the Indians something of their stoicism. Finding a log 
 upon the edge of the creek he sat there listening to the sound 
 of the waters and watching the movements of the Indians 
 until it was as if he dreamed. Long, long he waited until 
 the haze of the afternoon softened the light in the woods 
 and made the grove like a dim cathedral. 
 
 John Oaktree and his sons came, bringing with them 
 women and children. Then the two Mattisons, accompanied 
 by many who had been their political supporters, arrived in 
 omnibuses. The growing crowd quickened with expectancy. 
 
 The Governor of the Chickasaw Nation and his staff, 
 forming a cavalcade typical of the official duty to which the 
 Nation had pledged itself, rode through the throng of In- 
 dians, and, slowly circling in front of a giant tree marked
 
 SUNSET 3" 
 
 by a gorgeous war bonnet, sharply drew the line indicating 
 the boundaries of the place of death. Remaining in their 
 saddles the representatives of the Indian government waited 
 for the condemned man. 
 
 Judge Maury and Ogden Maury walked beneath the 
 maple trees on the edge of the grove. The older man's usual 
 air of self-sufficiency had disappeared. Reaching a spot a lit- 
 tle apart from the Indians the Judge leaned against the trunk 
 of a tree. 
 
 At last it was known in the throng that Pakali had reached 
 the place of death, but the Indians made no stir of curious 
 scrutiny. Before her walked Governor Sands with his 
 family, and beside her limped her father, bowed upon his 
 cane. She held Miko by the hand, and the child had ac- 
 quired something of the fortitude which made his mother 
 appear as one who had conquered grief. With her lips firmly 
 closed and her eyes fixed in the level gaze which sees nothing, 
 she accompanied Henry Sands, who led her across the circle 
 made by the people of her Nation. Near the tree upon which 
 the feathers of the war bonnet stirred in the breeze, Pakali, 
 Beaumont, and Miko met all who could claim blood relation- 
 ship to Hattakowa. The women removed their hats, and, 
 presently, Marchand, gazing from a distance, beheld Pakali 
 endowed with an alien beauty. Suffering had put the stamp 
 of a chastened maturity upon her face; the light of youth 
 had gone from her eyes, in which glowed a sustaining faith. 
 Her garments were the colour of the dead brown leaves, 
 and loosely about her shoulders she wore a cloak, long and 
 full. 
 
 Now, after all the Nation had assembled, the moments 
 dragged by. Silence fell upon the strange gathering; the 
 falling waters of Pennington made the only sound which 
 broke the oppressive stillness. 
 
 When the sun was but an hour away from the summit of 
 the western hills, white inhabitants of Tishomingo who ig-
 
 312 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 nored the Indian desire to escape observation, had gathered 
 in such numbers that members of the Indian police were 
 detailed to keep curious spectators outside the grove. These 
 white men, now sure that the Indian's pledge was as little 
 to be depended upon as their own, made new bets while they 
 lingered in the hope of being able to taunt the humiliated 
 Chickasaws. The wind died down; the haze deepened. 
 Then, while Pakali, watching the sun, counted the moments 
 still remaining in her kinsman's life, the beat of a horse's 
 hoofs was heard in the road, and Hattakowa, driving rapidly, 
 passed the white men, who stared, and then cheered as they 
 saw him hurry on to his death. 
 
 At the edge of the woodland Hattakowa lifted his mother 
 from the light carriage in which they had driven from the 
 station. 
 
 " Sa minteh I have come ! " he said, turning to his tribes- 
 men. 
 
 Beaumont and Henry Sands went toward him, but Mar- 
 chand reached him first. Declining proffers of help Hatta- 
 kowa looked for a place to tie his horse, and his eye fell upon 
 Kanowa. He stroked the sleek neck of the animal which he 
 had petted since it was a colt. Then, casting his glance 
 around the circle of Indians who had assembled to say fare- 
 well to him, he made his way toward the tree on which hung 
 the war bonnet. Slowly he moved among his friends, often 
 pausing to speak to one for whom he had a last greeting. 
 
 Mrs. Dixon, walking with erect carriage, followed her 
 son. All who saw her knew that she had found the courage 
 which would enable her to bear, without a sign of suffering, 
 whatever grief she felt. Beaumont, bowed and feeble, went 
 to her, and, taking her arm, drew her to Pakali's side. 
 
 Heeding the sign of the war bonnet Hattakowa stepped 
 to the tree upon which it hung. He had passed Pakali as if 
 he did not see her, but now his eyes sought hers and he knew 
 that she had come to this place of death believing that they
 
 SUNSET 313 
 
 would find each other when both their spirits were free. 
 With difficulty he shook off the spell of her presence. Rais- 
 ing his head, he pushed back the hair which fell upon his 
 broad forehead, and turned to scan the faces of the Chicka- 
 saws. As he stood there in the splendid strength of his 
 mature manhood even the least emotional of those who be- 
 held him felt a pang of regret because such a life was to be 
 surrendered before its vigour had spent itself. 
 
 " Oh, Chickasaws, my brothers and sisters, I have brought 
 you a message of hope," said Hattakowa, speaking in a quiet 
 voice which carried his words to the edge of the throng. 
 " I have been to see him whom our people once called the 
 Great White Father in Washington. To him I carried some 
 of our troubles, and I left with him the paper which long 
 ago the wind of fate put into my hand the paper setting 
 forth the plans of some of the white race whom the Choc- 
 taws call ' Nahulla.' I told the President that, while we 
 Indians remembered the w T ords of an American statesman 
 who declared: ' Congress can and will pass any bill to de- 
 stroy the Indians,' we still held the hope that the United 
 States Government would investigate conditions here in the 
 Territory. 
 
 " It was long before I could get the ear of the President, 
 and then I had to wait several days before I could ob- 
 tain an answer to my plea that justice might be dealt out to 
 the Five Nations. When it seemed as if I must come back 
 to you bringing word that my mission had been vain, there 
 came from the White House an assurance that one who bears 
 the name of a world conqueror should be sent here to report 
 the truth." 
 
 From the crowd rose a murmur which swelled into a 
 shout of joy. Hattakowa, waiting for the confusion to sub- 
 side, forgot all else except that Pakali was near him. Again 
 he looked at her, and again her eyes gave him the assurance 
 that her soul sought his in a final understanding which
 
 3H THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 concerned itself not with earth, but with hope of life beyond 
 the great chasm of death. 
 
 " Since I am going away from you to-day," Hattakowa 
 said, when there was silence once again, " I want to speak 
 to you of your relation to the civilised world of which you 
 are soon to become a part. In a little while our tribal ex- 
 istence will be but a memory. Treasure all the traditions 
 of our people, for there will come a time when the white 
 man will change his estimate of the Indian ; there will be a 
 period in which the right story of our race will be accepted, 
 and the descendants of those who have robbed and mistreated 
 the American aborigines will blush with shame. It may be 
 that the youngest of you will be old before the time of our 
 justification comes, for no deed of yours can hasten it. 
 Therefore, I would counsel you to conform to the changes 
 which are inevitable. It is useless to fight against what is 
 called progress ; take what is best of the white man's civilisa- 
 tion and do not waste strength in combating powers that 
 must conquer you. Become good citizens of the United 
 States, and, as long as possible, keep in your possession the 
 few acres of land which will be apportioned to you from the 
 great tract that was pledged to us forever ' As long as 
 water runs, and grass grows.' ' 
 
 While Hattakowa spoke one of John Oaktree's sons acted 
 as interpreter to the fullbloods, some of whom shook their 
 heads as if they were loath to accept the advice falling from 
 Hattakowa's lips. 
 
 Standing before the war bonnet, Hattakowa faced the 
 west and he saw that the sun was near the horizon. 
 
 " It is time for me to say farewell to you," he announced 
 in steady tones. 
 
 A hush fell upon the people, and Hattakowa, passing 
 around the circle, touched the hands of the old men and 
 spoke gentle words to the women and children. Judge 
 Maury could but shake his head as he uttered a last protest
 
 "ONE SOLEMN MOMENT THEY STOOD THERE, FORGETTING ALL THE WORLD" 
 
 Page 315
 
 SUNSET 315 
 
 against the madnesss which had caused Hattakowa to decline 
 legal defence. He and Ogden sorrowfully clasped the hand 
 held out to them. Next, with words of advice Hattakowa 
 took leave of his kinsmen, among whom were fullbloods that 
 he addressed in the Chickasaw and Choctaw tongues. 
 
 Last of all he stood before his mother and Pakali. Beau- 
 mont, leaning upon his cane, stepped forward to whisper that 
 he believed the Little Mother waited to greet one who had 
 been as Pakali's brother to her. 
 
 Mrs. Dixon put her arms around her son's neck and Hatta- 
 kowa kissed her many times, telling her again and again that 
 she must not mourn for him. Then he reached out his arms 
 toward Pakali, who gave him both her hands. 
 
 " It is not farewell to you, my Star Woman," he said, 
 " for my spirit often will be near you." He dropped her 
 hands while he folded Miko to his breast. 
 
 " Little Chieftain, in your care I leave your mother," he 
 said. " Watch over her, and never be Ahaikahno The 
 Careless One." 
 
 The child clung to Hattakowa, promising that he would 
 try to be a brave worthy to belong to the Chickasaws. 
 
 " And, although you go often into the forest, neglect not 
 aiikhuma the place of learning," admonished Hattakowa, 
 kissing the boy's red lips. 
 
 Again Hattakowa looked into Pakali's eyes. Once more 
 he took her hands. 
 
 " I carry the great love away with me," he said. " It 
 will sustain my spirit, and, if I may come back to you, it may 
 yet bless you in ways we cannot foresee." 
 
 " I can never be worthy of the great love," softly answered 
 Pakali, " but it has brought me light. Whether my years 
 be many or few it will be as a torch to guide me while I 
 serve our people." 
 
 He pressed her hand in a grip so strong that the ruby ring 
 cut into her palm. One solemn moment they stood there,
 
 3i6 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY] 
 
 forgetting all the world. The encircling crowd was blotted 
 out. As they lingered there on the threshold of eternity, 
 the autumn day took on a surpassing glory, belonging not to 
 earth. 
 
 " I know you have forgiven me for all the grief I have 
 caused you," said Pakali, with a little quiver of the lips, 
 " but it would be a comfort if I could remember some as- 
 surance given in this final hour." 
 
 " Dear, my heart never has held aught but love for you 
 the great love." Hattakowa faintly smiled upon her as if 
 he would have her understand that love had mingled some 
 joy with his portion of bitterness. 
 
 One of the Chickasaw officials gave a low signal. The 
 glory faded from the day. The faces of the multitude again 
 became visible to Hattakowa and Pakali. Back among the 
 trees Hattakowa saw Marchand. Beckoning to the Ken- 
 tuckian, he said: 
 
 " Until the night comes, watch over those who are dear 
 to me." He did not touch the white man's hand; it was 
 enough that he should give to him a precious trust. 
 
 Hattakowa walked back to the big tree, and now, accord- 
 ing to the custom of the Chickasaws, it was the privilege of 
 his mother to do the last service for him. A cup of water 
 was dipped from Pennington Creek. Mrs. Dixon bore this 
 to her son. Lifting it to his lips, Hattakowa uttered the old 
 Choctaw salutation : " Yak'oke, sullitok kia, Ish aya ahke," 
 which means, " Thank you, though I die, may you live on." 
 
 After the cup had been given back to the bearer, Hatta- 
 kowa waited while the women and the children and the 
 friends of faint heart went away from the place of death. 
 Solemnly and noiselessly the awestricken crowd disappeared. 
 
 Mrs. Dixon, Pakali, Miko, and Beaumont lingered until 
 only the men of the Chickasaw Nation remained. Hatta- 
 kowa smiled upon his loved ones. " Sa kullo I am strong," 
 he said, looking across the little space which separated him
 
 SUNSET 317 
 
 from them. Standing before the war bonnet, his arms folded 
 across his broad chest, he kept his eyes fixed upon the little 
 group. Tenderly he glanced at his mother, who once or 
 twice took a step forward as if she would go to him, but she 
 controlled herself. Pakali stood immovable with her face 
 turned to Hattakowa, whose soul, purged of all its earth- 
 born rebellion, had begun to put on the majesty of the new 
 estate into which it was to enter. 
 
 The last moment of respite came. Beaumont put his arm 
 around Mrs. Dixon, and, moving with the help of his cane, 
 walked beside her toward the dusty road. Pakali and Miko 
 followed them, but, when they had reached the centre of the 
 circle, which they had to cross, Pakali stopped to look back 
 at Hattakowa. As if he had been told to carry a last fare- 
 well from his mother, Miko ran back to embrace The Man 
 Looking for the Sun. 
 
 Marchand went around the outside of the Chickasaw cir- 
 cle to meet Pakali. When he would have opened the door 
 of the carriage waiting for the sorrowful party, Mrs. Dixon 
 said: 
 
 " No, no. We will go down by the edge of the creek 
 where the waters will drown the sound I dare not hear. I 
 want to be close to my son until the end." 
 
 So they found a place where, above the drooping willows, 
 they could see the changing colour in the sky, and there, with 
 his rugged face uplifted to Heaven, Beaumont prayed while 
 Pakali and Miko knelt at the feet of Mrs. Dixon. A few 
 yards away Marchand watched for the sunset. 
 
 Hattakowa saw his Star Woman disappear and then he 
 felt impatient for his day to end. In conformity with the 
 old custom it had been his privilege to select his best friend 
 as his executioner, and upon Henry Sands had fallen his 
 choice. The Governor of the Chickasaws put a rifle into the 
 hands of the old Indian. This was the signal for the con- 
 demned man to take off his coat, underneath which he wore
 
 3i8 THE MAN OF YESTERDAY 
 
 t 
 
 a black silk shirt. Upon his breast, on the place over his 
 heart, one of John Oaktree's sons helped him to pin a square 
 of white paper. Twenty paces from the war bonnet were 
 measured off, and then Sands was summoned from the edge 
 of the circle. 
 
 The old Indian went forward, but when he looked into 
 Hattakowa's face, upon which shone the light of an immortal 
 passion, Sands shook as an aspen swayed in a spring gale. 
 Hattakowa stretched out his arms so that he might present 
 the heart which throbbed with the great love for Pakali as 
 a. target for the executioner's shot. On his finger shone the 
 ruby he dared not bestow upon any for whom he had a tender 
 care since it brought ill-luck in love to all who owned it. 
 
 " One two three ! " counted the Governor of the 
 Chickasaws. Sands lifted the rifle to his shoulder. " Four 
 five!" spoke the Governor, but the old Indian, stagger- 
 ing from the circle, cried out: 
 
 " I cannot be the instrument of the law ! " 
 
 John Oaktree, who understood the action but not the 
 words, stepped forward. 
 
 " Omih, omih ! Very well, very well ! " he exclaimed in 
 the Chickasaw tongue. " I am the descendant of Tush- 
 Kaa-Pela The Warrior Helper. I am old, and, if the 
 memory of this day hurts me, it will not last long." 
 
 The sky took on the golden hue of the sunset, and the 
 brown woods were illuminated by the magic light. Again 
 Hattakowa raised his hands. Lifting his head so that he 
 could gaze beyond the place where the crowd had closed 
 around Pakali, he gave his last thought to his Star Woman. 
 
 THE END
 
 VIVID. 
 
 1ELT THRILL AS 
 
 CHIEF SPOKE. 
 
 NROVIA MAN REMEMBERS RED 
 CLOUD'S SPEECH. 
 
 eclarcs the Indian's Appeal for 
 .istice Was One of the Most Elo- 
 jent Word Portrayals He Ever 
 card Vaccinated Children of the 
 oted Warrior. 
 
 [OXROVIA, Dec. 11. For at least 
 > Monrovians, Dr. and Mrs. J. W. 
 the news of Chief Red 
 ud's passing- at the Pine Ridge j 
 5ncy ouickens memories of nearly 
 1' a century ago when he was in his 
 me and the rising- leader of a horde 
 savage warriors. 
 
 i 1864 Dr. La Force, accompanied 
 his wife, served as post surgeon for 
 
 Seventh Iowa Cavalry, stationed at 
 t McPherson to guard the overland 
 il from Indian depredations. The 
 t was built at Cottr.nwood Springs, 
 
 old frontier trading post on the 
 tte River. Karly in 1864 Chief Red 
 ud and a small party of subchief 
 war paint called at the fort to pow- 
 \v with Ma.i. O'Brien, commanding 
 cer. in regard to trcr.ty violations 
 1 the invasion of Sioux hunting 
 lum.ls by the whites, 
 'he impassioned remonstrance of 
 lef Red Cloud is often referred to 
 
 Dr. La Force as one of the most 
 quent and stirring apptals for jus- 
 ? and one of the mo.st vivid word 
 trayals he heard, Un- 
 
 tunately, no re: ord \vas kept of this 
 narkable address which made a pio- 
 ind impression upon the white men. 
 ?aking of the violation of the terri- 
 ial treaty Red Cloud said: "We go 
 the South for buffalo: the white man 
 there. We go to the North for elk; 
 white man is there. The land is 
 pty and my people star', 
 n July of the same year Red Cloud 
 c! the Brule-Sioux migrated north- 
 id. 11- was already dominant anving 
 : tribesmen and hi* war parties 
 
 -nail party 
 
 ' stopped at Fort McPherson where he 
 ! sought out Dr. La Force and requ 
 him to \ 
 
 Clouds. He himself had 
 llpox '-il : "'-"d, and <! 
 
 need the vliite man's medicine. 
 
 Whiic the so '!<' Of his chil- 
 
 ! dren were gathered in the dispensary 
 ' for treatment, he waited outside im- 
 passively, refusing even to dismount. 
 The young savages intent upon the 
 novelties of tl laind 
 
 to notice the prick of the \ 
 cet and acted as if vaccination were 
 an e very-day occurrenc after- 
 
 ward when the two men p.vt again. 
 
 Red Cloud remembered the arrm 
 geon, who was nearly of his ow -; 
 and spoke of long vanished Fort Mc- 
 Pherson. 
 
 On his second visit to the fort, 
 C'oud was accompanied by a nu 
 of warriors who had evidently j;: 
 turned from a foray. Fresh scalp* 
 dangled at their spear heads and they 
 were laden with plunder. An Omaha 
 Indian, serving in the Seventh Cavalrj 
 rode out to interview them and re- 
 ported on his return that one scalp 
 was that of a white woman. 
 A'An interesting glimpse of Indian 
 traits and customs is afforded by an 
 incident related by Mrs. La Force. Red 
 Cloud, several squaws, many children 
 and a few warriors camped on the 
 Platte about four miles fiom the fort. 
 The next day or so an Indian, st 
 about the fort and casually, as it were, 
 ami with no appearance of interest, 
 said he was a Kiowa who had been 
 captured by Red f'oud's braves and 
 condemned to be 'shot next morning 
 as a spy. He was on parole, getting a 
 look at the fort before he started for 
 the Happy Hunting Grounds. Se 
 of the soldiers doubting his story went 
 to Red Cloud's camp at the hour 
 named by the Kiowa as his last. They 
 found him chanting his death ?>n.a: at 
 the head of a shallow trench and when 
 he had finished a shot rang out and 
 he tumbled headlong into his grave."
 
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