SPIRIT TRAIL avi RGIL D.BOYLE THE SPIRIT TRAIL BY THE SAME AUTHORS THE HOMESTEADERS. Illustrated in color by Maynard Dixon. Third Edition. Crown 8vo $1.50 LANGFORD OF THE THREE BARS: A FIGHTER or THE RIGHT SORT. Illustrated in color by N. C. Wyeth. Second Edition. Crown 8vo $1.50 A. C. MCCLURG & Co., Publishers CHICAGO At that moment a figure appeared in the flickering light The Spirit Trail By KATE AND VIRGIL D. BOYLES Authors of "The Homesteaders," "Langford of the Three Bars/' etc. WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR BY MAYNARD DIXON A. L. BURT COMPANY PUBLISHERS Niw YORK COPYRIGHT A. C. McCLURG & CO. 1910 Published October 29, 1910 Second Edition, December 3, 1910 Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, England All rights reserved CONTENTS CHAPTEB PAGE I THE GREAT Sioux RESERVATION . ,., ,., . 11 II ON THE RIVER . . . ...... ,., ,..- 16 III ON THE ROAD . ,. . ., t ., ,., ,., ( ., ..; 30 IV THE STORM . . . . ., . ,., ,., . 52 V THE END OF THE JOURNEY . . ,. . . 62 VI " THE LITTLE Ox LIES STRUGGLING ON THE EARTH" ...... ... 74 VII THE SUN DANCE . . ,., ,., w ,., w . 93 VIII WHY NOT? 117 IX THE MAN OF MANY MEMORIES SPEAKS TO THE BRULES . . . ... .. ... . .129 X THE DORSEY GANG . . ,., . ., ,. . 147 XI THE SPECIAL INSPECTOR ASKS FOR A RE- COUNT 162 XII THE WOOING OF THE WHITE FLOWER w . 183 XIII THE STRANGER WHO CAME AND WENT SI- LENTLY 199 XIV THE POT OF GOLD AT THE RAINBOW'S END 210 XV THE BRIDGE BUILDER . . ., ... ,., ,., . 228 XVI A MAN WITH A POOR MEMORY m OT ,., . 244 XVII You HAD A PRETTY DREAM ,., ,., t . . 261 XVIII LOCKE OUTWITS THE JAILER m M m m 274 XIX THE PERFECT FRIEND , * M m M 891 M18923 CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE XX THE GATES THROWN OPEN . . ., . . 311 XXI IN THE CAMP OF THE DAKOTAS . . . . 329 XXII WHITE FLOWER MAKES A PROMISE . ... . 344 XXIII KATHARINE AND LOCKE 355 XXIV RUNNING BIRD COMES INTO His OWN AT LAST 371 XXV I THINK I CAN NEVER Go HOME AGAIN 396 ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE At that moment a figure appeared in the flickering light Frontispiece " My people/' he began, " stay your hands. Put away your weapons " 1 44 " Oh, Running Bird/' cried Katharine, " do my father and mother know where I am?" 338 Running Bird was steadily gaining on his enemy THE SPIRIT TRAIL ARTICLE 2. The United States agrees that the following district of country, to-wit, viz: commencing on the east bank of the Missouri River where the forty-sixth parallel of north latitude crosses the same; thence along low water mark down said east bank to a point opposite where the northern line of the State of Nebraska strikes the river; thence west across said river and along the northern line of Nebraska to the one hundred and fourth de- gree of longitude west from Greenwich; thence north on said meridian to a point where the forty-sixth parallel of north lati- tude intercepts the same; thence due east along said parallel to the place of beginning; and, in addition thereto, all existing reser- vations on the east bank of said river shall be, and the same is, hereby set apart for the absolute and undisturbed use and occu- pation of the Indians herein named, and for such other friendly tribes or individual Indians as from time to time they may be willing, with the consent of the United States, to admit amongst them; and the United States now solemnly agrees that no per- sons except those herein designated and authorized so to do, and except such officers, agents, and employees of the Government as may be authorized to enter upon Indian reservations in discharge of duties enjoined by law, shall ever be permitted to pass over, settle upon, or reside in the territory described in this article, or in such territory as may be added to this reservation for the use of said Indians, and henceforth they will, and do hereby, relinquish all claims or right in and to any portion of the United States or Territories, except such as is embraced within the limits aforesaid. . . . ARTICLE 12. No treaty for the cession of any portion or part of the reservation herein described which may be held in common shall be of any validity or force as against the said Indians unless executed and signed by at least three-fourths of all the adult male Indians occupying and interested in the same. . . . TREATY OF LARAMIE, 1868. THE SPIRIT TRAIL CHAPTER I THE GREAT SIOUX RESERVATION RED CLOUD, Chief of the Oglala Sioux, at his buffalo camp on Powder River, received the mes- sengers from the Peace Commission courteously but did not hasten down to Fort Laramie in response to the urgent request. Instead, he sent word that he thought he should wait until the forts were abandoned and the road closed up before he signed the treaty. The road in question was that highway which the Government had proposed to construct from the Cal- ifornia trail near Fort Laramie, across by way of the Powder River Valley to the gold fields in Montana and Idaho ; and the forts were those builded along its course to protect the work of construction from the attacks of Red Cloud and his Oglalas, who resented bitterly this invasion of the richest, in fact the only, buffalo range left to the Sioux Nation. The Government did not as yet altogether trust Red Cloud. It was late August before it finally determined to take the chief at his word and to withdraw all the troops from the forts. This resolve was put into execution, but still the great chief did not come down to meet the peace commissioners. THE SPIRIT TRAIL " It is so late now," he said. " I think I will put up my Winter's meat before I go down to sign." So, all during that Fall, while both the Indian de- partment and the Military waited in nerve-trying suspense and uneasiness, Red Cloud, taking his own good time, busied himself in drying buffalo meat, and curing hides for the fast vanishing fur trade. " Will Red Cloud keep faith? " men asked themselves and each other many times during those long days of waiting. " Faith? Faith in a redskin? " said a member of the Commission, an army officer who stood high in the Gov- ernment's confidence, and who was distinguished in his day as a peerless Indian-fighter, though somewhat over- zealous perhaps. " Policy, if anything, or fear of the Great Father's vengeance, may bring him down to treat with us, but never good faith. I should not be at all surprised if he were plotting mischief right now." " It is insolent, to say the least," grumbled a second member of the Commission, " to keep us waiting his pleasure with figurative fingers in our mouths, while he goes hunting. It must be royal sport to keep the great Republic of the United States thus dangling a right kingly conception of humor, and no mistake. For my part, I would with all my heart that I were stalking buffalo while my red friend danced to the never-ending time of my errant fancy. I should make him rue the day very bitterly that he taught me the game so well." "Do not be afraid. Red Cloud will keep faith,'* [12] THE GREAT SIOUX RESERVATION said a new voice in the fort, calm yet full with the authority of confidence. " How so? Do you come from the Powder? I thought you rode from the opposite direction." " So I did,'* said the stranger, quietly. " I am not an emissary from Red Cloud. On the contrary, I have never seen this chief in my life. I have come directly from the Missouri River." " On what, then, do you ground your so great faith ? " asked someone, curiously. " Because his is a righteous war," said the stranger, clearly, and he turned the steadfast lustre of his tired but brave gray eyes full upon his interlocutor. " It is evident that you believe strongly in the Church Militant," said the grizzled old Indian-fighter, with a shrug of his shoulders and a glance at the plain gold cross gleaming in relief against the dark of the young man's waistcoat. And the saddle-weary newcomer, remembering Ash Hollow and its stain, answered with a great sadness : " Is it only thus that peace can come to this people the peace of fear? Yes, I believe in fighting," he continued, the scintillation of a smile lighting up his rather grave features. " I am somewhat of a fighter myself. I fight a host of foes the sun, moon, wind, thunder, lightning, the Aurora Borealis, Onkteri, Wakinyan, Takuxhanxkan, with all their satellites of serpents, lizards, frogs, owls, eagles, spirits of the dead, buzzards, ravens, foxes, wolves, and myriads of others, all under the evil tutelage of wakan-men. But more [13] THE SPIRIT TRAIL; than all," and there was a ring in his voice that few who heard him ever forgot, " I believe that the heart of man is instinctively honest, and that it is treachery that begets treachery. Red Cloud is a man. Soon you shall know." " And Red Cloud was not at Ash Hollow," said an- other voice in good English, and yet no white man had spoken. If it was the young priest's dusky companion who had thus given speech, he did not again trans- gress. His mouth was set in lines of strong-willed taciturnity. His sombre eyes above his high cheek- bones gazed haughtily past the interested glances focused upon his dark face. " Were you at Ash Hollow ? " asked a bystander, pointedly. There was no answer. "Who are you?" asked another. Still no answer. " On my word, but you are a surly fellow," said the Indian-fighter, turning to saunter away. The priest put his hand affectionately on the In- dian's shoulder. A sudden quiet fell upon the by- standers. Without warning, the air seemed all at once charged with a strange expectancy. " Just a minute, General," he said. " I want to present my friend, Running Bird. His father was Lit- tle Thunder, Chief of the Brule Sioux, who fought and died at Ash Hollow." It was a warm, bright, still day in October when the priest and his Indian friend, Running Bird, after many [14] THE GREAT SIOUX RESERVATION dusty days in the saddle, rode through the stockade gates of Fort Laramie. No one knew their errand, or cared, perhaps. The cross was following the sword into the Indian country that was all. The Army was always in the van the Church lagging behind. The Army was the real missionary after all. So those first soldiers preserved a patronizing, though kindly, toler- ance toward the first missionaries; and at Washington, the Great Father tried to guide wisely the destinies of the one, while he looked forward hopefully to the ulti- mate triumph of both. The two men abode in the fort until the blue of October turned into the brown of November, and the wolves grew very bold indeed because their tawny skins were now the color of everything; until the thrifty hunter had his lodge stored full of meat for the Winter, though the reckless were still far afield ; and on the ninth, Red Cloud, Chief of the Oglala Sioux, came down from his camp on the Powder and signed the treaty of peace. [15] CHAPTER II ON THE RIVER IT was July, and the melted snows from the moun- tains had swelled the great river until it slopped over its banks in the low places, backed itself up every ravine and gulch that drew to the high water level, and, when compressed within the narrow limits of high chalk-rock bluffs on either side, sprang forward and took the breach, rushing, roaring, swirling, leaping, in its race to get through and once more stretch itself, and the boom of whose frantic haste might be heard for a mile or more sounding upon the surface of the water or far inland through the light atmosphere. The heat of the noonday had spread filmy clouds between the earth and the sun with hints of rain in them, but so far they had brought only a fresher Summer breeze and sent it singing down the valley, where often, its right of way being disputed by some rocky promontory, it whipped the water for the insolence until the waves flew their white caps of unwilling submission, before it* slipped whisperingly around the bend. Willow thick- ets, growing upon low bottom lands or upon islands where perhaps not long since a grain of sand had lodged on a submerged snag, and then another and another, until an island was formed, showed now but their wind- [16] OX THE RIVER blown green tops like reeds in a marsh. On this side,, now on that, as the changing river shifted its course, arose to sheer but varying heights the cut bluffs, some with white, staring, sphinx-like faces, others frowning darkly, but always fit monuments of a majestic solitude and of a history whose covers will never be opened,, whose pictography never read. Up and down the river brooded the shadow of its centuries of silence and the mysterious charm of its remoteness, changed but in- jfinitesimally since those never-to-be-forgotten days when Lewis and Clarke journeyed that way, giant pioneers who struck the first blow that sunk our frontier into the Western Ocean. The sight and sound of a steamboat making its regal way through the tremendous current on that Summer day in the early seventies, surrounded as it was by these silent witnesses of an unwritten past, seemed to many of the passengers like an anachronism. The vessel was the Far West of the Coulson Packet Company, loaded at Yankton with Government supplies, and bound for the up-river forts and agencies. It was a strongly built stern-wheeler, its builders at Pittsburg bearing in mind always the idiosyncrasies of the Missouri River, for traffic on whose waters it was especially designed; so that the push of the channel had but little effect in delaying the boat's usual rate of progress. On the cool side of the upper deck sat the wife and daughter of the newly appointed agent of Big Bend Agency. At least the wife was sitting. The daughter walked the deck in her quick impatience. 8 [17] THE SPIRIT TRAIL, " Are you tired already, Katharine ? " asked the mother, a pale, slight, fair little woman, who was quite content to sit quietly in her chair while her tall daughter paced restlessly to and fro. 66 Already, mother ? When was I ever not tired of this madcap and heartless demand of my father's ? " " I mean tired of this boat ; and please don't call it heartless, dear. Your father only asked, and we we came because it was our duty to come. It ought to be our pleasure. I am trying to make it mine. He is so very lonely." " You mean that you came because he wanted you to, and I came because well, perhaps I was ashamed to let my little mother show a braver spirit than mine ; and perhaps I was too cowardly to be left alone; and still another perhaps," she said, crumpling her tall self once more into her chair and laughing affectionately, " I came to protect your beautiful soft hair, mother. I thought maybe when they went to take it, those dread- ful tomahawk men, if I offered mine instead, they might accept the sacrifice because, you see, mine is yel- lower than yours though not half so pretty; but my hope lies in the fact that the savage mind, devoid of taste or judgment in art, would immediately grasp after the glitter and leave the gold." " What nonsense ! " said Mrs. Mendenhall, with a little laugh in which there was a minor note of tears and dread. " But I cannot help thinking, Katharine, that you had far better have remained at home, at least for the present. It will be very lonely for you." [18] ON THE RIVER " Home, mother? " said Katharine, and there was a peculiar, intent, almost tragic look in her beautiful eyes, tragic because of its hint of prophecy. " We are going home. We have left behind us everything that was sweet and pleasant and worth while, and we are going to a wilderness of loneliness and to dreary wastes of never ending crudeness and barbarism but we are going home. We must never forget that." " Not you, dear," said the older woman, quietly, tears springing to the faded blue eyes. " You will go back some day very soon, perhaps ; and I am an old woman, so what does it matter where I am so I be with my husband? " " If I thought," said Katharine, with a quick change of mood, " really and truly thought that I should have to live the rest of my days among the Indians, I should jump from this deck down there into that yellow whirl- pool right this minute. You need n't smile, mother. I mean it almost. For it would come to that in the end. So why wait for the slow torture of approaching insanity? When my mind should be altogether lost, I should simply walk off one of those ghostly cliffs some dark night, and that would be the end. If I ever should lose my mind, those lonesome cliffs would haunt me to my undoing, that I know, so I should take the leap at once and spare myself the misery between. Now forgive me, little mother, for my brutal selfishness. I had to thrash it all out to you, hadn't I? It was the only way to regain my shreds and tatters of self- respect. I am happier now. I have talked out the [19] THE SPIRIT TRAIL demon of my unrest. I could bear even hours on a sand bar. I walk the deck no more." She picked up a book that had fallen to the floor and opened it resolutely. Hers was a striking figure, sit- ting there in the shade of the eastern row of staterooms, .a flower plucked from the very heart of civilization, being borne to the very heart of the Great Reservation, and so evidently against her choice if not against her will. The set face forced to its task of reading, and the drooping poise of the tall, beautifully rounded young body, both spoke eloquently of a life loved and shielded, humored and self-effaced for, until the queenly progress of it had altogether, without warning, come upon one of those quiet forces of nature that for all their quietness and all their unassumingness yet rule the world. The man had said, " Come," and the woman was coming. The man was Katharine Menden- hall's father, and the woman, the slight, pale little lady at her side. That was why she sat chafing on the upper deck of the Far West, bound for the upper river. The meeker woman, hearkening to the call of the man, had conquered. Katharine was twenty-four and her hair was as yellow with gold as were the shining depths of that treasure locked and guarded within the storehouses of those darkly showing, splendid Indian hills, covered over with their wonderful forests of pines so soon to set the passion of gain of a great country aflame, so that men would forget their honor, and chief magis- trates their sacred trust, because of the lure there is in the shining gold. Her eyes were blue, a deep, [20] ' ON THE RIVER dark blue, with a straightforward self-confident out- look. From the moment of coming aboard at Yank- ton she had so wrapped herself in the outer gar- ments of reserve that no one had dared to speak to her as yet. Mrs. Mendenhall, on the contrary, at luncheon in the dining saloon, had made tentative advances toward fellowship with one or two persons who seemed, like her, to be coming into a far country. " What noise is that? " asked Katharine, suddenly, laying down her book. " Is it thunder? " " It is too continuous for thunder," replied the older woman, anxiously. " I have been hearing it for some time. Ask the Captain, Katharine, won't you? It gets on one's nerves." " You must learn to do without such inconvenient things as nerves in this haunt of the savage, mother mine," said Katharine, laughingly, but she rose to obey the request. She had laid aside her silk travelling coat because of the cloudy heat of the afternoon, and she looked very neat and trim in her faultlessly made frock, as she made her way to the pilot-house with a calm assurance of her perfect right to do anything or to go anywhere she pleased in the world. " That rumbling, Miss ? That 's rapids," responded the Captain, courteously. The pilot did not turn at the question. His bronzed face was intent; his .eyes, trained to steadfastness by much looking forward, were fixed on the narrowing waters ahead. "How can there be rapids in the Missouri?" de- manded Katharine, unconvinced. THE SPIRIT TRAIL " I think the old river is cutting a new channel up there a ways she 's a horribly fickle creature. I reckon all that spread out water at the bend thrown over here and forcing itself through these narrow limits is causing the trouble." " Is there any danger? " asked Katharine, with a little chill of apprehension. "Not the least. The Far West will take that like a swallow on the wing. Nothing in this heathen river surprises her any more. Besides, she's built for it." The roar of the rapids was unmistakable now to all, and in another moment the stanch steamer was almost staggering beneath the force of opposition it met to its further progress. The waves raced and roared and whirled. The thunder of their wild haste was deafening. But the boat rallied gallantly to the renewed pressure of steam and pursued her stately way. Katharine re- turned to her mother. " We are losing time," she fretted, discontentedl} 7 . " Are you in such great haste to meet your savage friends?" asked her mother, quietly. " It 's like jumping into the river," said Katharine, whimsically. " I want to have it over with." " Why, child, how still it is ! " exclaimed Mrs. Men- denhall, strangely startled. " Is it because we are through the rapids ? " " Do you hear the engine ? " asked Katharine, almost in a whisper. " Listen." An eerie silence at first greeted their strained atten- [22] ON THE RIVER tion, but it was not long before the old familiar boom of the tumbling current came to them with a new dis- tinctness. That was all. It seemed louder than be- fore because of the cessation of other sound. It was the sudden stopping of the noise of the throbbing engine that had so modified the beat upon the ears that for the moment it seemed as if even the seething waters were quiet. " We are standing still," cried Mrs. Mendenhall, in terror. " Standing still? " said Katharine, with a forced com- posure. " Mother, we are floating down stream." They did not drift long. Just below the rapids, the vessel staggered, strained a little, quivered through all her heavy timbers, and stood still. Instantly there was the wildest confusion throughout the steamer but to the passengers' deck came the Captain, at once quelling the threatened panic with his clear, calm ex- planations. " The engine broke down and we thought to let the boat drift below the rapids before we deemed it wise to anchor. There is not the least danger. No, we have not run on a snag only a sand-bar. Nothing is wrong with the boat except the engine. No, we have not sprung a leak. It will be necessary to get a steam boat to tow us back to Yankton, and we shall be obliged to tie up two or three days for repairs. As it will be impossible to get a boat here until some time to-mor- row, it would seem that we are doomed to spend the night on this sand-bar. It is extremely provoking." [23] THE SPIRIT TRAIL He paused to mop his heated face with his handker- chief. " I am very anxious to go on," said Mrs. Mendenhall. " Do you think there will be any other boat going up the river right away ? " "I think not," the Captain replied. "The Josephme expects to leave Yankton in about a week, but by that time we will be two or three days on our journey. I am afraid there is no alternative but for you to wait until we get our engine repaired and are ready to make a new start." The Captain turned and walked away. It was not long, however, before the two ladies saw him returning, followed by two gentlemen. " Let me present Mr. Hugh Hunt," he said, " In- dian missionary, and Mr. Locke Raynor. Mr. Raynor has been appointed issue clerk at the Agency, I believe." " Captain Maxwell informs me," said the man called Locke Raynor, in a voice that was slow and pleasing, " that you were anxious to reach the Agency with as little delay as possible. I am also very anxious to pro- ceed. I take it that Mr. Hunt, too, does not greatly relish a stop-over. The Captain informs me that there are horses on board, and saddles, to be consigned to Major Mendenhall at the Agency, and he has suggested that we might take these animals and continue the trip overland. He also suggested that you might possibly like to accompany us. There are blankets and plenty of provisions. If you think you can put up with the hardships of such a journey, it will enable you to reach ON THE RIVER the Agency three or four days sooner than you will if you wait for the boat." " If only Mr. Mendenhall had met us ! " mourned the Major's lady. " He was unavoidedly detained? " asked Locke Ray- nor, politely. "Yes. We found a telegram waiting for us at Yankton saying that the Indians were restless and that he dared not leave the Agency at present." " I don't see why they had to go and get all worked tip the very day my father was to meet us," fretted Katharine. " Why did n't they have their ridiculous old dances before we left home? Or if they were too contrary to do that, then they might at least have waited until we were safe in their wretched country. What is it all about, anyway? " " Perhaps their medicine men need a little time for reflection behind steel bars, Miss Mendenhall. They have held communion with evil spirits so long that we need not fear that they will be too lonely in captivity. And I think their braves need the feel of good powder and lead. Some day, perhaps, we shall be sorry for our leniency." The priest had not yet spoken. He stood waiting, slight, pale-faced, quiet, with big gray eyes that were dark and burning with the lustre of the everlasting fires of his great soul fires that burned so steadily that it seemed as if they must some time consume the spare frame. [35] THE SPIRIT TRAIL " Then why don't they order out the soldiers ? " de- manded Katharine, impatiently. " They have ordered them out often very often. I do not think that this is the time for the soldiers, Miss Mendenhall," said the priest, quietly. His voice was low and musical with the cultured cadences in it that spoke of cities and home and the land of the rising sun. A tiny sob of homesickness came suddenly into Katharine's throat, but she smothered it quickly. " You think there is no danger, then? " she asked. " Of an outbreak? I hope not. I trust not." " Won't you tell me what the trouble is ? " " It is only that General Custer has been sent to the Black Hills." " And high time, too," said Captain Maxwell, de- cidedly. " Perhaps," said the priest, with a strange smile. " But if he would go back to Fort Abraham Lincoln, Major Mendenhall might meet his wife and daughter." " Does your mother ride, Miss Mendenhall ? " asked Locke Raynor, observing an impatience on the part of the Captain to have the matter disposed of one way or another. " Not of late. She used to be accounted a fine horsewoman.'* "And you?'* " I can do what I have to do," said Katharine, briefly. " Then let me urge you to take to the horses," said Locke Raynor. " If there should be a general up- [26] ON THE RIVER rising though that is surely a remote contingency you might be indefinitely delayed; but once at the Agency, you will be safe, no matter what happens." "It will be a very harsh journey," cautioned Hugh Hunt, gravely, " for gentlewomen. We have no tent, and the stage route is not an extraordinarily good one. The stage houses are very primitive. They are un- accustomed to rough-riding. It is very probable that we shall have rain." Katharine turned to him quickly. " Then you think there is danger if we choose the land journey? " " From what source? " " The Indians." " The Indians ? My Indians ? No, I do not think there is any danger from that source." " Please then, Captain Maxwell, put us ashore," said Katharine, decidedly. " I said I could stand hours on a sand bar, but I cannot. I should die. Anything is better than stagnation. I think we can make almost as good time riding as the steamer does, anyway, going up stream, and that will save my father a great deal of unnecessary suspense." " As I explained to Mr. Raynor," said the Captain, " there are only two horses aboard for Major Menden- hall. They were doubtless intended especially for you ladies. But it is only a short distance to Springfield, where you can either secure more horses or wait for the stage. There will probably be others going as far as Springfield. So be it, then." [27] [THE SPIRIT TRAIL The men made short work of transferring their meagre effects to the skiff. Obliged as they would be to walk some little distance before finding horses for themselves, they saw the mistake of attempting to carry more than the strictest necessity demanded. Safely ensconced in the stern with her mother, Katha- rine yet could not keep back a gasp of sheer dread as the small boat pulled away from the stranded steamer. The gloomy waste of choppy, racing waves between her and the distant shore were brought so close to her that in reaching to slap the sides of the frail craft, the water often splashed over, and once wet her arm to the elbow as she clung desperately to the side of the skiff. " Do not be afraid," said Locke Raynor, with kindly assurance, as he plied one pair of oars with long, steady sweeps of unmistakable accustomedness. One of the steamer's crew bent to a second stand, so the little craft cut the current, pointing upstream, with a fair degree of directness. But Katharine's involuntary gasp turned into a real cry of alarm as a sudden tremendous splash, followed almost instantaneously by another as great, sounded behind her. " It is only your horses," said Locke, with a quiet emile. " They were pushed overboard so they would swim in the wake of our boat. Good boys ! They have made a gallant recovery and are coming after us in fine shape heads up no slopping or kicking. There 's grit for you." It seemed as if this man must be always reassuring [28] ON THE RIVER her, Katharine Mendenhall, who had never before been afraid of anything in all her proud young life. This man was a stranger. It was altogether within the bounds of possibility that he was one of those unfor- tunate beings who, having made serious mistakes in the places that knew them, wished to lose themselves in the wide and rough and unasking frontier. She had known of men dropping quietly out of their wonted niches, and people had said of such, vaguely : " They have gone West." Why was this unknown man observing her so closely as to be conscious of her least movement? She resented it, even while a quick faith in his power to- guide them safely through the gloomy mazes of tossing water sprang into life and grew steadily. " I thought maybe it was a sea serpent," she said, trying to smile with a brave unconcern. When the stragglers from the Far West arrived at Springfield, there were still some hours of daylight left. After consultation, the Agency party, consisting of Mrs. Mendenhall and Katharine, the Missionary and Locke Raynor, decided to push on as long as they could distinguish the trail and then to make their own camp for the night. Two extra horses were easily obtained, and the travellers soon left the little hill settlement and began their long overland journey to the Agency. [29] CHAPTER III ON THE ROAD THE rather scant camp outfit consisted mainly of blankets, destined for beds at night, what few articles of extra clothing Mrs. Mendenhall and Katha- rine were allowed to take, and abundant rations of crackers, bacon, and coffee, sufficient to provide a live- lihood for several days, even without the aid of any chance game that might happen along. Locke Ray- nor carried with him, besides, a rifle, slung across the pommel of his saddle, and a pistol at his belt. " The rifle is for Mr. Heap Big Brave, and the pistol is for our mutual friend, the rattlesnake," he explained, lightly, as he stowed his weapons into their places. " You will forgive me, Mrs. Mendenhall," he added, gravely, observing her look of sudden terror. " That is just my nonsense. I only mean to vary the monot- ony of a diet of bacon with an occasional brace of grouse or quail or ducks or if the worst comes to the worst a coyote. Where is your gun, Mr. Hunt? " "May I not share your coyote?" asked the young priest, smilingly. " To the last crumb or I should say bone," replied Locke. " But are you wise? " [30] ON THE ROAD The priest looked back for a moment at the rapidly vanishing little town now almost lost in the grasp of the rugged hills. It marked the boundary of the earlier Territorial settlements. Beyond was the vast Indian country. Then his glance rested upon the two gentlewomen from the world that had once been his - refined, unaccustomed, aristocratic, trusting, as help- less, if the worst befell, as lost babies, and he bowed his head in silence for a moment. When he looked up, there was a serene prescience on his fine face. " That is my belief," he said. " I pray God that I speak not out of mine own conceit." " But consider," urged Locke, in a low voice. " It is surely not a question of sentiment or even of belief. It is not the time to seek to prove or disprove a creed or a stubborn personal opinion. Gentlewomen have been intrusted to our care. As men " "Did you think I wouldn't fight?" asked the Mis- sionary, with a quizzical smile. " What could you do unarmed? " " I could keep the faith," said Hugh Hunt. They rode until the late dusk of the Summer's day had fallen and the solitude of the lonely trail was merged in the deeper solitude of the coming night. The heat clouds had passed away, and a white afterglow lay like a silver stream upon the Western horizon. It was so still that the murmur of the swiftly gliding water was the one dominant note in the quiet tones of the even- ing. They pitched their camp on a level space close to the [31] THE SPIRIT TRAIL river, tethered their horses on the grassy slope inland; and then, while Katharine and her mother looked on in weary wonder, the men built an immense camp fire of driftwood, deftly sliced and toasted strings of bacon, using long, pointed, green sticks for toasting forks, and skilfully pulling in just in time to save the deli- cious morsels before the stick burned through. These they placed upon crackers and served to the tired and hungry guests with elaborate politeness. Even the cof- fee tasted good, although made with the muddy un- settled water of the Missouri and quaffed from tin cups. " Never mind," said Locke Raynor, gayly. " We '11 have things just fit for our breakfast." He washed the coffee pot with an unusual display of energy, filled it with fresh water, and placed it carefully aside under a small cluster of cool-leaved baby cottonwoods. " It will be as clear as crystal in the morning," he said, confidently. " But you have only one coffee pot and nothing else that will hold water large enough for the purpose," objected Katharine. " What will you do with the clear water while you dispose of the dregs ? " " That 's to-morrow's tangle," he laughed, good- humoredly, " and let 's not drink our coffee till we get it." And then, because they must be astir very early in the morning, he ordered them all to their leafy couches. The men had cut down the rank undergrowth and had gathered grass and tender shoots, so that the couches [32] ON THE ROAD were fairly comfortable, though the dark, brooding, star-shot sky was their only canopy. " But you have given us more than our share of blankets," protested Mrs. Mendenhall, weakly. She was very tired, too tired to reason, but she felt the kindness. " Oh, I shall sit up to keep the mosquitoes out of camp," said Locke, lightly. "Not all night," said Katharine, firmly. "If a watch is necessary, we shall take our turns." " Only as a precaution to insure the presence of our horses in the morning. We should find ourselves some- what handicapped if they should break loose or be stolen. At midnight, I shall change places with the priest, so you see one pair of blankets will be ample for us both." Katharine could not sleep. It was so still, and the night was so big and mysterious, and she ached so from her unaccustomed riding. Her mother, utterly ex- hausted, slept soundly by her side. But her mother was going home. Why should her sleep not be natural and sweet? She was going home to the sheltering arms of her rightful mate the coming together of whom, perhaps, had been planned aeons ago before the world began perhaps in one of those luminous star worlds that burned so steadily up there in the soft sky. This man was her Katharine's father, and she loved him better than any other man in all the world; and yet it was different her going and her moth- er's. Was there a destiny for her written up there * [33] rr H E SPIRIT TRAIL somewhere in one of those distant stars? If so, which one held the scroll? And was there anything written therein that said that Katharine Mendenhall's life should be cruelly bent right in the middle and that henceforth her path must forsake the old pleasant, peaceful, com- panioned way, and be merged in the trail of the savage and the crude frontier? Or was it only heartless chance, unforeseen of fate fanciers, that had brought her here? What ruled human destinies, anyway? Some weird, jingling lines, unnoted in a happier day, came back to her: Into this Universe, and Why not knowing Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing; And out of it, as Wind along the Waste, I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing. But might not this exile be only an episode, so slight in the great scheme of her destiny, that it served merely as a comma in the writing on the scroll? If that was so, perhaps she could live the comma with a fair meas- ure of content. A pack of wolves away up in the hills across the river began their dreary hunting song. She sat up in quick alarm. The sound was startling and uncanny because unknown to her. But the little camp remained still and undisturbed. Locke Raynor had dragged up a huge drift log that would hold the fire all night and it smoul- dered with a dusky redness that lighted but dimly a little circle surrounding it. Everywhere was a slight pungent odor of clean smoke. It came from other smudges which Locke had built beyond the slumberers [34] ON THE ROAD and which served to materially minimize the discomforts incident to the near presence of mosquitoes. Locke himself was in shadow, but there was something in the relaxed droop of the shoulders, in his whole quiet, un- afraid attitude that spoke so plainly of strength and capability that the wordless communication was borne to Katharine at once, and she was comforted. Rolled in a blanket on the far edge of the dim circle and almost enveloped in the outer darkness, lay the slight form of the Missionary, sleeping as peacefully, perhaps, as he had ever slept in a soft bed of the more indulgent East. The sound of the rushing river was more palpable than ever. There was no moon. The light was that of the stars and the dull glow of the drift log. " It is only wolves," said Locke. Was that a mock- ing smile on his face? No, only the play of the flick- ering fire. His eyes were kindly, inviting. She rose from her rude couch and came to the fire. " There were sticks at all angles," she said, in a low voice, not to disturb the sleepers. " I cannot sleep. Let me sit by the fire awhile. The wolves make me homesick." " I will cut away the sticks," he said, at once. " I thought I had done so. How stupid I was to be sure. You must be very tired." " Wait a little. I don't want to go back yet. I cannot sleep. Talk to me." "What shall I say?" " Are you glad to go to the Agency ? " 66 Are you glad to go to the Agency ? " [35] THE SPIRIT TRAIL " I asked you the question." " Oh, pardon me. Yes, I am glad to go. Are you?" " I think I loathe it," she said, slowly. " Then why do you go? " " I don't know. Fate, maybe. My father was very good. He said I could do as I pleased come with my mother or stay in the East with friends. I don't know why I came. There is a spell on me, I think. I did n't want to come, and yet here I am." " Are you afraid ? " " Horribly." " You will soon get accustomed to your undesirable neighbors, however, and the soldiers are always here." " What are you making ? " she asked, presently, and with some curiosity. " Fishing tackle," he replied, promptly. " We are to have a fine plump cat for breakfast did n't you know that?" " How tireless you are ! " " Not at all. I am training myself to the whether- or-no patience of the pioneer that is all." "Oh! Then you are just from the East like me?" " I am just from the East like you." " I wonder how long it takes to make an old settler," she said, reflectively. " May I ask why ? Do you wish to establish, thus Dearly, your claims to the distinction of being one of the [36] ON THE ROAD first white families? " he asked, gravely enough, but his eyes twinkled. " Oh, I was just wondering," she said. " I feel like an old settler already." " I met a man on the boat whose claim ante-dates yours. He was positively grizzled with his years of pioneering. In fact, he was one of the originals. To quote his own words : ' I came to this country in let me see it was shortly after the war, I remember, because I had drifted out here in the hopes of falling into something. A war like that sort of cuts a man away from the things he was doing before. Let me see it was in I remember the grasshoppers came that year and ate up all my sod watermelons and squashes and sweet corn, and so I was forced to go back to practic- ing law. That was pshaw, how time steals one's memory ! The following year was the year of the Great Treaty, and that was in sixty-eight ; surely, I cannot be at fault there. So my residence in this country must date back to sixty-seven; yes, sir, to sixty-seven; That 's a long time ! ' " " What an old, old settler," she laughed, softly. " I gladly acknowledge his priority and sincerely trust that my record will never equal his. Are you ever going back?" "Back where?" " Back East." " I don't know. Perhaps, if I fail to make good." " Have you a mission ? Everybody who comes here [37] THE SPIRIT TRAIL seems to have a mission everybody but me. I wish I had one, too." " I have one for you two for you. .Will you ac- cept them? " Both looked up, momentarily startled. Hugh Hunt stood before them fully awake, his beautiful, aristo- cratic hands folded on his arms. His voice was won- derfully sweet, low-toned, and penetrating. The fire flared up suddenly and sent a wavering shaft of light across his pale face. " What are they ? " whispered Katharine, awestricken by the unseen but powerfully felt presence of something diviner even than the divine authority of this one sent, whose slight frame seemed to tower to great heights as he stood there in the flickering firelight, while all about him was the night, the dark, warm, Summer night. " Leave your unfair and ignorant prejudices behind you here in the dark where all prejudice has its being. Always keep faith with my Indians. Because Inkpa- duta, son of the renegade, Wamdesapa, fell upon Spirit Lake and killed its people, we held the Wahpekutas ac- countable, although they had disowned and driven away the renegade band more than forty years before. Was that keeping faith? Try to believe that for every Ink- paduta there is a John Other Day, and for every Smutty Bear, a Struck-by-the-Ree. What if I die and you die and the Indian is still a Savage at heart? Is nothing then worth while? It took nineteen Christian centuries to make you and me what we are a peculiar people. That is the end of my firstly. My secondly [38] ON THE ROAD is " he paused and looked at her so searchingly that she was strangely moved. It was as if he summoned her in that soul search to grow into the ideal of his divine conception of womanhood, and she shivered a little, for her brief, premonitory glimpse of the revealed way showed her also that it was a lonely way. " My secondly is," he repeated, slowly, " make the women like you. Why, I discover that I have a thirdly," he continued, smiling. " It is, go to bed. Already these wolves scent the dawn. The sun must see us on our way." To the Missionary, laving his face and hands in the swift stream in the early morning, came Locke Raynor. " I wish you would tell me what it really means," he began, abruptly. " I think the current was too swift and it stole your bait," smiled the Missionary. " Oh, I don't mean about the empty hooks, you know," laughed Locke. " I mean this disturbance of the Indians. For that matter, I never knew the time when there wasn't a disturbance especially dating from the time we began the hopeless task of civilizing them by treating them like white men. What I mean, is there anything in this particular last disturbance that kept Major Mendenhall from meeting his wife and daughter at Yankton that will make their sojourn at the Agency unpleasant or dangerous ? " The Missionary towelled his face and hands carefully before answering with deliberation : " Is it treating Indians like white men to herd them [39] THE SPIRIT TRAIL like cattle on isolated lands and to feed them like babes or the feeble-minded? Only the riotous, profligate van of civilization touches the frayed edges of their centuries of superstition and prejudice, while the heart of them, the great heart of them, remains locked against you and me, and their passion for liberty and their idolatry of the gods of their fathers are guarded so secretly and so tenaciously and so sleeplessly, that all the puny blows of civilization's first onslaught to break them and re- construct, are as impotent as were winds and floods beat- ing upon the house that was builded on a rock. Not long ago a good friend of mine, a Teton Chief from way up the river, said to me that civilization seemed to him a great stream whose waters ran pure and clear in mid-channel, but whose banks were strewn with refuse and filth." " You are hard on the van, Mr. Hunt. We are not all profligates, wine-bibbers and woman-stealers," said Locke, thoughtfully. " And bad as the Army is some- times, or individuals of it, the Church waited for it to make safe the way. And is not that as it should be? What is the Church doing more than the Army or the Agencies are doing or backing up the Church in doing? " Mr. Raynor," and he lifted his great, luminous eyes to the Western hills, " the Church is seeking often weary, often sad, often lonely, but always seeking the key of understanding that will unlock those great, mysterious, superstition-shadowed hearts to the light and warmth and manliness of the Christ and the fellowship [40] ON THE ROAD that he has bequeathed to all the world. We want to maintain their manhood, not to crush it out by force, corrupt it by evil communication, or degrade it by tak- ing from them the self-respect and self-reliance that are the high and just rewards of earning their own liveli- hood ; and that right is man's by right of birth." " I stand rebuked," said Locke, " and God knows you handful of fearless seekers go alone where other men go in companies or regiments. But it all seems so hope- less. If the Sioux indulge in rapine and murder less fre- quently than of yore, must we not in honesty say that it is because of the wholesome fear which they bear toward the Great Father at Washington, and his efficient armies ? And not because of a change of heart? Would it not be better to subdue them altogether right in the beginning and then teach them the new religion? " " Is Christianity, then, a religion for weaklings and degenerates ? " cried the Missionary, strongly. " Let this people keep their manhood before everything. Let them be men even before they are Christians." His ex- pression became rapt, prophetic. " What if to-day, in their childish love of form and mystery, they gather here on these rugged bluffs or on yonder illimitable plain, to look at the spotless garment of the Indians' Apostle - him they call White Robe with awe and wonder, to delight in the strange and solemn music of hymns, and to pray to the unknown God; and to-morrow, with their belief in necromantic trickery seemingly undimmed, present their prize ponies to some wakcm-man for his fancied aid in driving out an evil spirit? Will not [41] THE SPIRIT TRAII1 the day after that be again the day of the White Robe and the unknown God? And, my friend, which do you believe will prevail in the last great day? You asked me," he continued, as if answering a question just propounded, " what effect the present unrest among all the Sioux tribes will have upon the life at the Agency. The Brule and Crow Creek Indians, though wild and somewhat unruly, are friendly enough to the whites. They like Major Mendenhall. If there is trouble, it will be with the western tribes. Mr. Raynor, the ladies are waiting for us." The little party journeyed the north trail all that long Summer day with conscientious perseverance. They met no human being between stage houses. At noon, burned and travel-stained, they rode into White Swan, just across the river from Fort Randall, which in that day was the centre of military operations in the lower Dakota Indian country. From Fort Randall, soldiers were sent to any of the Agencies where there was trouble with the Indians, and there they remained until the incipient excitement was quelled or the in- subordination summarily dealt with. In fact, that whole region up and down the great river for many, many miles was dominated by the troops at Fort Ran- dall. At White Swan, on the north bank, which was a distributing point, there were only a trader's store and a mess-house. Here for an hour or so Major Men den- hall's friends rested; and here, gazing steadily across the white glare of the sun on the water to the green hills beyond, where the walls of the fort swam peacefully [42] ON THE ROAD in the shimmering sunlight, Hugh Hunt pondered many things. His chief thought was how soon, if ever, these sunny hills and yon rolling distances would resound to a war-cry, never yet so loud because never yet, perhaps, had hearth and home of a free people been threatened with so base, so arrogant, so flagrant an usurpation; how soon, if ever, the stream, trickling to the river would run red with the blood of two haughty races, both conquerors in their day, never yet so red because never yet, perhaps, had a hunted people been so near the end of their pitiful remnant of resources that they must perforce turn at bay and fight the hunter to the death. He had gone to meet the Indians' Apostle, overborne with the weight of this terrible thing which must come to pass as surely as the stars kept to their courses, unless a film came over his brilliant eyes yes, unless the Indians' Apostle found a way to shock out of its rabid course this evil cancer of land lust and, more despotic still, the gold lust. For he, having fellowship with some of those who knew what their mountains held but who knew how to keep their secret, realized that the lust of gold must one day God alone knew when lay its tyrannical hold upon men. This meeting with the Mis- sionary Bishop at Yankton had been a revelation. All his hurt and weariness and bitter soul cry of " No use, no use," had dropped from him like a ragged, weather- stained outer garment, discarded because he had come home. He had left the compassionate presence of the prelate a prophet. He had caught a glimpse of a di- vine soul-purpose and from his heart he believed that the [43] THE SPIRIT TRAIL Apostle would find a way to avert the awful calamity, although the task was the more colossal because he had been sent to the Indians only. " We must be going, Mr. Hunt." Locke Raynor's voice came to him as from another world. " You have been day-dreaming. I hesitated to disturb you but the sun is already long past the meridian." Hugh Hunt, the dreamer, brushed his hand before his eyes, smiled, rose, and they once more pursued their journey. As that third day wore on, the country became wilder-looking and more and more rugged and lonely. Heat clouds again formed before the sun, making the ride much more endurable, unprotected as the riders were by sun-shade or sombrero. Even so, white lines of utter weariness began showing around Mrs. Menden- hall's plucky mouth, and even Katharine's proud head had a pathetic little droop; but neither would suggest a halt. It was very warm, despite the cloud, and as evening approached, the clouds mobilized and began pil- ing up all along the line of the western horizon. Pressing on yet a little farther, seeking a more fitting spot for their camp, and about to skirt a hill, they were suddenly brought face to face with a small band of Indians, all mounted, all bearing white men's weapons, and all clad from crown to toe in full war paraphernalia of paint and feather. The meeting was plainly un- expected on both sides. The Indians, who had rounded [44] ON THE ROAD the curve at a uniform canter as if to make a certain goal before the sun set, drew rein so quickly that their intrepid little ponies settled back almost upon their haunches. The quiet of coming night was upon all the land man-free for many miles of primeval solitude, save for the four white people, Agency-bound, and the dozen painted, incongruous Sioux braves or was it the little group of wanderers from the crippled Far West who were the incongruous ones? Mrs. Mendenhall and Katharine had turned as white as death. Involuntarily, Locke's hand dropped to his rifle, but a touch from the Missionary stayed him. " I warn you," said Locke to the priest, determinedly, " that I am ready, and at the least hostile movement I shall kill. Remember you have no weapon." He who seemed to be the War Chief of the Indians, glanced at the speaker, carelessly. If he understood the action or the words, he made no sign. " Peace be with you, my children," said the Mission- ary, adopting the quaint phraseology of an elder day. He spoke to them in Dakota. " We had hoped to lodge at Bijou Hills to-night, but the night finds us still many miles away. Can you tell us where there is a favorable camping spot hereabouts ? " To the surprise of all, he received an answer in fair English from the Chief. " The Slender Ash is far from home." Instantly, the Missionary's face lighted up, the re- lief of recognition dissipating the shadow that had hov- [45] .THE SPIRIT TRAIL ered there since this accidental meeting, when he realized that the lives or liberty of two helpless women perhaps rested upon his rash faith and on one rifle. " Running Bird ! " he cried, riding forward. The two men shook hands, Hugh Hunt with unaffected heart- iness, the young Indian with grave ceremoniousness. The rest of the band remained passive during this meet- ing of the friends, making no movement, hostile or other- wise. " You are also far from home." " Not so far as I shall be when the sun sets again,'* said the young Chief, meaningly. " What do you mean, Running Bird? " said the Mis- sionary, a sternness creeping into his voice. " And why are you so far away from your home? Did the Major grant you leave of absence and sanction this hideous putting on of the garments of the unbeliever? Your Elder Brother does n't know you decked out as you are. Have you forgotten ? " " The son of Little Thunder does not forget," said the Indian, gravely. " When he hears the echo of the white man's tread in the hills, he remembers Ash Hollow. There are many who do not forget." " Where are you going now? " " The son of Little Thunder is a free man," said Running Bird, calmly. " Who says to the wind, 6 Whither goest thou? ' " Almost numb with dread as she was, Katharine yet looked at the young Indian in astonishment not un- mingled with admiration. The voice was musical, the language good, the spirit of it irresistibly appealing. [46] ON THE ROAD " But I who am sent by the White Robe, I who am trying to teach you the way of our Elder Brother when he said, ' When ye pray say, Our Father,' I ask you, Running Bird, whither goest thou ? " Immediately there were guttural sounds of disapproval from the throats of a number of the band, showing that their leader was not the only one who understood Eng- lish. They fell to discussing the matter in Dakota with some excitement, during the progress of which their unintelligible speech and earnest gesticulations were most alarming to the two women. " Why push the matter? " counselled Locke, in a low voice. " Our friends are extremely nervous. This is their first experience. Mrs. Mendenhall is on the verge of a collapse. -Major Mendenhall will doubtless send out at once to reclaim this truant band, if they are bent on an errand of mischief. Let us wish them God-speed and part company at once." " The ladies need have no fear," said Hugh Hunt, turning to them, confidently. " Running Bird is my friend. I have broken bread with him. I have slept in his lodge. We are among friends." " But can one vouch for a corresponding good-will on the part of this fellow's followers ? " argued Locke, wisely. " I confess to an ignorance of their manners and customs ; but if they were white men now, I should say that some of them had been drinking. In the East, they tell me fire-water plays the devil with your Tetons." The Missionary bowed his head in thought; then he raised it with a quiet finality that saw no other way. .THE SPIRIT TRAIU " Running Bird is a great leader among the young men. I trust him absolutely. It is not the braves who are the stumbling block in the way of civilization and Christianity among the Dakotas, but the medicine men. I see Sitting Bull's wily and malevolent influence behind this movement his and that of others of his vicious pretensions to occult knowledge of the mysteries. Theirs is the evil genius that keeps in active ferment resistance to the white man's ways and the white man's God. The poison is in the air. It has travelled rapidly on the wind from the western pot where it was brewed. It has tainted even the peaceful Santees, Yanktons and Yanktonais. Can we wonder to find the restless Brules affected? Who can say where the contagion will not spread? " " Our wise men tell us," said the Chief, at last, " that the spirits have warned them that the Great Father will not keep faith with the Indian. The Great Father's children want our land. He loves his children. He will give them the land. But we will keep our land. There is nowhere else for the Indian to go. Once our fathers hunted in the land of the rising sun. But the Great Father drove them across the big river. Where now shall he send us? We will keep our land. Tell Major Mendenhall I shake hands with him and we will return in twelve sleeps." " The Great Father has promised. Can you not trust him?" " Our wise men tell us that he will not keep faith," persisted Running Bird, stubbornly. [48] ON THE ROAD " Your wakan-men lie when they pretend to propitiate demons by barbarous rites and outlandish dances and in- cantations. You know that. Are they not lying when they say that our Great Father at Washington does not love his red children? Has he not kept Red Cloud's treaty faithfully?" " But many bands of Dakotas are gathering. They are all afraid. He has sent his great War Chief to in- vade our land." " May it not be to keep out white invaders that your father sends his War Chief to the Black Hills so that the land may be held inviolate for the Dakota nation? And will you, who have sworn friendship to me, and through me to my people, will you then throw it all away and link yourselves with those wild tribes of your race who know not what they do, or join those worse bands of robbers and murderers, who, perhaps, know- ing, yet do not care, thus calling down the just wrath and vengeance of the Government upon you and often misunderstanding, and punishment to innocent ones ? " " I do not know how it will be. I will talk with my young men. My brother has a smooth tongue. Doubt- less he speaks truth," said the Indian politely. " But if the white War Chief steals our land, then I shall know that the white man's God is not the Indian's God. We shall see." " These gentlewomen are Major Mendenhall's wife and daughter, Running Bird." " I shake hands with Major Mendenhall's wife and daughter," said the chief, gravely. 4 [49] ' THE SPIRIT TRAIL Instantly, there was commotion. The Indians seemed to be insisting on something, and punctuating their de- mands with violent gestures of command; and when our little party started forward, the red of the angry sunset shining in their faces and making the abundant hair of Katharine Mendenhall to shine with the gleam of real gold, they closed in around them and stopped them from further progress, keeping up a continuous chatter in their native tongue all the while. When a hand was laid on Katharine's bridle rein, Locke Raynor's fighting blood leaped to the surface and he struck down the dusky arm, angrily, and then jerked his rifle free. " Now, sir," he cried, sharply, " show your colors ! You said you would fight ! " But above the sudden tumult, Running Bird began to speak. He spoke directly to the Missionary. Was there something of contempt in his voice? " Let your young man put down his gun. He does not understand. My young men want only that you lodge with us this sleep. They want the sunny-haired one to rest with them a little. They mean her no harm. They will make a feast. They are glad the Agent's wife and daughter are come. They will make a feast and the wife and daughter will lodge in the tipi." " Oh, no, no," cried Katharine, in terror. " Oh, please, no ! We must go on. We cannot stay with you, Mr. Mr. Running Bird. We must go on, must n't we? " she cried, appealingly, to her friends. " I will tell my young men," said the chief, simply. [SO] ON THE ROAD " You have passed the good place for your camp. Here one spot is as good as another. All bad." He said something to them in their own language. One or two cast mutinous glances toward the whites, but without a word in reply the whole company rode forward out of the valley. Soon the last feather had 4 disappeared behind the bluff. There was something of majesty in the slow, silent slipping away. When they had entirely gone, the sun was set and the afterglow glared redly and threateningly through rifts of ragged cloud banks. The gloom of approaching night and storm, and the shadow left by the unexpected meeting with errant Indians, together with the solemnity of the vast, surrounding space, settled down upon the wanderers. The Major's sorely tried little wife broke down and cried, softly. " Please don't, little mother," comforted Katharine. " They are gone now, and we are safe. And to-morrow, if all goes well, we shall sleep at home." " I know they will come back ! " wailed Mrs. Menden- hall. " Many of them are friendly Indians," volunteered the Missionary. " This demonstration was not a real war party. They desire only to show what they would do if the Government breaks faith with them." " Odd way of showing it decking themselves out like devils," said Locke Raynor, curtly. [511 CHAPTER IV THE STORM THAT night a great storm broke over them. They had chosen their camp so late that they had not had time to choose it wisely. They had wandered slightly from the trail, and found themselves once more close to the river. Their only protection was the small trees growing out of the low, damp, sandy shore. The thunder was terrific, peal following peal with a con- tinuity that was awful. The incessant lightning luridly illumined the angry, drifting, boiling clouds. A wild wind sprang up and leaped to earth with a roar that well-nigh equalled the crack of the thunder. It lashed the river until the water cried aloud and rushed moaning down its course. The trees rocked and groaned and cracked. And to increase the discomfort of the campers, innumerable sand-fleas bit and stung. " The rain will soon be here ! " cried Locke Raynor, above the tumult of the elements. At that moment a figure appeared in the flickering light of the wind-blown camp-fire. Wrapped in an In- dian blanket, standing there tall and straight, he seemed like some incarnate spirit of the storm. Although di- vested of much of his finery of the earlier evening, his [52] THE STORM war bonnet discarded, in place of which quivered a single eagle's feather, his face cleansed of its paint, yet his- splendid form, lean and sinewy, could not be mistaken even had he not retained the striking necklace of bears' claws around his throat. " The rain is coming. It will beat the sunny-haired one into the sand. It is not well for him sent of the White Robe to be in the storm. The Dakota asks the white man to come to his camp out of the storm." His voice though not loud was clear and rose above the sounding river, the roar of the trees, and the crash of the thunder. " What say you ? " cried Hugh Hunt to his com- panions. " Have a care ! " warned Locke Raynor. " May it not be a trap ? " Out of the shadow crept the sunny-haired one. Kath- arine Mendenhall had wrestled with her childish terror and frantic grasping after the established order of her life, there in the darkness and the storm, and had worsted them, so that they slunk away and were carried whining down the turbulent river. " Running Bird," she asked, firmly, " have you a tent?" " Yes, Sun-in-the-hair." " Is it far? " " The storm was coming. We did not go far. Our camp is down in the thick willows." " We will go at once," said Katharine. " Miss Mendenhall," began Locke, seriously. [53] THE SPIRIT TRAIL " Lead the way, Running Bird," said Katharine, de- terminedly. " My mother cannot live through this night unless we have shelter. Let us hasten ! " Running Bird turned and silently slipped into the darkness. They followed him with great difficulty, so swift and sure was his own step, so halting and groping theirs. When at last the gleam of the Indian fires shone before them with myriads of sparks shot by the gale darting hither and yon and skyward, and dusky forms lounged in their light, Running Bird paused and waited for the whites to join him. " Let your young man be poor in words this night,'* he said, moodily, to the priest, in his own language. " My young men have swallowed the red fire in the water the white man makes to destroy his Indian children. Your young man talks too much." He would have gone on his way without further speech but Hugh Hunt stopped him. "Who has done this thing, my brother? Who has broken the law of the great wise Father who knows the poison that is in the fire-water, and wills not that the Dakotas drink it to their undoing? He will pun- ish the evil-doer." The priest's voice was searching but vibrant with feel- ing, too. He yearned mightily after this proud, hitter, strong, manly man. Perhaps it was he who had won the Missionary's passionate appeal for his simple manhood to be left to him because it was his great glory. Run- ning Bird pondered a moment and then answered with gloomy, unconscious irony: [54] THE STORM " The Slender Ash is very credulous. He believes many things which are not true. How then shall we know that his wakan stories are true his Christ man and his cross ? I should like to believe them because the Slender Ash believes them ; but the Slender Ash believes the Great Father did not mean Ash Hollow, and that he is sorry. He believes the Great Father does not want the Dakotas to drink fire-water. Why, then, does he let bad men bring it to us and demand skins and meat and gold in return. Is the Great Father afraid or is he a woman? The Slender Ash believes that the Great Father knows the poison in fire-water. Why then does the Great Father allow it to be made ? The Slender Ash believes lies," he concluded, dispassionately. " But you are sad because your young men are drunk with it," persisted Hugh, disregarding the first warning beat of rain drops upon his uplifted face. " My heart is very heavy because of it," said the Indian. " Then tell me who did it, Running Bird," pleaded Hugh, " for I, too, am heavy in my heart because of it." " I will tell you, then, because you have eaten with me and slept with me and are my friend. Peter Dorsey sold it to Mad Wolf for a fine buffalo skin of the early Winter's scraping. Mad Wolf traded for it when my eyes were gone from me for a little while seeking which way the son of Little Thunder should lead his Dakotas." He shook off the priest's hold gently and was gone. [55] THE SPIRIT TRAIL, "I I can't," moaned Mrs. Mendenhall. " Let us go back ! " Even Katharine hesitated, shuddering, her face show- ing pale and pinched when the lightning flared. Though none realized the actual danger so well as the priest because they had understood nothing of the con- versation, they faltered. The group around the fire was growing noisy. The men still retained their warlike habiliments. Running Bird alone, in deference to the white man, had thrown his aside. "What shall we do, Mr. Hunt?" asked Katharine, helplessly. " Trust Running Bird," he returned, simply. " And I can fight," said Locke, grimly. A literal sheet of water falling at that moment and wrapping them in its dripping folds decided them. Without further words, they hastened forward and were once more in the presence of the savages. Calmly, un- questioningly, absolutely, they gave themselves into the Iceeping of Running Bird, son of Little Thunder, a hereditary chief of the Brule Sioux. The thick growth of willows of the Indians' camping ground shut out much of the rain and wind, and the tipis were waterproof. There were two of these and one was given over entirely to the use of Hugh Hunt and his friends. But there was little sleep. Perhaps all but the Missionary feared treachery. All night the trees rocked and groaned, with nothing to keep out their terrible sounding but smoke-blackened and weather- stained canvas walls, and the groaning served as a [56] THE STORM weird accompaniment to the all-night carousal of the drunken Indians in the other tipi. The call to make a showing- against white encroachment on the Great Reservation had been enough to stir their blood to white heat. The drink had made them mad. After an unusually loud burst of thunder, when the mystery that rode it like a god had partially sobered their supersti- tious souls until they quaked in fear, Mad Wolf arose and harangued them. He told them that the thunder was telling them to kill the white man before he snatched away their land and made slaves of their warriors, who must then do women's work, for the white man said so. The thunder was very angry with them that they should so disgrace the once free and brave hunters and warriors of the Dakota people by consenting to be- come like women and labor with their hands. If they did not drive out the white man, the Great Spirit would strike down their fairest daughters and their bravest sons. Before entering upon this war trail, he had sought out Yellow Owl, and this great prophet had told him that he had communed with the Wakinyan,* and that the Wakinyan had told him to drive out the in- vaders or a pestilence would creep into the lodges of his people and make them houses of mourning, and the buffalo would drop dead and waste away so that famine would make their bellies yawn with emptiness. Yellow Owl had likewise told him that the thunder would speak this very night and tell him, Mad Wolf, what to do. The thunder had spoken. *The Dakotas' chief war gods whose voice was the thunder. [37] THE SPIRIT TRAIIi He glided forward with a peculiar snarl ; and then, hour after hour, to the dreary monotony of the tom- tom, the Indians danced their war dance. Hugh Hunt still contended, however, that this was not a war party. " Patience ! " he said to the trembling women, who listened terror-stricken to the hideous noise. " The night is already far spent. We are warm and dry. That is much to be thankful for. Their orgie will not outlast the night." It was with extreme difficulty that he restrained Locke Raynor from slipping out of the tent and seek- ing an interview with someone in authority. For to the Eastern man, it seemed as if all that hysterical out- cry must lead to, if indeed it was not a deliberate preparation for, some sacrifice of fanaticism to appease an outraged deity of the thunder. On that altar, human sacrifice had been done in the barbarous past. Who could say for a surety that it would not be done again? It was only after the priest had interpreted to him Running Bird's friendly warning of the earlier night, that he finally consented to wait for the day be- fore issuing forth from the kindly shelter of the Chief's hospitality. Mingling with all the other furious rackets, the wind- lashed river roared all night long, even after the rain ceased and the roll of the thunder became first a distant growl and at last died away altogether; and morning found its heaving surface flecked with masses of muddy, beaten foam, all journeying to the south. In the wet, haggard, first light, when it was strangely [58] THE STORM still in the other tipi, where the bucks had at last sunk to the ground in sheer exhaustion, Katharine peering out could distinguish the form of Running Bird pacing thoughtfully up and down between the two tipis. Wonderfully comforted, she fell asleep. When she awoke, she found her mother asleep, at last worn out by the strain of her fears. Locke Raynor also slept, his strong young face resting on his arm. He looked strangely boyish and untroubled in his slumber, despite the rifle lying close to his side. The Missionary was gone. Creeping to the opening, she again looked out. The sun was just rising. The morning was wet and sweet and cool after the storm. Someone was trying to make a fire with damp wood. It smoked distressingly but struggled gallantly to keep alive. Running Bird came and stood over it feeding it carefully. Another stalwart Indian leaned near by against a tree. He, too, this morning, was cleansed of his paint. He was speaking but he spoke in a strange tongue so that she comprehended nothing. His face was inscrutable. " He struck Mad Wolf," this man was saying to his chief, " and then he laughed out of his lazy eyes. Mad Wolf does not forget. Last night Wakinyan spoke to me in the loud thunder and then I dreamed. I dreamed that the white warriors followed the white War Chief into the Hills. And then came this proud one my enemy. I dreamed of gold much gold. It came in yellow streams from the inner earth. At first the spirits were very angry because we had let the white man in. But I, too, went in, and I killed my enemy so that the [59] THE SPIRIT TRAIL spirits were not angry any more. They helped the Dakotas to kill all their enemies. After a while, a beautiful young woman floated down from a cloud and sat upon the highest peak of all. Where she put her right hand, the gold that the white man loves poured forth. Where she put her left hand, deer leaped to their feet so that there was never a famine but always fat hunting. This was because the Great Spirit was pleased with his children because they did not tamely submit to be driven any more." Katharine thought the speech troubled the Chief. His eyes had grown very sombre and he looked all at once like an old man, though the priest had said he was younger than he, and the priest was in his prime. Their sobered hosts were reluctant to let the white guests go. They pressed them to eat more of the breakfast they had prepared. It was an excellent one. They made of it a feast to honor the Agent's wife and daughter. Some one had been out on the prairie early and returned with a plump grouse as an appetizing evi- dence of his hunting prowess. When at last Hugh Hunt insisted that the time for parting had come, and turned his face resolutely toward the trail, which had been lost, the Indians leaped to their own ponies and formed a close escort thither. They even followed for some distance after the original trail had been re- covered. Such strict espionage might have become burdensome, but just as Hugh Hunt was beginning to hope that the band had decided to return to the Agency with him, and Locke Raynor had settled down into a [60] THE STORM humorous acceptance of the situation, the insistent escort wheeled, and, with no word of farewell and seemingly without preconcerted plan or present signal, began racing back to camp. Running Bird alone halted for a last word. He received the Missionary's benedic- tion in silence; but a lighting of his sombre eyes was a suggestion that his unresponsiveness might be only an assumed stoicism. " When shall I see you again, Running Bird? " asked the Missionary. " In twelve sleeps," answered the Indian, imperturb- ably. " Good-bye, Running Bird," said Katharine, obeying a sudden impulse, and extending her hand to the Indian. " You have been very good to us. We shall not forget it. I shall never be afraid of you again." It was a childish speech and she laughed at herself in saying it; but Hugh Hunt glanced at her approvingly and smiled, well pleased. There was a glint of amuse- ment in the Chief's eyes but he only said: " Good-bye, Sunny-haired One," and rode away. Turning presently to see if he had disappeared, Hugh Hunt saw that he had ridden but a trifling distance and stopped, and was now, erect and motionless on his still pony, gazing long and earnestly after the white party moving rapidly into the north. [61] CHAPTER V THE END OF THE JOUB.NET 4 A ND so that outfit of unlicensed traders is still j \ on the Reservation," said the Missionary, thoughtfully, when a dip in the road at last lost the Indian to view. " It is very strange. They left, or at least made pretence of leaving, by order of Major Mendenhall, before I went to meet the Indians' Apostle. I told my Bishop that they were gone. He was very glad. And now they are not gone." His face clouded. " Do not be disheartened," said Katharine, softly. ** They must go, must they not, if my father says so ? " " Your father has said and yet they are not gone," vouchsafed Locke Ray nor, carelessly. " They have doubtless slipped back without my father's knowledge," said Katharine, with a simple dignity that became her well, with its faintly implied rebuke to a hint of criticism contained in the young fellow's carelessly spoken words. " I shall inform him of their presence immediately upon our arrival at the Agency. Mr. Hunt, why did Running Bird call you The Slender Ash?" " That is the name the Indians have given me be- cause I am straight and slim. They usually name people [62] THE END OF THE JOURNEY from some personal peculiarity. For instance, they call your father, Big Neck, and you remember Running Bird called you Sun-in-the-hair." " I am beginning to think we shall never arrive," said Mrs. Mendenhall, plaintively. " What with Indians and storms and bandits and and mud," as her horse slipped down a gumbo incline, " nothing but a miracle can land us there in safety. However, I am resigned. I said I should not complain, and I shall not. But I wish " " That the days of miracles were not ended? " inter- rupted Katharine, smilingly. " I wish that I could be convinced," she said, glancing nervously over her shoulder, " that that spitfire savage was not following us. Do you suppose now that he has made a detour and is waiting for us behind that rise in front? He could do it. They are such reckless riders those savages." " Have I not told you," said Hugh Hunt, patiently, " that Running Bird is a good Indian ? Did you not notice that he almost alone was altogether free from the abominable fire-water? And if he were not friendly to us would he have told of the presence of the whiskey smugglers ? " " Has there been much of it this illicit sale of whiskey ? " asked Locke Raynor, with an indifference which might have been assumed. " Enough to make it secondary only to Yellow Owl and his priesthood of sorcerers and magic-mongers as a deadening influence against Christian civilization." [63] THE SPIRIT TRAIL "Yellow Owl who is Yellow Owl?"' asked Locke, curiously. " Yellow Owl ? Outwardly, he is a medicine man of the Dakotas. Inwardly, he is the devil incarnate," said the young priest, deliberately. " And who are these smugglers who have squatted on the Reservation with no right but their own in- solent will, and who sell liquor to the wards of the United States Government in flagrant defiance of its laws? You will forgive my inquisitiveness. Since I am to reside among the Indians, I am naturally interested in what concerns them." " They are the flotsam and jetsam of civilization and, cast adrift, they float shoreward and pollute those who grasp after them." " But if they are flotsam and jetsam," said Locke, quaintly, " they are confiscate to the king. Therefore out they go. Do you know them by name? " " There are several of them. They go by the name of the Dorsey gang." The coolness attendant upon the passing of the storm more than compensated for the heavier roads, and the wayfarers entered upon the home stretch with a fine vigor and a perceptible uplift of spirit. The un- obstructed sun of several days had done its work well and had stored away so many of its pigments in Kath- arine's usually almost transparent skin that her face had taken on a dusky olive tint, with here and there a piquant freckle. Much of the discontent that had at first clouded the frank charm of it had given right of [64] THE END OF THE JOURNEY way to the irresistible lure of the winy air and the appeal of the sighted end of a long journey. She was so constitutionally strong that she could forget the fatigue, and the fear of the road left behind, in rallying her forces for the triumphant finish. Forget- fulness made her strangely beautiful. Her eyes were brilliant with the joy of life and health and youth. The cool wind blowing off a spent cloud-bank on the northern hills ruffled her hair and individualized gleam- ing strands of gold. She led the way, setting a new pace at a brisk canter on the high grassy trail, with the Missionary maintaining the place by her side. The way had opened so that the boundaries of the level trail were only as one cared to limit them. Riding be- hind with the Agent's wife, Locke Raynor kept his eyes on the joyous figure in front of him while sustaining his share of the polite but desultory conversation with his companion. He was a well-knit young fellow, his athletic bearing and perfectly controlled movements showing the training of University gridiron and boat- ing crew rather than that of labor or of one born to the out-of-doors. He was rather slightly built but not spare like Hugh Hunt. His muscular development saved him from being thin. He owed that to the American institution that as well as his rugged patriotism, his republican ideals, and his sane scholar- ship. But an elusive Old World charm that sometimes showed itself in speech or manner, perhaps he owed to Heidelburg. He had a smooth, good-looking, well- bred face with clear, innocent-looking gray eyes, just 6 [65] THE SPIRIT TRAIL a trifle introspective, perhaps, and reserved. He wore a white felt hat pushed back from his forehead so that there was no concealment whatsoever in his contempla- tive perusal of Katharine's graceful poise and her shining hair. With him there was a haunting remembrance of that first night when she arose out of shadow and came to him in the light of the glowing drift log because the melancholy howl of the wolves made her homesick. Would the wilderness be kind to such as she? Near American Creek crossing, they halted at a dingy and unpromising-looking road-house for rest and pos- sible refreshment. Its forlorn exterior did not belie the comfort within, for there was no comfort within. The room was close and hot and drearily bare. The man who ushered them into it was slow of movement and unkempt as to appearance. He proceeded leisurely to make himself comfortable in a chair tipped against the wall. Plainly, the prospects for dinner were not cheering. "Can you get us something to eat?" asked Locke, observing with some surprise that the Missionary did not seem disposed to assume the initiative. " I reckon Pete kin stir ye up somethin' when he comes in. He 's boss of the grub just now. He '11 be in in a minute." " We have so little time to waste don't you sup- pose now that you might urge Pete to hasten some? " asked Locke, persuasively. " We shall not be par- ticular a little tea for the gentlewomen, perhaps, and then if Mrs. Mendenhall might lie down for an hour " [66] THE END OF THE JOURNEY " You '11 have to see Pete," said the man, stubbornly. " And who is Pete? Where shall I find Pete? " " Oh, Pete 9 a just Pete," responded the man, glancing casually at the Missionary as he spoke. " I thought you had left the Reservation," said the Missionary, suddenly. " It is you who are delaying me," said the man, a little gruffly. A wave of light broke in upon Locke Raynor's un- derstanding. He suddenly became very still wait- ing. " If you are really leaving once and for all, where are your goods and where is your accursed brew?" asked the Missionary. " Now see here, Mr. Hunt," expostulated the man, good-naturedly, " ain't you showin' an undue curiosity as to my personal affairs? I leave it to you, fair and square now ain't you ? " " You received Major Mendenhall's ultimatum, did you not? " asked Hugh, patiently. " Why, then, don't you go? You promised that you would go." At that moment, a second man sauntered into the room and stood slouchingly near the door. " So we will go when the spirit moves us," he spoke up, impudently. He was much younger than the first man and might have been his son. He had the same shock of sun-burned, ragged-looking hair, the same pale, narrow eyes. " You Bible men make me tired, any- way," he went on, rapidly. " You bring a new creed to the Injuns. Do they want it? Not they. They [67] THE SPIRIT TRAIL have n't the least use for it. They are better off with- out it. They fight it tooth and nail. It keeps things stirred up all the time. They hate it worse 'n poison. They do murder because of it. But do we say to you, Git out? Not we. That 's your business. If you want to sell your goods for that price, why, it 5 s up to you. It 's not our affair. Here are we free citizens of the United States come to trade with the Injuns. We were here long before you were. Do they want our trade? Ask them. What right has Uncle Sam to come between us and our legitimate business? He says we ain't licensed traders. Ugh ! We 've been out here makin' friends and barterin' with the Injuns since long before ever he dared to send a representative among 'em unless accompanied by whole regiments of soldiers. I reckon that 's license enough for me. Now then, if we leave you alone, why can't you leave us alone, Mr. Preacher-man? Specially since the In- juns want us and don't want you? Isn't this their land? Did n't Uncle Sam give it to them plunk out? " " You know only too well why you can never be licensed traders," responded the priest, sternly. " You make pretence of dealing in harmless commodities beads and the like and lead the Government a merry chase trying to run down your unauthorized traffic, while you know and I know that it is all a game to hide your iniquitous fire-water exchange. You have not permission to be one day on this Reservation. It will be well for you to leave before Major Mendenhall learns of your delinquency." [68] THE END OF THE JOURNEY " Who is there to make us go ? " asked the trader, insolently. " I am here," said the Missionary, quietly, lifting his great heavy eyes to his interlocutor's face. The two men burst into boisterous laughter. " We can well understand that," cried the insolent one. " We can well understand that the Ma j or will have no more backbone than to send a preacher to persuade us for God's sake to go away. Well, we '11 treat you fine when you come to see us, friend. We may have our faults, but we won't hurt you. I know you well enough to prophesy that you will come slipping in without so much as a jack-knife about you for an emergency. But I 'm not an Injun, so you will be as safe in my dugout as in your own meetin' house. My pride wouldn't let me hurt an unarmed man, even if he does sass me in my own home. Au revoir, then, till you are sent out on police duty. Or are you waiting for something to eat? " " I am already sent," said Hugh, calmly. " If not to-day, then to-morrow make ready." " Who sent you? " asked the man, curiously. " What authority have you ? " A strange, electric thrill passed through the young priest as he recalled vividly the scene in the gay, care- less, little capital city when, kneeling weary and over- borne for the Missionary Bishop's blessing, that high priest had told him how, when he was first introduced to a military officer as the Missionary Bishop to the In- dians, the officer bluntly remarked : " Indeed ! I don't [69] THE SPIRIT TRAIL envy you your task." His eyes burned even yet, re- membering the infinite tenderness with which the Bishop raised him and whispered, his fine scholarly face even then pinched with the malady that was to make all his after saintly life one great shining sacrifice, " But I I so envied you your task, Hugh Hunt, that I have come to share it. It is you who have borne the burden and heat of the day, but I have come to help you through the long afternoon of it and you will not grudge me my penny, Hugh Hunt. God's peace be with you forever and ever." It was then that Hugh Hunt forgot that he had ever been tired or overborne. With that benign influence still strong upon him, he answered simply : " I am from the Apostle to the Indians him whom my people call the White Robe." " Oh, well," interrupted the first man, conciliatingly, " who said anything about sellin' liquor, anyway? This here little fun has gone far enough. There 's a deal o' difference between sellin' whiskey to Injuns agin the Government's say-so and keepin' a road-house for the accommodation of the Government's mail carriers and travellin' public. When the Major said to git, there was nothin' for it but to git, though we don't acknowl- edge there 's anything to git for. He said we sold fire-water to the Injuns. How does he know? He 's prejudiced agin us and feels a little high and mighty, too, 'cause I 'm a squaw-man, I reckon. But we got. And here you find us flippin' flapjacks. We 're runnm' this stage-house now. We was just coddin' you, Mr. [70] THE END OF THE JOURNEY Hunt. You know me. I ain't got much faith in your cloth and that 's what made me and Pete tired when you went to preachin' to us. But I think a lot o' you as a man. Shake on that." Hugh Hunt shook hands with him gravely. There was an ingenuous smile on the grizzled face that was dis- arming, and yet the Missionary wished with all his heart that the quondam liquor smuggler were anywhere, just so the Indian country should know him no more. " Is this true what you are telling me? " he asked, earnestly. " True as Gospel. If you 've got a Bible handy I '11 swear on that. That ought to make my oath strong enough for you." "When did you sell your last stuff?" asked Hugh, unexpectedly. The man eyed him narrowly for a moment; then his face relaxed from its mask of quick surly suspicion and became cheerful once more. " Day before yesterday," he grinned, serenely. " Are you quite sure that you have ' got ' far enough? " The voice was soft, slow, almost drawling. The un- expected question focussed the attention of all upon the undisturbed face of Locke Raynor. He acknowledged the sudden interest with a deprecating smile. " Bless my soul, and who do you think you are? " demanded the new proprietor of the road-house in un- disguised astonishment. He had given but slight notice hitherto to the rather silent member of the party, whose [71] THE SPIRIT TRAIL slightly bored expression had gone far toward engender- ing such carelessness on his part. " I slept last night with Indians mad drunk with whiskey," said Locke, still drawlingly. " And I have the names of those from whom that whiskey was ob- tained, and I should think the sooner those persons left this Reservation the better it would be for them. I seem to recognize in myself the symptoms of an inten- tion to back this priest and Major Mendenhall in their laudable stand for law and order in the Indian country. I should think that one of the first things which would have to go would be whiskey. Good-day to you. We do not care for any dinner to-day, I believe, and we are already rested." " Perhaps you would like to fight it out now ? " de- manded the insolent one, with a threatening gesture. " Oh, no ! " cried Katharine, involuntarily. " Assuredly not," said Locke, composedly. " I work for Major Mendenhall at the Agency, if you should desire to come to see me later. But you need not trouble yourself. I shall do myself the honor of calling upon you soon. What a pity, now, if you should be already gone and a c To let ' card up but what a vast amount of trouble it would save, to be sure. Again, good-day." They saw no one else that day. Late in the afternoon, they forded a deep, turbulent creek and entered a small forest of huge, river-grown trees. After the scorch of the already searing upper trail, the restful gloom was exceedingly grateful to the tired travellers. Still a little later, emerging therefrom, they beheld the forbidding [72] THE END OF THE JOURNEY stockade walls of the fortified Agency. There had been no runner to apprise the Ma j or of their approach. The gates were closed. A deep, serene stillness brooded over all the evening landscape. ? " We have come home, mother," said Katharine, a little sob in her throat. [73] CHAPTER VI " THE LITTLE OX LIES STRUGGLING ON THE EARTH " THE mother of Wa-hca-ska which interpreted signifies White Flower crouched by the side of the pallet of buffalo skins whereon lay this maid of the Dakotas. Her body rocked to and fro in monotonous repetition, while she moaned, " Wa-hca-ska ! " and again, " Wa-hca-ska ! " But the White Flower was deaf ta her lament. Stricken with a fever, she could only toss her restless head, with its matted strings of black hair,. back and forth upon the rude couch. For the moment, the squaw mother was alone with her sick. Chief Black Tomahawk had himself gone to the extreme confines of the camp now almost a deserted village since Summer had scattered these nomads for the hunting personally and humbly to solicit the pro- fessional services of Yellow Owl, after the messengers sent by the chief had returned with the report that the great doctor had given no heed to their supplications but seemed to be in a trance, having apparently eaten nothing for days nor walked out among the people.. No less wakan power than that of Yellow Owl himself, the greatest medicine man of his time, perhaps, barring the crafty, low-caste Sitting Bull, could avail Black THE LITTLE OX ! Tomahawk's daughter now, Wa-hca-ska, his little White Flower, heart of his heart and pride of his heart. His sons were dead. Nothing was left to this proud, failing* chief of a proud, failing people, but memories and Wa-hca-ska. He could not even dream as his sons had dreamed before they were called away from their brief span of life; for he was a wise old man, and he knew that his day was done. If these sons had lived, perhaps so many things are possible when the eye is bright, the step quick, faith high, and the passion for perfect liberty preeminent. But, no they were dreamers all those young men gathering in secret to resent the white man's invasion were dreamers like his sons who were dead. Running Bird, the son of Chief Little Thunder of that Brule band who were friendly once to the usurpers, was a dreamer. He had been a dreamer since Ash Hollow. Wa-hca-ska was a dreamer when she so passionately rebelled against the white man's teaching at the mission boarding-school that had been stealing away the hearts of so many In- dian children since the pale young man had come to the Agency out of the East from farther away, Black Tomahawk had been told, than lived the great White Father at Washington. Such a dreamer was Wa-hca- ska that no persuasion on the part of the Missionary or of the Agent, whom the people called Tahu Tanka (Big Neck) could induce her to alter her fixed determi- nation never to go back. In his heart, Black Toma- hawk was glad that Wa-hca-ska was a dreamer. He himself listened no more to the voices of the visionaries, [75] THE SPIRIT TRAIL crying war war war all day long, at feast and at funeral, only because, being a wise old man and a truer prophet, perhaps, than many who laid claim to the secrets of the mysteries, he saw the shadow of the end, and, seeing, wrapped his blanket about his still stately form and retired to the sanctuary of his own fireside. There he kept patient guard over his dignity and his broken heart, and there his seamed, sombre, yet kindly face lighted up only when his little White Flower's ir- resistible and laughing ways constrained him. Yes, Black Tomahawk's heart was with the dreamers, but his fatalistic mind could not but see the bleeding futility of such dreams. The Dakotas had dispossessed the Rees. The whites would dispossess the Dakotas. It was fate. But Wa-hca-ska must not die. She must not go before him. She was the last. If he gave Yellow Owl the pick of his horse herd, perhaps he would come even if he must leave his communing with gods for this wakan-man loved good horses. None knew this better than Black Tomahawk knew it. Yet, if ever knowledge of the necromancer's cupidity caused him to doubt the seer's good faith, he never wavered in out- ward belief. If ever his own natural acumen, strength- ened by a long life of wise and temperate living, and quickened by unavoidable contact with men of the world, the white man's world, made him doubt the pretender's power, he strangled the doubt in its inception for his pride's sake and for his people's sake. And now that his White Flower had sickened, he yearned with the ''THE LITTLE OX' peculiar yearning of his race for the comforting pres- ence of one of his own kind. " Wa-hca-ska ! " moaned the mother. " Wa-hca-