7 
 
LORIN MOORUCK; 
 
 AND OTHER INDIAN STORIES. 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE TRUMAN KERCHEVAL. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 J. STILMAN SMITH CO., 
 
 3 HAMILTON PLACE. 
 
 1888. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1888, by 
 
 J. STILMAN SMITH & COMPANY, 
 in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, 
 
 TYPOGRAPHY BY J. S. GUSHING & Co., BOSTON. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 
 
 IT will interest the readers who are far from the 
 frontier to know the impression made by these stories 
 upon those whose lives have thrown them into close 
 relations with the American Indians. 
 
 The following letter is from Bishop Whipple of 
 Minnesota, whose life has been so largely given to 
 the elevation of the Indian tribes. 
 
 It would certainly add to the interest of the book 
 if readers know that the stories are not merely founded 
 on fact in a general way, but that the incidents de- 
 scribed are substantially true. For obvious reasons 
 the real names of parties referred to are not printed, 
 but the reader may be assured that there has been 
 no exaggeration for the artistic purpose of heightening 
 the effect. 
 
 E. E. HALE. 
 
 M50G815 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 I HAVE been asked to write a preface to this book. 
 As I read these sad stories, it recalled the weary days 
 of my first visits to the Indian country, where I saw 
 pictures of degradation and sorrow, and heard stories of 
 oppression and wrong which would appall the stoutest 
 heart. No Christian could look on such scenes, and 
 not cry out as David Livingstone did in Africa, "O 
 God ! when will this great sore be healed?" 
 
 The North American Indian is the noblest type of 
 a wild man on the earth. He believes in a Great 
 Spirit, he has an unquestioned faith in a future life, 
 he has a passionate love for his children, and will lay 
 down his life for his people. 
 
 The government of the United States inherited 
 from colonial days a mischievous Indian policy. The 
 scattered colonists could not ask Red Men, who out- 
 numbered them a hundred to one, to become their 
 wards. Therefore they recognized these nomadic 
 tribes as Indian nations, sovereign people living 
 within our borders, not subject to our laws, with no 
 personal rights of property, no homes, and no 
 government. 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 We knew their chiefs had only advisory power, and 
 were simple leaders of a savage clan ; when civilization 
 had destroyed their game, we builded almshouses to 
 train up savage paupers, we allowed evil influences 
 to drag them down to a depth of degradation their 
 heathen fathers had never known. The agent was 
 appointed as a reward for political service, and he 
 accepted his office to acquire a fortune on a salary 
 of fifteen hundred dollars a year. The white settlers 
 coveted the Indian's land, and every treaty had 
 behind it those who desired to use the Indian as 
 a key to unlock the public treasury. There is always 
 on the frontier a class of reckless men who wantonly 
 commit acts of violence against Indians. 
 
 The Indian knows no law but the " lex talionis " 
 "an eye for an eye," "life for life." The blow falls 
 on the innocent, and the guilty escape. A Christian 
 Indian woman died by the violence of white men 
 a brutal mixed-blood killed an Indian woman in the 
 presence of three others. The Indians arrested him, 
 and took him to the nearest fort. He was put in 
 the guard-house ; after three months the Secretary 
 of War ordered his discharge, because there was no 
 law to punish an Indian murderer. If an Indian is 
 suspected of committing crimes of violence against 
 whites, lynch law usually settles the matter without 
 judge or jury. 
 
 Behind every Indian war there are causes which 
 
PREFACE. Vll 
 
 would arouse the indignation of any civilized nation. 
 I mention only one. An officer of the United 
 States Army was crossing a desert country with 
 border men as guides. They came to an Indian 
 village. There was no one in the village but chil- 
 dren. The kind-hearted officer gave the children food, 
 and filled their calabashes with water. Later in the 
 day he missed his guides ; and when they came into 
 camp at evening he asked, "Where have you been?" 
 "To fix those Indian papooses." "What did you 
 do?" "We threw them over the precipice and killed 
 them : nits make lice." 
 
 Thank God, the heart of the nation has been 
 touched. There is hope of entire reform. We can- 
 not bring back the dead or undo the record which is 
 a stain upon our nation : we can do justly. Congress 
 has passed the Dawes severalty bill, which provides for 
 personal rights of property and future citizenship. 
 The law will not execute itself. Citizenship is a bless- 
 ing only to men prepared for it. In the old territo- 
 rial days there was a law which gave Indians the 
 right to vote who wore civilized dress. I have heard 
 of a cunning mixed-blood who passed a whole tribe 
 of Indians through one hickory shirt and trousers 
 between sunrise and sunset. The Indian must have 
 the protection of law, but not law administered as it 
 was by white men to the men of Wallowa. 
 
 The Indian Bureau is a thousand-fold better than 
 
Viil . PREFACE. 
 
 no guardianship. This reform needs and must have 
 the best efforts, the wisest care of the largest- hearted 
 men of the nation, or "the last state will be worse 
 than the first." 
 
 I believe under such a commission as that recom- 
 mended by President Cleveland this blessed work 
 will be accomplished. 
 
 If these stories of George Truman Kercheval shall 
 deepen the sympathy and love which goes before all 
 effort for the helpless, the author will be overpaid. 
 
 H. B. WHIPPLE, 
 
 Bishop of Min nesota . 
 FARIBAULT, MINNESOTA, 
 February, 1888. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTER I. THE VILLAGE OF NATSEE i 
 
 CHAPTER II. THE MASTER WORKMAN 13 
 
 CHAPTER III. UPON THE MOUNTAIN 22 
 
 CHAPTER IV. HANNAH'S CURIOSITY REMAINS UNSATIS- 
 FIED 32 
 
 CHAPTER V. THE MENACE ^ 39 
 
 CHAPTER VI. MEETAH LEAVES HOME 50 
 
 CHAFFER VII. MR. HARROLD'S LETTER 61 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. THE LIGHT STRUCK OUT 73 
 
 CHAPTER IX. THE LITTLE WHITE CROSS ON THE CLIFF, 87 
 
 THREE MEN OF WALLOWA 1-27 
 
 SAMUEL, AN ARAPAHOE . . 1-21 
 
LORIN MOORUCK. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE VILLAGE OF NATSEE. 
 
 THE mountains rose in wild confusion as 
 if suddenly awakening from the warm em- 
 brace of volcanic fires, turned their dull, silent 
 peaks to the wide heavens, and lived in perpet- 
 ual torpor, while at their feet danced the mad 
 river, foaming and frothing in its eager haste to 
 pass between these grim monitors out to the 
 blue ocean, but crag and boulder, bottomless 
 gulch and sharp horn of mountain, tumbled it 
 hither and yon as it rushed to the sea. Lorin 
 Mooruck, lying at full length upon a jutting 
 rock above, wondered if civilization were not 
 like this wild child of the mountain, whose birth 
 was up somewhere near the clouds, whose life 
 was passed in fretful impatience at obstruction, 
 whose end was to lose itself in the broad ocean 
 and be part of the perpetual blue pendulum 
 swung ever to and from the eternal sands, each 
 
2 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 wave wearing a crested cap like every other 
 wave. 
 
 A close observer would have found something 
 in each cap differing from another, but Lorin 
 viewed them from afar and thought, " Here in 
 the village one lives a different life." 
 
 The sun has not yet set as the youth dreams 
 on. Back of him lies the village : houses tossed 
 here and there along the mountain side, some 
 with latticed porch or high gabled roof ; houses 
 with open fire-places where burns the resinous 
 pine ; houses with curtained windows where the 
 sun ever seeks and finds admittance; for here 
 are no deep-tinted carpets to fade with light, 
 but white pine floors and uncushioned, straight- 
 backed chairs. Little gardens of beans, pota- 
 toes, and corn are fenced in near many of the 
 homes. In Natsee the women divide the labor 
 with the men. They dress and dry the salmon 
 caught in the innumerable eddies and back cur- 
 rents of the restless stream, they gather acorns 
 for meal, and come from the pine depths with 
 arms full of sprigs and branches to sputter on 
 the broad hearth. The old men cultivate patches 
 of ground or mend the fishing nets, the young 
 men work in the lumber mills at Tarcata, or 
 look after the hogs and horses. Along the 
 river are the fisheries and stagings to hold the 
 fishermen and their nets. 
 
tHE VILLAGE OF NATSEE. 3 
 
 Home is very dear to these people, and they 
 form a happy community. On either side of 
 this turbulent stream are dotted villages like 
 Natsee, where tribal law has given place to in- 
 dividual interests, little worlds where love and 
 sorrow, happiness and despair, creep in and 
 point the victim to begin the puppet show ; and 
 here one sees a smiling face hiding a heavy 
 heart, a placid face, and behind it a satisfied 
 shiftlessness, all a part of the great whole where 
 the soul stands aloft and the body moves under 
 the mask. 
 
 Mooruck dreams until the mountain heights 
 blush with the kiss of the royal light as it 
 curves in brilliancy and dies in radiance, leaving 
 its soft remembrance upon their snowy peaks, 
 until the clouds above grow gray and chill. The 
 crescent shroud, whose lord has disappeared, be- 
 gins to glow with expectancy of reaching him, 
 and as she moves aloft the stars are lit to guide 
 her on, and Mooruck wonders if the heavens 
 have no pity for her sorrow, when suddenly 
 some one calls in his ear, " You are lazy, Lorin ! " 
 
 It is only Meetah, a girl a few years younger 
 than he, in a short gown, her black hair loos- 
 ened to her waist. The dream-light fades from 
 his eyes, he rises and shakes himself somewhat 
 like a Newfoundland dripping from the cool 
 
4 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 river, and turns to Meetah, who has curled her- 
 self near on the rock. 
 
 "I suppose you were making dream-tales, as 
 usual," she said contemptuously. "What a 
 pity you could not ride on the tail of the moon 
 and find out why the stars are all a-glitter. 
 You might be willing to work then and stop 
 your dreaming/' 
 
 "I cannot help it, Meetah/' he said slowly; 
 " the mountains call me, and when the sun dies 
 I must see that scarlet touch he leaves behind. 
 Did you never notice the singing in the river 
 that dashes there hear the music I can 
 never give up trying to catch it ; " and he dropped 
 on the rock near her, leaning over to listen. 
 
 "Lorin Mooruck, you will never amount to 
 that ! " she snapped her fingers at him. 
 
 He smiled ; he was used to her impatience. 
 
 She meant he should care that she thought 
 him stupid, so she announced, " Elmer Stone 
 has gone to Tarcata to work in the mill ; he will 
 have twice as much money as you, before the 
 moon comes again." 
 
 Her words seemed to have no effect, for 
 Mooruck answered, "What do I care for the 
 money my mother is old the garden keeps 
 us the pipes that I carve get us enough to 
 wear, and when that is not enough, I mend the 
 fish nets what more does one want?" 
 
THE VILLAGE OF NATSEE. 5 
 
 " And that is all you care ? " she asked, her 
 black eyes flashing. 
 
 "When it is needed, I will do more." His 
 dim gaze wavered over the mountains that 
 worked their deathless charm upon him. 
 
 For a moment, Meetah was silent. Her eyes 
 rested upon his supple, strong, young form, his 
 deep-browed eyes, his sharply defined features, 
 his short, dark hair pushed back from his wide 
 forehead, but instantly her impatience returned 
 as his thoughts wandered. " You are dreaming 
 away the present, you are drifting out into the 
 future, Lorin ; nothing is sure to you, ' tis for 
 me." She arose ; the rugged mountains out- 
 lined her girlish form, as, folding her arms, she 
 said impressively, " I am going away to the 
 world." 
 
 Mooruck turned quickly and looked at her. 
 
 " My mother is dead, my father sleeps also 
 you have all been kind to me, here in the village. 
 Soon, my sister, Hannah Tocare, will be Han- 
 nah Moore. Then Joseph Moore will be 
 enough for her. There is no one to need me 
 here. I am going out into the East. Some day 
 I shall come back; then " 
 
 "What do you mean!" exclaimed Mooruck, 
 suddenly springing up, alive with energy. 
 
 Meetah thought joyously, " Some beautiful 
 spirit must have looked like that ! " 
 
O LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 Mooruck's dream-tales had awakened her ar- 
 tistic nature, but she never quite admitted it, 
 even to herself. 
 
 These friends had grown up from childhood 
 together; she, eager, impatient, full of animal 
 spirit ; he, quiet, reticent, usually by himself, 
 moulding odd figures out of the red clay ; but 
 the sound of Meetah's childish laughter always 
 brought a smile to his lips. He heard it amidst 
 all the sound and noisy play of other children ; 
 her life seemed strung in tune with his. As 
 they grew older they understood each other 
 without explanations. Meetah was fifteen now, 
 Lorin almost two years older. 
 
 As Meetah grew, her mind turned to practical 
 affairs, though her best enjoyment was to sit by 
 the side of her young playmate on the cliff in 
 the stillness of twilight, and listen to his won- 
 derful tales of the heavens, the mountain gods, 
 the people who lived under the sea, and the 
 white-faced maidens in the river that dashed at 
 their feet. The villagers were proud of Moo- 
 ruck's skill in carving ; his kind, old, wrinkled- 
 faced mother would smile, and say their house 
 had been built by Mooruck's pipes. Eight years 
 ago the garrison people had lived near, and they 
 took as many of his curiously carved red clay 
 pipes, with long, slender handles, as he could 
 carve in days and weeks ; but the Fort had been 
 
THE VILLAGE OF NATSEE. / 
 
 moved ; there was no need of a garrison near 
 Indians who quietly supported themselves and 
 had always been friendly. In place of the gar- 
 rison came settlers, who thought there was little 
 room in this country for any one not a foreign 
 immigrant. They saw no need for Indians to 
 live in a village like this, the land was too good ; 
 and so they tried to make trouble by encroach- 
 ing upon the village. They had no use for 
 carved pipes, so Mooruck made very little with 
 his carving now. He mended fish nets, and did 
 it so dexterously that his friends would have sup- 
 plied him always with that, but that he had a 
 passion for the carving. Sometimes it seemed 
 to Meetah that the little figures had been there 
 all the time, that Lorin heard their cry and let 
 them come out, as he cut away obstructive clay. 
 No one knew that she had a little sandy horse, 
 with four stumps and no tail, ridden by a legless 
 boy, put carefully among her few treasures. 
 Lorin made it when only four years old. 
 
 Meetah's impatience was caused by her love 
 for him, her heroic ideas of what he might do. 
 She wanted all people to know he was a hero, 
 though they thought him a dreamer. In her 
 father's day she heard strange tales of adven- 
 ture and bravery, and she longed to be a son, 
 that she might ride forth and accomplish some 
 daring deed that would make people wonder 
 
8 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 When about twelve years old she deliberately 
 burned her arm with a heated iron to find out 
 her power of endurance, and all through the 
 painful healing she never complained. 
 
 Another friend of Meetah's was Elmer Stone, 
 a keen-eyed, broad-shouldered youth, with a de- 
 termination to succeed in being as well off as 
 any rich ranchman ; he had gone recently to 
 work in the lumber mills at Tarcata. When 
 Mr. Tuscan, the kind-hearted minister, had 
 spoken of the villagers to Colonel Frost, who 
 came out from Washington, he had pointed to 
 Elmer as showing the Indian civilization had de- 
 veloped. He spoke of him as a representative 
 man, who would one day leave the village and 
 be part of the great world beyond. Meetah 
 stood there, her black eyes shining with defiance. 
 It was not hard then to see whether she cared 
 for Elmer or Lorin best. She determined to go 
 into the great world herself ; she would see what 
 it was like. Lorin should go too. Mr. Tuscan 
 had been glad of her wish to go ; he said he 
 
 would try and get her a place at the Q 
 
 school in the East, where she might advance in 
 her work, for already she would take fine stitches 
 in sewing, and knew all that they taught in the 
 village school. All her people spoke English, 
 and it had not been difficult for her to follow the 
 text-books. Any one in the village could talk 
 
THE VILLAGE OF NATSEE. 9 
 
 and understand English, though they preferred 
 to use their own language among themselves. If 
 the school were a good place for one, it would be 
 a good place for another. Oh, if she could only 
 awake some fire in Lorin, some wild life that 
 would stir him up to dissatisfaction. She had 
 been thinking of going a long time now, and to- 
 day Mr. Tuscan had received word from O . 
 
 He had told her not an hour since, and her first 
 thought had been to find Lorin. She was filled 
 with the excitement of anticipation, but here 
 was Lorin, dreaming away the time as though 
 nothing was to happen. 
 
 When he sprang up, Meetah clasped her 
 hands and cried : " Ah ! Lorin, you will come at 
 last ! " Then she went on rapidly : "I am go- 
 ing away to the school at Q . They will 
 
 teach us both you will come too they will 
 teach us everything. We will go out into the 
 great world you shall be the representative 
 man. You will not stay here in the village/' 
 pointing to where she turned her eyes at the 
 shadowy outline of their homes; "but," she 
 added softly, " not forever, never forever, Lorin 
 we will remember how they loved us we 
 will come back all we do shall be for them." 
 Then quickly, " Mr. Tuscan says he can get a 
 place for you let me tell him to write ? " 
 
 Slowly he raised his eyes to hers, then turned 
 
IO LOR1N MOORUCK. 
 
 away toward a glimmer of light in the village. 
 " That is my mother's home my father's grave 
 is here. I cannot leave these for a small spot 
 crowded with white men. The heavens arch 
 over us here they tell me that the white man 
 cannot see the heavens from his home he 
 journeys away every year to breathe fresh air 
 and see the sky I think the Great Spirit 
 guards us better here." 
 
 " For the sake of an arching sky you will lose 
 everything ? The white man will take your 
 home and laugh at your right ; they will drive 
 you from the village in that day you will dig 
 in the ground for roots to keep you from starv- 
 ing it is coming they will creep upon you 
 before you know it. I have not been to school 
 and heard the teachers talk for nothing. Lorin, 
 will you stay and be treated worse than a wild 
 goat ? I have more spirit than that ! " She 
 hurled her contemptuous words off in a breath. 
 
 " I shall guard my father's grave and fight for 
 my people," he answered gravely. 
 
 "Yes," she burst forth, "but what good will 
 it do ? the village will be taken by white men 
 and you will be killed likely. I shall go East 
 and learn a better way. I love my people as 
 much as you do, Lorin ; the time to fight has 
 passed, we must learn faster the civilized way 
 white people think we are ignorant of their way. 
 
THE VILLAGE OF NATSEE. II 
 
 I shall get all the knowledge that I can, then I 
 shall come back and teach others." 
 
 "You have a fine dream, Meetah," he smiled. 
 " You want to be like the man and woman 
 whose word is not to be believed. " 
 
 She came swiftly toward him and putting her 
 hand upon his arm raised her eyes to his, saying 
 eagerly, " Lorin, when did I ever lie to you ? " 
 
 He moved away, her hand fell from his 
 sleeve. 
 
 " Not yet, but the sun falls over the mountains 
 there, sometimes early, sometimes late, but they 
 are used to it and do not know the difference. 
 You will find it easy to learn new ways ; you will 
 think one thing to-day and another thing to-mor- 
 row ; your lips will say it, and like our moun- 
 tains there you will not know that the shadow 
 has come you will put yourself in the way of 
 change. It will be a long road between you and 
 the village, then. Go if you like ; I remain 
 here." 
 
 A doubt seized her, she was filled with ques- 
 tioning fear ; she had come to him buoyant with 
 hope he had painted all away in dismal colors. 
 
 "I shall not change in my soul it will be 
 always the same as yours ; can't you feel that, 
 Lorin " 
 
 " Will you forget to eat, and talk here for- 
 ever? " came a voice up the hill. It was Han- 
 
12- LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 nah Tocare, who had come for her sister, and 
 now would not wait to let them talk. 
 
 "Good-by, Lorin," said Meetah, mournfully, 
 as she turned away. 
 
 Somehow his voice did not come and he 
 watched them in silence as they wound down 
 the mountain side and disappeared in the dis- 
 tance ; then he threw himself at full length 
 along the rock, dug his fingers in the brown 
 lichen and wondered if Meetah would, in truth, 
 leave the village. 
 
THE MASTER WORKMAN. 13 
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 
 THE MASTER WORKMAN. 
 
 THE tourist will tell you that the town of 
 Crespy sprang up in the night-time. They call 
 it a mushroom growth, and truly, for the velvety, 
 pale-colored mushroom has a lining of dark tint 
 deeply ridged ; so also has Crespy, its history 
 being deeply lined with dark facts. The town 
 was stolen bit by bit, under cover of right, but 
 by dint of wrong, and the workmen will some- 
 times laughingly point at the tall, olive-hued 
 stone-cutter in their midst and call him Mooruck 
 of Crespy, for his father was once chief of a 
 people who owned this land. It was, not long 
 since, part of the ground belonging to the people 
 of Natsee, and is still theirs by law, but no one 
 cares to enforce their rights, no one cares for 
 the Indian's title here. 
 
 As the workmen gather in the low-roofed 
 saloon at night, they laugh at the idea of Moo- 
 ruck, the Indian, owning land, and among them- 
 selves they say : 
 
 " He is a good fellow, after all, a master work- 
 
14 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 man but the Lord knows where he learned it 
 all ! " 
 
 A newly arrived Pole muttered, " From the 
 devil, perhaps," but a powerful Swede arose with : 
 " None of that ! We know Lorin Mooruck and 
 none shall say a word against him while I'm 
 here, no matter what he is." 
 
 " Bully for you, Bill," burst forth one of the 
 crowd. " He's a good 'un if 'e is a Injun 
 we'll say that much." 
 
 "I ain't over much fond of 'em," said a thin 
 man as he sipped the contents from a broken 
 mug, "but I've a good word for 'im, for when I 
 shied wurk las' spring, 'cause the ol' 'oman wus 
 sick, 'e did m' wurk un 'is too, wurkin' after 
 'ours, an' never a cent did 'e keep, but let th' 
 boss turn over m' pile same as usual." 
 
 " He don't keer for this crowd much," ven- 
 tured a good-natured frontiersman. 
 
 "Wai," said one, "he's got the good sense ter 
 know that poor whiskey makes an Injun crazy, 
 an' it ain't much good yer can find in these yere 
 parts." 
 
 " But the devil's own knows where he goes 
 nights," muttered an Irishman. 
 
 " Leave the devil to find out then," growled 
 the broad-shouldered Bill ; and no one caring to 
 dispute with him, the conversation changed. 
 
THE MASTER WORKMAN. 15 
 
 There were a few good houses in Crespy and 
 many more building. 
 
 One day, Miss Slater, daughter of the builder, 
 took a party of friends down to see the stone- 
 cutters at work, but from the whispered words, 
 no one knew they had come down to see but one 
 of these men ; at her request, Mr. Harrold, the 
 artist, who had a couple of rooms in the Slater's 
 house, accompanied them, and while they talked 
 he took a hasty sketch of the tall stone-cutter with 
 the short, dark hair and olive skin. His cos- 
 tume pleased the artist : the light brown overalls, 
 the pale blue shirt, the red handkerchief knotted 
 about the throat, the head without covering, the 
 broad shoulders, the strong, steady stroke of the 
 hammer, the picturesque whole delighted Mr. 
 Harrold. The man gave close attention to his 
 work, and seemed unconscious of their presence. 
 The artist came to see the stone-cutters again, 
 and yet again, each time- talking longer with 
 this skilful workman, whose unerring eye, steady 
 aim and muscular strength placed him above his 
 fellows. At first, Mr. Harrold came merely be- 
 cause Miss Slater wished it, but finally he came 
 because he, too, was interested in this young 
 Indian ; so it happened that Mooruck never 
 spent his evenings in the low saloon. 
 
 Miss Slater or Mr. Harrold might have an- 
 
1 6 LOR1N MOORUCK. 
 
 swered the curiosity of the workmen, but who 
 would think of asking them ? 
 
 There was one circumstance that would for- 
 ever prevent Mooruck's co-laborers from bear- 
 ing him a grudge. Although he was the mas- 
 ter workman, he could never keep good wages 
 out of their hands, for his employer gave him 
 less than the unskilled German ; in a way it was 
 doing the workman harm, though they little 
 dreamed it, but the very indignation that burned 
 through Mooruck's veins at such treatment 
 made him resolve that one day his employer 
 should stand beneath him, one day he should 
 see that the law would protect the Indian. 
 
 Mr. Pinkham was a grasping Westerner, a 
 mean man by nature. Part of his creed was to 
 cheat whom he could ; Mooruck must have the 
 work, and so for the time being Mr. Pinkham 
 took the profits. 
 
 The fire for which Meetah had longed was 
 at last kindling Lorin's ambition, but in these 
 days she worked patiently and sadly, hearing 
 very little of Lorin. Often, as she sat sewing 
 in Hannah Tocare's house in the village, she 
 would try and picture to herself what he did, 
 what he thought ; groping through space, her 
 heart aglow with love, she felt her thought must 
 reach him, must awake in return some thought 
 of her, must put aside distance ; there must be 
 
THE MASTER WORKMAN. I/ 
 
 some power by which her soul could reach his. 
 Surely he was thinking of her, all barrier of dis- 
 tance had fallen away, her soul should feel his 
 - was reaching his - 
 
 Alas for the passionate women who sit and 
 dream ! 
 
 Meetah had been out in the world ; she had 
 even gone to Massachusetts and worked in a 
 farmer's family there. She had been the one 
 girl studying in a class with eleven boys, all 
 having finished their course of three years, but 
 so eager for another year of hard work that 
 
 after much urging the authorities at Q had 
 
 granted their desire. At the end of the four 
 years she read an essay comparing the women 
 of her race to-day with those of the past. It 
 had been published in the commissioner's In- 
 dian report and sent to the Secretary of the 
 Interior to impress the nation with the advance- 
 ment of at least one Indian. But all through 
 her triumphant last days at school, the praise of 
 the teachers, the admiration of the visitors, had 
 fallen upon dull ears ; for in her pocket she car- 
 ried a badly written letter from the village, tell- 
 ing that Lorin's mother was dead, his house had 
 been seized by a settler, and he had gone away 
 to work in a new town. Her sister's husband 
 had been told he did not own their home ; he 
 had been driven forth, and a fence put about his 
 
1 8 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 vegetable garden. He had been warned that, if 
 he took so much as a bean, he would be com- 
 mitted to trial for theft from an honest white 
 man, who intended to use his house, and who 
 saw fit to take his small farm. A month had 
 gone by, two months, and their home was shut 
 in darkness ; no one occupied it. 
 
 Meetah had changed in mind ; she had im- 
 proved in character, but her heart was the same. 
 She smiled in bitterness at her ambition ; what 
 had it brought ? How often she had laughed at 
 Lorin for dreaming, yet his dream-world might 
 come nearer true than hers. 
 
 Two upper rooms in the Slater's house served 
 for Mr. Harrold's home. In the front were 
 comfortable easy-chairs, pictures without frames, 
 finely sculptured arms, feet, and heads hanging 
 against the wall, a high tier of shelves filled 
 with books, bits of statuary here and there, 
 draped curiously with fish nets, bits of silk and 
 pieces of richly colored crepe. Out of this 
 room opened the L-shaped apartment he pleased 
 to term his workshop. 
 
 In the front room, one frosty night, before 
 the log fire upon the hearth, sat Mr. Harrold 
 and the master stone-cutter, whose picturesque 
 dress had given place to a conventional brown 
 suit ; the two men were good friends, and 
 
THE MASTER WORKMAN. 1 9 
 
 Mooruck had been calling up his past life at 
 Mr. Harrold's desire. 
 
 The old dreaminess again possessed him as 
 he said slowly, "The strong influence of another 
 life has filled the gap in mine." 
 
 If Meetah's eager longing had been gratified, 
 she might have felt his soul then, and trembled. 
 
 " There is another force beside my own. Of 
 my own will, even after my mother's death, I 
 would not have left the village. I drank in this 
 force as flowers the sunshine, as leaves the dew. 
 I never knew I took it until one day " He 
 paused ; his eyes seemed to filter the light from 
 the fire as, turning to Harrold with a startled 
 motion, waving his hand " It was gone ! Like 
 a bird it opened its wings and fled it sought 
 the heights, while I lay dreaming. All my life 
 it had been near and I had not known." 
 
 He turned and silently watched the ashes as 
 they fell from the burning logs. 
 
 There was not sufficient sympathy between 
 Mr. Harrold and Lorin for the former to under- 
 stand what he meant, but using tact the artist 
 asked : 
 
 " So it was not of your own accord that you 
 left the village ? " 
 
 " My friend had gone away," answered Lorin, 
 " to find a better way of life, so I, too, decided 
 to go forth and learn the better way also. I 
 
2O LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 did not wish to go far I came here I have 
 worked, but have learned no better way to live 
 than that taught by our good Mr. Tuscan 
 after all, our simple village life seems best to 
 me. Mr. Pinkham has found me of use, but 
 you, my friend, you have been all the village, all 
 the mountains, the sky, the singing birds to 
 me ! " He sprang up enthusiastically and placed 
 his hands on Mr. Harrold's shoulders. "You 
 have given me a new life. In all my thought 
 was never such kindness as this. I meant only 
 to be a good stone-cutter, but you you have 
 taught me a different and better work." 
 
 " I do not deserve your thanks," said Mr. 
 Harrold. " If I have taught you the use of 
 tools, you have taught me how to hold ideas. 
 But come, I presume you are already impatient 
 a change of suit, then to work ! " 
 
 Stepping upon a chair and reaching up to a 
 square closet door in the wall, Mr. Harrold 
 flung from it a couple of shabby overalls and 
 two worn blue shirts. Donning these costumes, 
 the jean shirts over the trousers in Chinese 
 fashion, the men were in working suit. Mr. 
 Harrold adjusted a light cloth cap to his scant 
 blonde hair and they then passed on into the 
 L-shaped room. 
 
 It was well lighted by bracket-lamps, and on 
 one side of the carpetless room, against the 
 wall, rested a rough, grayish piece of marble, 
 
THE MASTER WORKMAN. 21 
 
 and near it a trough of wet clay. Scattered on 
 a table near were numerous wooden hammers 
 and fine tools used in marble cutting ; a statue 
 half issued from a marble block at the end of 
 the room. 
 
 Mooruck hastened to a dark object on a table 
 in the centre of the room and carefully un- 
 wrapped from wet cloths the head and bust of a 
 woman in clay. Holding the damp covering in 
 one hand he stepped back and gazed at his 
 work. The deep-set eyes were full of fiery pur- 
 pose, the long, straight hair was pushed back 
 from a broad, low brow, the lips parted as if for 
 noble utterance, but it was the expression in 
 the raised eyes that held one speechless. 
 
 Harrold stood, for an instant, back of Moo- 
 ruck, in silence. " I always feel like uncovering 
 before those eyes," he said ; and even as he 
 spoke he held his cap in his hand. " You have 
 imprisoned a soul there." 
 
 But Mooruck did not hear, he was lost in 
 thought. Presently the Indian started at the 
 sound of hammer on steel and click of marble, 
 for Harrold had passed on and was at work 
 upon the issuing figure at the end of the room. 
 The sound of the tool was like the burst of mar- 
 tial music to the ears of a warrior. Instantly, 
 Lorin flung aside the bunch of wet rags in his 
 hand and in a moment more was at work upon 
 the half-formed shoulders of his statue, 
 
22 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 UPON THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 ON one of the hills in the village of Natsee 
 is perched a little cottage of four rooms, the 
 home of Joseph Moore, the fisherman ; the 
 household is managed frugally to keep the wolf 
 from the door, for little can Joseph earn, though 
 he fishes all the day and helps Hannah mend 
 the nets at night. She cultivates the little 
 patch of ground at the back of the house, and 
 her sister, Meetah Tocare, helps in the house- 
 work, and of her scanty earnings at the village 
 school gives more than half for the home spend- 
 ing. Hannah and Joseph need all they can 
 have now to keep from starving this coming 
 winter ; the ground about their house is newly 
 planted and will not yield well this year. The 
 house and farm from which they were driven 
 last year stand idle ; no one uses the house, and 
 the man who claimed the place has taken all 
 the produce, but has not troubled to prepare 
 the land again. Joseph and Hannah have be- 
 gun their new home with lack of hope, for they 
 do not know how soon they may be driven away 
 from this too, 
 
UPON THE MOUNTAIN. 23 
 
 The white men send their herd quite into the 
 village to graze ; there are many Indian farms 
 lost, many homes ruined, many cattle branded 
 with the white man's mark, many a house taken 
 possession of, as a lawless white shows forged 
 papers giving him the right to the home. Yet 
 no one who has authority interferes ; people go 
 there with the desire and resolve to cheat these 
 Indians, and when they have robbed them they 
 think they have done a cunning thing. "The 
 Indian will not understand that he has been 
 wronged, he does not know enough," they rea- 
 son ; meanwhile the Indian plans and wonders 
 how to live peaceably and avert all this misery. 
 
 As the day wears on, Meetah comes home 
 from the school and sits now in the living-room, 
 her foot rocking the cradle of the sleeping child, 
 while her busy needle flies in and out, as she 
 tries to find some way of escape from their 
 many difficulties. 
 
 The child of boisterous animal spirit is lost in 
 this quiet, sad-faced woman, who, though kind 
 and gentle, seems always in deep thought. The 
 children love her and cling about her skirts as 
 they come from the village school, she walking 
 bare-headed in their midst, her large hat swing- 
 ing on her arm. Of old the people knew when 
 Meetah passed, by the quick step and ringing 
 laugh, but now it is the chattering and merri- 
 
24 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 ment of village children, who tell her coming, 
 and one old woman within doors will tell another 
 as she listens, " Meetah must be going by from 
 school." 
 
 At her door-step she waves them good by, 
 and as they scurry down the hill they turn back 
 with smile and nod to see if she still is there. 
 
 To-night as the twilight falls she pushes her 
 work aside in weary impatience and goes out 
 into the low-roofed kitchen to help Hannah. 
 But the work is done ; Hannah is waiting sup- 
 per for Joseph, who will not be home until late, 
 so Meetah, telling her she will go for a short 
 walk, throws the little red shawl about her 
 shoulders and goes out into the twilight towards 
 the cliff where she and Mooruck dreamed away 
 the hours in their childhood days, before they 
 had grown high enough to touch the sorrows 
 that their parents bore. 
 
 The mountains lift their gray heads toward 
 the changing clouds as of old, and the silvered 
 tips of the highest peaks gleam in the fading 
 light. The stream rushes on in its turbulent 
 course, and the jutting crags hang over, vainly 
 trying to catch their image in the waters be- 
 neath. As Meetah's accustomed feet climb the 
 mountain side, her thoughts pluck back the 
 filmy veil about her childhood days : her father 
 comes forth, strong and brave, the first man in 
 
UPON THE MOUNTAIN. 2$ 
 
 the tribe to unite with the church, and content 
 only when his children were being educated 
 but then comes the day when the mission 
 school was closed and a ward politician came 
 out to be their agent. She did not know the 
 meaning of ward politician then ; she shivered 
 at the mention of it, and at night covered her 
 head close with the bed-clothes lest she might 
 open her eyes and see him in the room. She 
 smiled now at her childish fancies. 
 
 She had always been eager for knowledge ; 
 her teacher had taught her to write and rewrite 
 " Knowledge is power," and the good woman 
 thought she was telling the child a wise thing ; 
 but Meetah had learned that the use of knowl- 
 edge was power. In her short life she had seen 
 that knowledge was not power. 
 
 Again she remembered when another agent 
 had come and the doors of the mission school 
 had been thrown wide again ; if some complain- 
 ing school-boy could have seen the eager, smil- 
 ing faces of these Indian children, who were 
 permitted to work and study, how ashamed he 
 might feel at his unwillingness to go to school, 
 when there was no government official to say, 
 "thou shalt," or "thou shalt not learn," no man 
 with power to shut out, by a whim, his future 
 usefulness as a citizen. 
 
 As a child, Meetah's strong desire had been 
 
26 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 for a good education, that she might be compe- 
 tent to help her people. While away at school 
 she had studied housework, the chemistry of 
 cooking, the art of good dress-making, and, 
 pleasantest work of all, how to teach others. 
 But she came back to the village without 
 money ; her own friends went often without 
 enough to eat, and there seemed little hope. 
 She applied to be made a teacher at one of the 
 day schools, but they were run by men sent 
 from Washington, who refused to employ her. 
 At last one of these fell ill, and Meetah took 
 his place. He had received forty dollars a 
 month, but they gave her twenty-three, " though 
 she taught very well for an Indian," they said ; 
 so in the morning she taught the older people, 
 and in the afternoon the children, and in the 
 evening I was about to say she taught the 
 teachers, for they often came to her in per- 
 plexity and she graciously helped them ; but the 
 people in authority had an interest in these 
 teachers and paid them twice as much as the 
 Indian girl. 
 
 The rainbow about her life had been her love 
 for Lorin. Away at school her thought had 
 been that he would be proud if she studied and 
 stood first in her class ; he would no longer 
 think she had done wrong to leave the village ; 
 but now he, too, had left ; she had been home a 
 
UPON THE MOUNTAIN. 2? 
 
 year and Lorin had not once come back from 
 this new town. Was he more satisfied there 
 than in the village ? He could read and write, 
 but he never sent her one word, and she shel- 
 tered a joyous fancy in her heart that Lorin was 
 carving out a great future, and when the lines 
 were well marked he would come and tell her, 
 for in the past had they not always shared the 
 same thoughts and what should 'hinder in the 
 future ? 
 
 Slowly it dawned upon her mind, " Some 
 other person, some other woman should hinder 
 in the future." She caught her breath, -she 
 tried to smother the thought, she made an effort 
 to recall the past his looks, his smiles, his 
 words but this new thought blurred them 
 from sight, and for the first time she pitied 
 Elmer Stone. 
 
 She had felt sorry for him when she told him 
 she could not return his love ; that she felt how 
 good and noble he was, but that she could 
 think no more of him than she did now but 
 she had not realized then his feeling ; she had 
 only thought, " How impossible that I could 
 marry Elmer!" Now a tear rolled clown her 
 cheek as she remembered his deep sigh a 
 selfish tear, for she was grieving at her own 
 sorrow. Perhaps Lorin would never come the 
 time seemed very long but there was work 
 
28 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 for her to do plenty of work. Live for others 
 yes, that is what she must do. 
 
 If she could find any one to publish what she 
 wrote, she could tell the world about this little 
 village of honest men and women shut in among 
 the mountains, while white men surrounded them 
 like sharks, taking their homes one by one, in 
 all ways trying to discourage them and corrupt 
 the women of the village. 
 
 " Oh ! if I were but stronger in mind and 
 body," she sighed, as she stood looking off at 
 the mountains that Lorin loved. They were 
 merely immovable points of rock rising one 
 above another, desolate, unchangeable ; how 
 could Lorin love anything so cold and cruel ? 
 He might die of despair at their feet and in 
 silence they would gaze heavenward. 
 
 " God alone cares ! " she exclaimed, and in 
 her impetuous manner she dropped upon her 
 knees and, with clasped hands and eyes raised, 
 cried, "Father in heaven, give me patience." 
 
 A deep " Amen" came from the edge of the 
 rock. Meetah started up in terror, as a man 
 came swiftly toward her with outstretched hands 
 and smiling eyes. 
 
 " I thought to find you here by our beautiful 
 mountains ! " He spoke triumphantly. 
 
 But Meetah trembled, as she said reproach- 
 
UPON THE MOUNTAIN. 2Q 
 
 fully, " To think you were so near and yet I did 
 not feel it ! " She ended with a deep sob. 
 
 " Is it for joy or sorrow, Meetah ? " he asked. 
 
 "For both, I think but most for joy," and 
 as they gazed into each other's eyes, they knew 
 a beautiful world lay before them. 
 
 Upon the mountain top that night, the im- 
 portant work of their life was forgotten, the 
 words they had thought to speak faded away ; 
 the past, the future, was nothing all happiness 
 centred in the present, in the simple fact that, 
 at last, they were together. 
 
 Impulsively their lips spoke what their hearts 
 had long known ; to Meetah, now, the starry 
 dome above was beautiful, the mountains smiled 
 through the misty night veil, and from the 
 waters beneath shone the little stars as though 
 they had come from the deep to greet the stars 
 above. 
 
 Lorin felt that his heart would burst for very 
 joy ; Meetah had spoken her love in the presence 
 of the beautiful mountains that brooded over the 
 village he loved. 
 
 Presently he said, as they turned to leave the 
 cliff and stood upon the edge of the rock, " We 
 cannot live in the village, Meetah; I have left 
 it forever. I did not think so at first, I did not 
 believe I could leave it forever. Do you remem- 
 
3O LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 her that night we talked here long ago ? I, a 
 foolish boy, and you, a brave-hearted girl -I 
 did not know then how you were that better 
 part of me, without which my life would never 
 come so near the good and true. I was grieved, 
 angry, fretful that you were going away my 
 terrible loss came over me afterward but now 
 " He smiled radiantly at her. 
 
 Looking solemnly up at him, she asked, "Are 
 you sure that you love me better than any one 
 in the world, Lorin ? Ah ! you cannot under- 
 stand what my love for you is it is my life. 
 I feel as though I had always known you better 
 than you knew yourself you were not con- 
 scious of your own power ; you are a great artist 
 now." 
 
 " Only a beginner, my dear one. You are a 
 dream-child, Meetah ; you throw a wonderful 
 thought around everything. You are the best 
 part of me ; your thought creates my ideal. Will 
 it not be beautiful to work always together? 
 My love for you has been the best growth of my 
 life." He drew her to him. "Together we will 
 not fear to brave the world." 
 
 Even at that moment a faint dread came to 
 Meetah, a quivering doubt that sometimes shad- 
 ows great happiness. For a moment she was 
 silent, then, gently taking his face between her 
 
UPON THE MOUNTAIN. 31 
 
 hands, she pressed a kiss upon his beardless lips 
 and, springing away, cried, " Oh, I am so proud of 
 you, Lorin ! I think the earth must be Heaven 
 at last, or the clouds have caught us up, or some- 
 thing has taken us above our own lives ! " 
 
32 LORiN MOORUCK. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 HANNAH'S CURIOSITY REMAINS UNSATISFIED. 
 
 MUCH surprised were the Moores when Mee- 
 tah gayly led Lorin in upon them. Joseph 
 greeted him with affection, but Hannah com- 
 plained, "Why did you not come to us before 
 going to the cliff ? " 
 
 Meetah's eyes smiled into Lorin's, for they 
 knew why he had chosen their old trysting-place 
 first. 
 
 "Come," said Hannah, " and join us at sup- 
 per." 
 
 But what was meat, or what was drink, to 
 either of them ! Joseph and Hannah might 
 have fed a hundred such on meal and water, 
 and they would have arisen satisfied as if from 
 a royal feast. 
 
 Hannah insisted upon making a bed for Lorin 
 upon the floor of their living-room ; but he had 
 been invited to remain with a friend in the 
 village, and before nine o'clock he was on his 
 way to visit Elmer Stone. 
 
 After the housework was finished, Meetah 
 bade Hannah and Joseph good night, and went 
 
HANNAH S CURIOSITY UNSATISFIED. 33 
 
 to her barely furnished room which opened from 
 the kitchen. 
 
 When Hannah had talked to Joseph awhile 
 over Mooruck's past life and future plans, and 
 hushed the child, who had awakened, she sud- 
 denly remembered that Lorin had given no 
 satisfactory answer when she asked why he had 
 gone to the cliff before coming to the house of 
 his best friend. Rising with the thought, she 
 opened Meetah's door, and found her sitting on 
 the edge of her narrow bed, lost in dreamy 
 thought. She glanced up in surprise as her 
 sister entered, and drawing her skirts aside 
 made room for her upon the bed, for there were 
 no chairs there. Her blue dress was unloosened, 
 exposing her white cotton chemise and bare 
 chest, slight covering for so chilly a night ; but 
 Meetah earned little, and spent that upon the 
 household and a few books. 
 
 " It was strange," said Hannah, seating her- 
 self, " that Mooruck went to the cliff before com- 
 ing here. Do you not believe he thought us 
 good enough friends to come here when entering 
 the village ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Meetah, slowly pulling the pins 
 from her low knot of black hair. " But it was 
 his favorite place ; he loves the mountains and 
 the stream." She spoke caressingly. " It was 
 natural for him to go to them first." 
 
34 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 "But where did you meet him?" queried 
 Hannah. 
 
 "I met him there." 
 
 " You did not know he was coming ? " 
 
 " Do you think I would not have told you ? " 
 asked the girl, glancing up in surprise. 
 
 " You were gone a long time," complained 
 the sister. " Was he there when you first came 
 to the cliff what kept you so long ? " 
 
 Meetah stooped to pick up a pin that had 
 fallen from her long hair. There was the gleam 
 of glittering steel and a thud upon the bare floor, 
 as something slipped from her open dress. 
 
 " Meetah Tocare ! What is that ! " exclaimed 
 Hannah, springing from the bed and standing 
 back. 
 
 "Hush! " said Meetah, picking up the small 
 hunting-knife and fixing her eyes steadily upon 
 her sister's face. "It is nothing I did not 
 wish you to know. Be quiet, Hannah, and I will 
 tell you;" for she still continued to utter her 
 surprise. 
 
 " It is nothing at all," Meetah said, holding 
 the knife in her hand and running her finger 
 along its sharp edge. " Please be still. Sit 
 down, and I will tell you," and she pushed the 
 knife under the edge of her pillow. 
 
 Hannah, with wide eyes, seated herself; not 
 that she was afraid of a hunting-knife, a rifle, or 
 
HANNAH'S CURIOSITY UNSATISFIED. 35 
 
 a revolver, for she could handle any of these 
 dexterously ; but she was surprised that Meetah 
 should conceal such a thing in her bosom. 
 
 " I am sorry I have to tell you/' said Meetah 
 again ; " but never fear ; no harm will come to 
 me ; I am able to care for myself." 
 
 "But why do you wear it?" burst forth 
 Hannah. 
 
 " It was night before last, as I came through 
 the village, some drunken white men chanced to 
 be near me." Her eyes flashed, and the color 
 sprang into her olive cheeks. " I was an Indian 
 girl ; the cowards followed me, uttering insulting 
 words ; as I was a woman, and alone, I fled 
 before them ; but," nervously grasping the knife 
 and springing up, "if I had had this then, I 
 would have killed them ! " 
 
 She threw it away from her, far over on the 
 bed. " It makes my blood seethe to remember 
 it ! Had I been a man I would have throttled 
 the words down their ugly throats. To-day I 
 got that ! " She seated herself quietly. " When 
 it is necessary, I can use it." 
 
 "What shall we do! what shall we do!" 
 wailed Hannah, thoroughly overcome by the 
 danger. 
 
 " Nothing/' said Meetah, scornfully. " Do 
 anything, and you will bring on an Indian war." 
 She laughed. " These red devils are such cut- 
 
36 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 throats that's what you will hear. We are all 
 red-handed, bloodthirsty savages all there 
 is no difference ! " She paused a moment, add- 
 ing solemnly, " Let the Father above take ac- 
 count of the white savages." 
 
 "What can we do! What can we do?" 
 murmured Hannah, clasping and unclasping her 
 hands, as she swayed her body to and fro. 
 
 " Keep silent ; that is best. I am sorry I 
 had to tell you, Hannah." She put her arm 
 about her sister's neck. " We can do nothing. 
 Do not fret. Tell no one ; above all, never let 
 Lorin or Joseph know. When I fail to take 
 care of myself, the Lord will protect me. Do 
 not fret, Hannah." 
 
 " But the danger ! " exclaimed Hannah. " As 
 if you could kill two or three men as if you, 
 alone, would not be caught by them." 
 
 " They were too drunk to run, Hannah, and 
 so they could not catch me." 
 
 " And you do not know who they were ? 
 What can we do ! what can we do ! " 
 
 "Nothing. Even if I did know who they 
 were, there is nothing that we could do. If 
 I were a white girl, it would be different. What 
 is it to blast the life of an Indian girl ! " 
 
 " And you do not know any of them ? " 
 
 " What good would it do?" 
 
 Hannah stopped her moody swaying and 
 
HANNAH S CURIOSITY UNSATISFIED. 37 
 
 looked searchingiy at Meetah. "You do know 
 who they were ! " 
 
 " What if I do ? " said the girl, defiantly ; " I 
 shall not tell." 
 
 "Very well," said Hannah, rising and speak- 
 ing severely; "I shall find out." 
 
 " Oh, no, no, Hannah ! " cried the girl, flinging 
 herself before her. "Please, please do not try 
 to find out. It will only bring misery upon us 
 all ; Joseph and Lorin will hear of it. They 
 will be killed ! " 
 
 "What they deserve," said the older sister, 
 sternly. 
 
 " You do not understand," said Meetah, 
 fiercely, catching Hannah by the arm. " It 
 is Lorin and Joseph who will be killed ! Oh, if 
 you knew what I know ! " with a cry of despair. 
 " You stay close in the house and do not know 
 what goes on close outside the village. Prom- 
 ise me promise you will be quiet ! " 
 
 Hannah seemed to waver, but she did not 
 answer. 
 
 "You shall not go until you promise," said 
 Meetah, firmly. 
 
 Suddenly Hannah burst into tears. Meetah 
 tried to soothe and comfort her, but with long- 
 drawn breaths she wailed : " Sometimes I am 
 wild thinking what is right I promised our 
 dying father to care for you would you have 
 
38 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 me break my word no, no, I will keep it until 
 the stones melt." 
 
 " No, Hannah," said the girl, gently, "I 
 
 would be the last one to ask you to do wrong. 
 
 You will not forget your promise to our father, 
 
 -you will care for me better if you keep 
 
 silent." 
 
 " But I gave my word ; I said I would pro- 
 tect you always J: 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Meetah, caressingly. "You 
 are very good, Hannah no harm has come yet 
 -wait awhile before you speak." 
 
 " Sometimes I am so troubled I cannot think," 
 said Hannah, beginning to dry her eyes. " It 
 was not long since that I knew what was right 
 to do, without trying so hard to think ; but now, 
 even you ask me to break my word with our dead." 
 
 " Not break your word, Hannah," Meetah 
 protested gently. "You will keep your prom- 
 ise best if you do as I ask." 
 
 "Well," Hannah said reluctantly after much 
 entreaty, "it may not be right." 
 
 " But it is right," said Meetah as she kissed 
 her good night. " Do not be sad. Some day 
 a better time will come." 
 
 In the middle of the night, as Hannah lay 
 awake, she suddenly remembered that she had 
 not yet been told why Mooruck went to the 
 cliff first. 
 
THE MENACE. 39 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE MENACE. 
 
 MEETAH, in a delicious, half-awake dreaminess, 
 lived over Lorin's plans for the future. , He 
 had told her of his statue, and she smiled hap- 
 pily as she recalled that night, long ago, when 
 she had urged him to leave the village ; for her 
 words and attitude had been so firmly impressed 
 upon his mind, that with his own hands he had 
 made an image of her in clay, picturing her as 
 she stood that night upon the mountain top. He 
 was carving it out from the marble now. She 
 knew where she would first go when she reached 
 Natsee : it would be to Mr. Harrold's studio, 
 where she would see Lorin's work. 
 
 Alas ! when she went to Natsee, the studio 
 was the first place to which she rushed in her 
 wild despair. 
 
 The sun scarce cast his rays upon the earth 
 when all in the house of Joseph, the fisherman, 
 were up and at work. There was breakfast to 
 get, beds to make, the house to clean, and Jo- 
 seph's light lunch to prepare that he might take 
 it with him, for the salmon were getting scarce, 
 
4O LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 and it required careful adjustment of the nets 
 in the back eddies of the treacherous stream 
 and a good knowledge of the changeful current 
 to go abroad in a frail skiff like Joseph's. Then 
 there was to be the church picnic fifteen miles 
 from the village, at the cleared forest, a small 
 flat piece of ground on the edge of the stream. 
 Saturday had been selected as the best day, so 
 that teachers and pupils need lose no time at 
 school. Joseph could not 'spare the time to go, 
 much as he would have enjoyed the meeting 
 and gossiping of friends. Hannah, with the 
 child, had been promised a seat in a neighbor's 
 wagon ; Meetah had been expected to go in an 
 old cart with some of the children, but now that 
 Lorin had come her plans changed. 
 
 Before seven o'clock he came to bid her good 
 morning, but stood for a time near the open 
 kitchen door, where the sun streamed in, listen- 
 ing to her rich voice as it floated out to him in 
 a joyous carol. Presently she came to the door, 
 wiping her bright dish -pan out and hanging it 
 on the nail. Lorin no longer stood still ; he 
 told her she looked fresh as a sweet mountain 
 flower, in her pink dress, and as he stole a morn- 
 ing kiss, she laughingly drew back, telling him 
 to beware, lest he took the freshness away. 
 
 How the swift-winged birds sang that day, 
 and the royal sun smiled ! all for these gay 
 
THE MENACE. 41 
 
 young lovers, as they rode happily over the 
 hills to the picnic ground, in a reckless old wide- 
 brimmed buggy, behind a hollow-backed mare 
 who stopped every now and then to brush off 
 a fly and look back at these people, who would 
 have been almost unconscious if she had stopped 
 to nibble at the coarse bunches of grass on 
 the hillside. 
 
 Lorin was warmly greeted by old and young ; 
 all had heard the night before that he was in 
 the village ; the old men and women sat and 
 told stories of his childhood, and wondered if he 
 could feel the same toward them, now that he 
 lived among white men. 
 
 Mr. Tuscan stood with his back against a tall 
 pine, and pointed with pride to the old and 
 young members of his congregation, as he talked 
 to Mr. Balch, who had come out from the East 
 to see this village community. He could not 
 refrain from expressing his astonishment at 
 these people, who talked English, desired educa- 
 tion, were capable of caring for themselves, had 
 framed excellent laws for the village community, 
 were dressed as any villagers on the Atlantic 
 coast, were thoughtful, agreeable, intelligent, 
 awake to their own interests, and most hospita- 
 ble to him, a stranger. Soon the Rev. Leonard 
 Williams, a native preacher, joined them. He 
 came from the village six miles below, and 
 
42 LOR1N MOORUCK. 
 
 worked for his people on Tolstoi's plan. He 
 earned no salary, but gave all he had, and re- 
 ceived in turn the devotion and care of the 
 people. 
 
 At noon the tables were spread with clean, 
 white linen and damask cloths, and covered with 
 good tableware, with glassware and castors, 
 making things look quite homelike to Mr. Balch. 
 He noticed among all the men, women, and 
 children, but one barefooted child, the daughter 
 of a white settler. They were kind to her, and 
 Meetah saw that the poor little thing did not go 
 away hungry. 
 
 After lunch Mr. Balch was introduced to 
 Meetah, and she quietly saw his surprise as 
 she turned the conversation from one topic to 
 another of world-wide interest. Watching them 
 on the edge of the forest, stood a tall, broad- 
 shouldered, thick-lipped man, known as Bob 
 McHenry. He scowled as he watched Meetah, 
 for he saw no reason why she should smile 
 at one white man, and yet show disdain for 
 another. He faintly remembered her running 
 away from him a few nights since, but could 
 not distinctly recall why he had not followed 
 her. He had thought she detested all white 
 men ; but now his anger grew as he saw that she 
 was making friends with this finely dressed ten- 
 derfoot. When the picnickers arose from the 
 
THE MENACE. 43 
 
 table, he skulked back among the trees, but not 
 before Lorin's keen eye had studied his every 
 feature. 
 
 On the morrow Meetah and Lorin went to 
 the village church, crowded with Christian Indian 
 worshippers, and knelt side by side at the chan- 
 cel rail, as they received the holy communion 
 from the hands of the good Mr. Tuscan. 
 
 As they came home from church, Joseph and 
 Hannah paused abruptly : they had been in deep 
 converse. Their cheerful greeting did not de- 
 ceive Meetah, who asked immediately what dis- 
 tressed them, and then the whole story came 
 out. 
 
 Soon after Lorin and Meetah had left for 
 church, Bob McHenry came in and presented a 
 bill to Joseph Moore for $57. He claimed that 
 Joseph's cattle last year had wandered over his 
 cornfield, and damaged it to twice that extent. 
 Though the bill would have been preposterously 
 ludicrous to a white man who owned but one 
 cow, yet not so to the Indian : the white man 
 might employ an attorney and sue Bob McHenry, 
 but Joseph had no right to sue a white man, 
 either personally or by aid of an attorney, though 
 he owned but one cow and could bring proof 
 that she had been kept in her small fenced yard 
 all the year. This proof was the word of the 
 Indians, and therefore would not be believed. 
 
44 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 Bob McHenry's cattle had been roaming 
 through the village for over a year, destroying 
 cornfields, grain, and vegetable gardens, and all 
 this time the Indians had been trying to get 
 some lawyer to bring the matter into court. 
 Each family had promised to pay five dollars, 
 whether the lawyer won the case or not ; but no 
 man would undertake it, and the Indians were 
 obliged to suffer loss. 
 
 As Bob McHenry left the house, he made the 
 proposition that if Joseph would give him Meetah, 
 he would call the account square ; otherwise, 
 they had best leave their belongings and fly to 
 the mountains, for the stoniest crag in the land 
 would be pleasanter for them than the village, 
 unless the money or Meetah was handed 
 over* 
 
 We who live in comfortable homes, protected 
 by the United States law, can with difficulty 
 bring ourselves to realize the cruelty practised 
 by citizens upon these people from whom we 
 have withheld the protection of our law. 
 
 It is impossible to portray the feeling of horror 
 and surprise, not unmixed with terror, that made 
 Meetah shiver, and fired Lorin's blood, when 
 this story was told. " There is but one thing 
 to do. We must leave the village," said Hannah, 
 sadly looking about the barely furnished room. 
 " Leave our home, leave all our friends " 
 
THE MENACE. 45 
 
 " Not so," said Joseph. " This is our own 
 home, and we will not give it up." 
 
 " But that is what you said before," answered 
 Hannah ; " we did leave our home ; they drove us 
 out in a single night. Here we have but begun 
 to make another. We will not fly to the moun- 
 tains. We shall all go to Crespy. We can 
 each work. There, if we make a home, perhaps 
 we will be allowed to keep it to stay in one 
 place. Joseph, we can all work?" she said 
 appealingly, for every one was silent. 
 
 " People are very cruel, Hannah," said Meetah, 
 standing beside her, and gently smoothing her 
 glossy hair. " They do not understand yet, that 
 all we desire is to live quietly and work for our 
 daily bread." 
 
 " But they must understand that we are Chris- 
 tian men and women here in Natsee," said 
 Hannah. "There, we would have an honest 
 chance. You know we would," turning to 
 Mooruck, who had remained silent, his lips 
 pressed as if in pain, his eyes as though seeking 
 something in the distance. " You yourself told 
 me that all people from different countries were 
 there " 
 
 " Yes," he answered slowly ; " there is a place 
 for all but not for us." 
 
 " But what is the difference ? why not ? " per- 
 sisted Hannah, her voice pitched high in ex- 
 citement. 
 
46 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 Meetah caught Lorin's questioning glance, 
 and answered, " Yes, Lorin. Tell her." 
 
 "The reason why you cannot go there, Han- 
 nah, is that two days ago there was an offer 
 made and published in both weekly papers there, 
 an offer of two dollars and a half for the scalp 
 of any Indian. It ended, ' Old pioneers, tempted 
 by the reward for Indian scalps, arc out on a hunt 
 for red-skins. Some killing is looked for. ' ' 
 
 "O God! Is there no mercy anywhere?" 
 cried Hannah, shuddering, and covering her 
 eyes with her hands ; worn hands that had care- 
 fully carried and gently cared for the white 
 daughter of a sick settler, that had given food 
 to the hungry, that had toiled in a neighbor's 
 field to save the strength of a fast-failing father, 
 that had often folded in prayer for another's 
 good. She had cared for her Master, who 
 said, "Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of these 
 my brethren, even these least, ye did it unto 
 me." 
 
 " No. There is no mercy," said Lorin. "We 
 do not ask for pity. We ask for the same 
 chance these men have, who offer a reward for 
 our dead. But," as if putting something aside 
 as he raised his hand, " Our Father has given us 
 the chance to be Christian ; I hope we will re- 
 member that 
 
 Joseph interrupted him. " The only way is 
 
THE MENACE. 47 
 
 for us to fight. Because we have always taken 
 care of ourselves and been peaceable, they think 
 our spirit is dead ; they have no fear of us ; they 
 think there is nothing left us but to die : even 
 rabbits are safer than we. But I shall not leave 
 the home. I have no money to pay Bob Mc- 
 Henry. My living is to fish : no white man shall 
 ever drive me from here." 
 
 " It is very hard to understand," said Meetah, 
 "that the people who were good to me East, 
 and the people here, who would take from us 
 all we have, are of the same race." 
 
 " It is because we have no right in the law," 
 said Mooruck. " If they will but give us the 
 right, give the right to our people in the village, 
 we would soon use it. Men pity us, fear us, 
 hate us ; when we have the law, they will re- 
 spect us. I do not fear to go back to Crespy 
 but it would not be safe for you and Joseph to 
 come yet." Then, in an altered voice, and com- 
 ing close to Hannah, he said, "I went to the 
 cliff before I came here last night I went to 
 find my bride. Meetah and I can go back to- 
 gether. No harm can happen to us; I have 
 good friends there. But it will be best for you 
 and Joseph not to come just now. Meetah will 
 be my wife, and you need not mind the threat 
 of any one." 
 
 "No, no! I would not let her go," moaned 
 
48 LORiN MOORUCK. 
 
 Hannah. "We must pay Bob McHenry the 
 money." 
 
 " I am not afraid to go anywhere with Lorin ; 
 and, Hannah, you cannot get the money. It 
 would be very sweet to go back with you, 
 Lorin," she said, coming to where he stood and 
 laying her hand fondly upon his arm ; " but per- 
 haps we can arrange matters here. Let us go 
 to Mr. Tuscan ; he will surely have some way to 
 help us." 
 
 They were each glad of her idea, and all went 
 at once to the good man's home. He advised 
 them to wait. Bob McHenry would not make 
 them leave the village just yet, he thought, and 
 in order that he might not put into execution 
 his terrible threat against Meetah, she must 
 come and live with them awhile. He and Mrs. 
 Tuscan both insisted upon this : she could sleep 
 in the room with the children. Meetah said 
 she was not at all afraid, but to please Mooruck 
 she consented to this plan. 
 
 Joseph and Hannah went to see some friends 
 in the village, Lorin to make arrangements for 
 leaving early in the morning ; and Meetah, taking 
 the child, went home to put her few belongings 
 in a small box ; for it had been settled that she 
 should go to Mrs. Tuscan's at sundown. 
 
 While the child was made happy with a bright 
 bit of worsted, Meetah put a few underclothes, 
 
THE MENACE. 49 
 
 two or three cotton gowns, and some worn 
 books into the little box ; but before she had 
 quite finished, the child became tired and fret- 
 ful, and, taking it in her arms, she sang a sweet 
 lullaby. After laying the sleeping child in the 
 cradle she started to finish her packing, when 
 the outer door was roughly opened, and Bob 
 McHenry stepped into the room. 
 
 Meetah started back, but asked in a low, 
 steady tone, "What is your business?" 
 
 " Is that the way you treat your callers ! " 
 he exclaimed. '-Not over cordial but never 
 mind, Dumfrey, come on," as he turned to the 
 door he had left open. 
 
 In it appeared a tall, thin man with long hair, 
 buckskin trousers fringed at the side, a cartridge 
 belt about his waist, and at his side a pistol and 
 dirk. 
 
$O LORIN MOORUCK 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MEETAH LEAVES HOME 
 
 MEETAH saw at a glance that both men were 
 armed, but she stood dauntless, with steady 
 gaze. 
 
 "Alone, hey ? " queried Bob, with a half leer, 
 as he looked about the room. 
 
 "No," said Meetah, "not alone." The blood 
 surged to her brow. Heaven was not far off ; 
 she felt strong. The men supposed her wholly 
 at their mercy, but she knew a greater Tower 
 guarded her. The helpless child in the crib 
 needed protection also, and this thought gave 
 her courage. 
 
 " Don't see nuthin' but the kid," said Dum- 
 frey, laughing, as he pointed to the child asleep. 
 
 " If you have come to see Joseph Moore, he is 
 not here," said Meetah, in a harsh voice. " What 
 is your business ? speak quickly and go." 
 
 "Did you see my bill?" said Bob, with an 
 ugly leer. 
 
 Meetah looked steadily at him, but made no 
 reply. 
 
 " I saw yer talkin' ter that tender-foot yester- 
 
MEETAH LEAVES HOME. 51 
 
 day, an' thought yer might as well have me as 
 him. Didn't know as yer'd decided on a white 
 man before. He's one o' them soft fellers that 
 couldn't hit a crow." He was slowly drawing 
 his pistol out, and Meetah quietly watched him. 
 "But I," he said with gusto "why, there 
 ain't no one as says I ain't the best shot herea- 
 bouts." He came slowly toward her. "Kin 
 you fire a pistol ? " 
 
 "Give it me and let me try," said Meetah, 
 her eyes flashing as she held out her hand. 
 
 " Did yer ever see murder in an eye ? " said 
 Bob, hoarsely laughing and turning to Dumfrey, 
 who still stood near the door. 
 
 " Hold up, Bob, and come away. You ain't 
 in good visitin' trim to-day," was the answer. 
 
 "Who says I ain't?" he retorted, suddenly 
 squaring himself. " No one can handle a six- 
 shooter like me." 
 
 He raised his revolver to take aim, and before 
 Meetah could think what he would do, he stood 
 beside her, his pistol pointed toward the crib. 
 " See how near I can come to the kid without 
 hittin'." 
 
 With a swift motion Meetah threw herself 
 forward, all her weight upon his raised arm ; but 
 too late : click went the trigger, the ball swerved 
 and whizzed by. Meetah's eyes, wide with 
 terror, were riveted upon the child. She rushed 
 
52 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 across the room and caught it in her arms ; a 
 cry escaped her, a cry of nervous relief as the 
 ball lay imbedded in the crib, and the startled 
 child was unhurt. 
 
 "Yer needn't be afraid," said Bob. "I was 
 jast givin' an exhibition of my shootin'. Now, 
 if yer'll hold it in yer arms, up like, I'll knock 
 its eye out without so much as touchin' a hair 
 on yer head ; but if yer will 
 
 He never finished the sentence. He was 
 seized from behind with a firm hand, and sud- 
 denly found himself outside the door. Gradu- 
 ally he awoke to the realization that he had 
 been ignominiously kicked out. He could see 
 Dumfrey running down the hill. With a terri- 
 ble oath he turned to enter the house, but found 
 the door closed and bolted. Like a tiger that 
 has been denied its prey, he hungered to make 
 the man who had flung him forth his victim. 
 Softly he glided down the mountain path ; he 
 
 could wait to spring. " But that fool who 
 
 kicked him out should feel what it was to pay 
 for his fun ! " For a few moments he was so 
 entirely mastered by his animal nature, that his 
 rage blinded him as to whom it might be, he 
 was glutting his imagination with the vengeance 
 he would wreak, but it was an easy matter to 
 spot the man. Cautiously creeping back to the 
 house, he crawled along to the side window and, 
 
MEET AH LEAVES HOME. 53 
 
 peering in, saw Lorin Mooruck with the child 
 in his arms, sitting near Meetah, whose back 
 was toward the window. He drew his pistol 
 out ; it would be a fine thing to put a bullet in 
 the back of her head ; but as she leaned for- 
 ward, put her hand upon Lorin' s knee and 
 looked up into his face, Bob McHenry's arm 
 dropped. He seemed quivering with savage 
 glee ; he chuckled hoarsely to himself, and 
 stealing away, muttered between his broken 
 teeth, "I know a better way to bring yer round, 
 my fine young squaw a better way ; " and so, 
 skulking down the mountain side, he came 
 upon his cowardly partner waiting for him be- 
 hind a huge boulder. 
 
 He twitted and threatened him by turns for 
 running from so small game as a lone Indian, 
 then forgave him enough to reveal his fiendish 
 plan. Together they talked it over, rolling from 
 side to side with boisterous laughter. Dum- 
 frey's explosive words were tinged with deep 
 enjoyment as he ejaculated between bursts of 
 hee-haws, " You're a rare one ! you'll get both 
 birds with one stroke ! " 
 
 "You cannot remain here longer, Meetah/' 
 Lorin was saying. "I could scarce keep my 
 fingers from that man's throat ; but if I did 
 violence to him, I knew every one in the village 
 would be made to suffer. Death is too good for 
 
54 LORIN MOORUCIC 
 
 him ; hell not bad enough. To think that yon 
 can be in danger from that fiend ! " 
 
 " It is not so much that I am in danger/' she 
 answered. "I will come to no worse harm than 
 death, if that be harm ; and oh, it would ! How 
 could I give up our future ! Why cannot we 
 live like other people ! We are hunted and 
 hounded as though we were cursed. Do the 
 people in the East know there are white sav- 
 ages ? They talk of helping us. Oh, if I could 
 but speak to the world and tell the truth ! " 
 
 " We are so far away, they cannot realize our 
 true life," he answered. 
 
 " But we have no chance to work out our 
 lives. They border our villages with the de- 
 praved white people their crowded cities will 
 not tolerate ; and at last, when we refuse to 
 submit to these border thieves, they think in 
 the East why, there are savages there, but 
 the) always picture them red savages. There 
 is no one to tell our story. Do you think if I 
 were to speak, any one would listen ? " 
 
 " I do not know, Meetah ; I think there are 
 some prejudiced people who remember only the 
 past. They would think you the only developed 
 person out of your whole people." 
 
 " But look at Leena, at Natsee, at John 
 Turner, Elmer, Francis, why, no end of our 
 friends who are as anxious as we " 
 
MEETAH LEAVES HOME. 55 
 
 "I know," he interrupted; "but you could 
 not take them with you. You could not dissolve 
 deep-rooted prejudice in an instant ; it must be 
 gradual. If we had a surer faith that what we 
 did was not altogether hopeless, we would do it 
 better; more men and women in the village 
 would take heart. Our people have lived here 
 in peace for over sixty years ; but if we are to 
 be denied the right to our own homes and driven 
 away by violence, we shall have to fight. Peo- 
 ple are so used to hear that we are driven from 
 our homes, that it makes no impression upon 
 them : they cannot picture what it means to us. 
 If it were a different people in a foreign country 
 who were thrust out, they would sympathize 
 with them, raise money, offer them homes here, 
 no matter how degraded they were ; but we, no 
 matter how we strive to improve, they have no 
 sympathy for us in this country ; they think we 
 are not human." 
 
 " But they were kind to me, Lorin," she said, 
 softly rubbing her cheek against that of the 
 cooing child, which had glanced up frightened 
 into Lorin's face as he spoke, and held out its 
 arms to her. " They cling to the picturesque, 
 and fancy we are always riding wild horses, with 
 feathers stuck in our hair. If they saw me in 
 this common calico gown, saw me at the wash- 
 tub, or teaching school, I know they would be 
 
56 LOR1N MOORUCK. 
 
 provoked," she said, laughing. "But I do get 
 very much out of patience, and sometimes," 
 raising her earnest eyes to his, "sometimes I 
 feel so strong in spirit, as if I could do so much 
 for us all, and suddenly I imagine a sea of white, 
 incredulous faces turned to mine then, I am 
 sick at heart. I feel that we are misunderstood 
 by people willing to help us, if they could only 
 realize that we are eager and willing to help 
 ourselves ; but the reports they hear are always 
 of Indians who fight ; one side only is shown ; 
 they do not know how for very home, life, 
 wife, child, the Indian has been driven to fight. 
 There are many people whose hearts are filled 
 with good purpose. The false impression they 
 have of us works us the greatest wrong. I saw 
 it when I was East : all the people looked and 
 wondered that I was an Indian, and yet had 
 their ways and knowledge ; half of them do not 
 remember that through an Indian's exertion in 
 lecturing, a great part of the money for Dart- 
 mouth College was raised. They are always 
 amazed to see us educated." 
 
 " It is too late to turn back," Lorin answered. 
 " We must advance. But the pity of ^it is that 
 we have not yet learned the grasping tendency 
 of the whites. I was trying to persuade old 
 Samson to-day that the white man's God was 
 full of love and compassion, but he said, ' I do 
 
MEET AH LEAVES HOME. 57 
 
 not believe it. The white man's God is money. 
 I pray to the Great Spirit, but the white man 
 prays to money the silver dollar.' ' 
 
 " I do not wonder at Samson's impression. 
 Perhaps it would be better if I only thought of 
 our lives, yours and mine ; but all my life I 
 have been weighted with the sorrows of our 
 people." 
 
 "It is because you are a brave woman," he 
 answered, tenderly and proudly, "and never will 
 be content to live to yourself. Whatever you 
 do will be right, Meetah. If you go out to 
 make the world hear the truth, be sure my spirit 
 always will be near you. Nothing can part us ; 
 death itself would not forbid my love to reach 
 you, or yours to affect all my being." He arose, 
 and leaning back of her chair, touched her hair 
 with his lips. " I am sure you carry a blessing 
 with you wherever you go, whatever you do. 
 Meetah, if I should ever 
 
 "What was that, Lorin ? " cried Meetah, 
 starting up. 
 
 There was a slow rattling movement of the 
 kitchen door : both went out to see, and as 
 Lorin unfastened and opened wide the clap- 
 board door, Joseph and Hannah entered. Meetah 
 heaved a quick sigh of relief to find it was only 
 they ; a smile curved the corners of her mouth, 
 as she became conscious of her nervousness. 
 
5 8 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 Hannah's face was radiant with smiles ; Joseph 
 looked solemn, but no longer troubled. 
 
 " We have the money ! " Hannah exclaimed. 
 
 "The money!" ejaculated Meetah, with 
 clouded brow. 
 
 " Well/' said Hannah, " not exactly the money, 
 but just as good. The Iroots, Hamptons, John- 
 sons, and others have said they would give the 
 money to us that they would have given the 
 lawyer if he had taken up the case against Mc- 
 Henry." 
 
 "But," interposed Meetah, " because of their 
 sympathy they do not stop to think that you 
 would be paying Bob McHenry for spoiling 
 cornfields." 
 
 Hannah looked troubled and disappointed. 
 Lorin felt sorry for her, and said, " Don't you 
 see, Hannah, that what Meetah says is true ? 
 If you gave him the money that was to have 
 been used to try the case against him, you would 
 really be paying him for cheating you. Don't 
 you see, Joseph, that by giving him the money, 
 you will be acknowledging that your one cow 
 destroyed his fields ? Can't you see that it 
 would be absurd ? You ought not to give the 
 man one cent. Let the matter rest awhile. 
 Meetah will be safe at Mr. Tuscan's, and I will 
 see if my good friend Mr. Harrold cannot get 
 this thing straightened, out : there certainly is 
 
MEETAH LEAVES HOME. 59 
 
 some way. I will start to-night instead of to- 
 morrow, and see Mr. Harrold in the morning. 
 I am sure he will help us." 
 
 " Tell your friends we do not want the 
 money," said Meetah, persuasively. "They 
 were all too good to offer it. We will see if we 
 are not in some way protected by the law." 
 
 "When you see Bob McHenry," said Moo 
 ruck, turning to Joseph, "tell him I will settle 
 all with him. Meetah will be at Mr. Tuscan's, 
 and you will be safe here for a little time." 
 
 "Easy to say," Hannah replied dejectedly, 
 as she threw off her shawl, and took the child 
 from Meetah. " Fair words are easily said and 
 easier forgotten. It is one thing to look at the 
 sunshine, but one needs more heart to face the 
 gloom. Bob McHenry is a crafty man, and we 
 have no protection against him." 
 
 It took a great deal of patient showing before 
 Joseph and Hannah could be made to see that 
 they must not give McHenry money ; as for 
 the shooting, neither Lorin nor Meetah men- 
 tioned it. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when Meetah 
 bade them good by, and with Lorin, who car- 
 ried her little box, went to the Tuscans'. 
 
 After tea was over, Mr. Tuscan and his wife 
 left Lorin and Meetah to visit alone, and when 
 they returned from the evening service, they 
 
6O LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 found Lorin still there. He arose in surprise 
 as they entered. He was to leave that night, 
 and yet the time had seemed, so short he had 
 not dreamed how late it was. 
 
 Meetah followed him to the gate. The sad- 
 ness of the lingering parting only enhanced the 
 brightness of their future life when nothing 
 would separate them. 
 
 At last Lorin was gone, and Meetah brooded 
 alone in the darkness, miserably happy. " Ah ! " 
 she sighed, " these three days have passed 
 like no others in my life never to be lived 
 again. Yet, if I try, my life will grow better, 
 our days may be more beautiful. I ought to be 
 a noble woman with such happiness as this in 
 my heart." Turning about, she entered the 
 house with smiling face. 
 
MR. HARROLD'S LETTER. 61 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 MR. HARROLD'S LETTER. 
 
 LORIN'S eyes were raised to the stars as he 
 rode over the foot-hills at the base of the moun- 
 tain, his whole being filled with the grandeur of 
 the unalterable will and purpose of his Creator, 
 the sublimity of space, the fathomless radiance 
 above. The vast silence awed him ; he paused 
 a moment, drinking in the glory of the whole. 
 Then, in a rich, soul-vibrant voice, his spirit 
 alive with adoration, he broke forth into the Te 
 Deum Laudamus, and, as he wound on around 
 the mountain slope, answering echoes followed 
 him, the mountain's voice quivering with the 
 ascending praise and exultation. 
 
 When Meetah awoke next morning and found 
 herself in the Tuscans' home, she could not at 
 first remember where she was ; but soon she 
 was up, helping the children dress, and after an 
 early breakfast, hurried as usual to the school- 
 house. 
 
 At night she came home tired but expectant, 
 hoping for some word from Lorin. He would 
 be at Crespy that morning, and certainly Pietro, 
 
62 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 the mail-carrier, who was his friend, would bring 
 some message to her as he passed through the 
 
 village on his way to Fort S ; but no letter 
 
 came that day. Meetah sighed, smiled, and 
 knew she had expected to hear too soon. 
 
 The next day, when she went to the store 
 and asked for a letter, she was again disap- 
 pointed, but the store-keeper gave her a letter 
 for Mr. Tuscan. It was directed in a broad, 
 clear hand, and bore the postmark of Crespy. 
 Meetah's heart was aflutter as she walked along 
 and gazed at the letter in curious wonder it 
 might have some message for her ; but she 
 laughed at her own impetuosity, and, handing it 
 to Mr. Tuscan, flew away to her room to work 
 out some difficult problem in arithmetic for the 
 morrow's lesson. She wished to make sure she 
 had not forgotten it ; beside, it would serve to 
 work off her nervous expectancy. Scarcely had 
 she opened her book when Mr. Tuscan called 
 from the bottom of the stairs. She hurried 
 down and found him in the sitting-room. 
 
 "Take a chair, my dear girl," he said, spread- 
 ing the letter out upon his knees, and readjust- 
 ing his spectacles. 
 
 But Meetah stood waiting. Something in 
 his voice startled her. He looked up over the 
 brim of his spectacles, as she remained standing. 
 Instantly her old habit of obedience came back ; 
 
MR. HARROLD'S LETTER. 63 
 
 she seated herself upon the edge of a chair 
 opposite, and was silent with dread. 
 
 "This letter is from Mr. Harrold," Mr. Tus- 
 can explained; "it is about Mooruck." 
 
 She did not speak. 
 
 He looked up at her. "Would you like to 
 read it, my dear ? " 
 
 "Thank you, yes." She eagerly held out her 
 hand for it. The kind minister's troubled, gray 
 eyes were fixed upon her face as she read : 
 
 Town of Crespy. 
 
 Monday evening. 
 DEAR MR. TUSCAN : 
 
 I have often heard Lorin 
 Mooruck speak of you, and know you will give 
 him this message. 
 
 She looked up at the date. It was written 
 Monday. 
 
 I do not direct the letter to him, because 
 there is a good deal of double play hereabouts 
 where an Indian is concerned. I fear he would 
 never receive it. Will you kindly tell him that 
 I expected him to-day. 
 
 Meetah caught her breath. 
 
 Tell him to come as soon as possible. Work 
 is promised that only he can finish. I know 
 some matter of importance has detained him, 
 but tell him to start immediately, and you will 
 greatly oblige, 
 
 Yours very truly, 
 ANDREW HARROLD. 
 
64 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 She handed the letter back. " Mr. Balch goes 
 to Crespy in to-night's stage," she gasped. " I 
 will go too. Lorin is sick. We will find him 
 somewhere on the road. Quick ! Mr. Tuscan, 
 get me some brandy, some linen, some food. 
 Please send Henry to Mr. Balch to say that I 
 will go too." 
 
 Before Mr. Tuscan could speak, she had left 
 the room. 
 
 "This will never do," muttered the minister, 
 shaking his head and calling for his wife Nancy, 
 whose wise counsel helped him out of many 
 difficulties. She appeared in the door-way, her 
 hands covered with flour. After reading the 
 letter she carefully wiped her hands, smoothed 
 down her apron, and announced decidedly : " No 
 biscuits for supper to-night ! Of course she 
 wants to go, the most natural thing in the 
 world, poor child ! Go find your old satchel, 
 Philip ; I will put the necessary things in it. It 
 is in the garret somewhere, on the top shelf, 
 I think, beside those pamphlets. I will go and 
 help Meetah, poor girl ! " And she bustled off 
 with motherly tenderness. 
 
 "Well!" Mr. Tuscan ejaculated, "they cer- 
 tainly take things in an odd way. I will not 
 tell them what I think. Poor Meetah ! " Drop- 
 ping upon his knees he offered a prayer, asking 
 
MR. HARROLD'S LETTER. 65 
 
 with fervor that Lorin and Meetah might each 
 be protected from all harm. 
 
 When he arose, his first thought was to see 
 Mr. Balch. He entirely forgot about the satchel, 
 the linen, brandy, and food ; he opened the 
 outer door and walked rapidly, with head bent, 
 down the path, almost knocking down a woman 
 in his haste. 
 
 "Oh! it is you, Hannah!" 
 
 *I suppose Meetah is in the house?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes; she is in the house," he answered 
 slowly, taking time to think whether it would 
 be best to tell Hannah about the letter or not. 
 Then after due consideration he said : 
 
 " Have you heard about Lorin ? " 
 
 " Only that he was at Smike's Ranch at day- 
 light Monday. You have heard from him since 
 he got to Crespy, I suppose ? " 
 
 "Who told you he was at Smike's Ranch? 
 Did any one see him there ? " 
 
 " Tomlinson told Joseph he saw him and 
 spoke to him there." 
 
 "You had better go and tell Meetah," said 
 Mr. Tuscan. " She had not even heard that 
 much ; we were afraid something had happened 
 to him. Tell Meetah I want to see her too, 
 will you?" and he followed Hannah into the 
 house, and, while she found her way up stairs, 
 
66 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 lay back in an easy-chair wondering what means 
 he had best use to prevent Meetah from starting 
 for C re spy. 
 
 He waited some time, revolving over and over 
 different means of persuasion that might have 
 effect upon her, yet she did not come. Over- 
 head he heard a treading to and fro, accom- 
 panied by the low voices of women ; growing 
 impatient, he opened the door to call her, but 
 she was coming slowly down the stairs, followed 
 by Hannah, who passed swiftly across the room, 
 wishing him good-night as she closed the porch 
 door. 
 
 "I have been waiting for you," smiled Mr. 
 Tuscan, good-naturedly. " Your sister has told 
 you the news ? " 
 
 Meetah bowed her head. 
 
 " It is much better for you not to go : it 
 would be a useless journey. Lorin got to 
 Smike's Ranch all right, and in all probability 
 there is some mistake in Mr. Harrold's letter 
 some error about the date. If he is in Crespy, 
 Mr. Harrold has seen him by this time. Wait 
 until to-morrow. It will be useless for you to 
 go, perfectly useless," he repeated, as she made 
 no reply and stood perfectly still, no trace of 
 excitement in either her face or manner. Some- 
 how all his preconceived logic vanished ; his sym- 
 pathetic nature overcame all reasoning power, 
 
MR. HARROLD'S LETTER. 67 
 
 his heart ached for her, and perhaps, after all, 
 Mooruck had not reached Crespy. " It is almost 
 time for the stage now," he continued, resolved 
 to be prudent. "You are not ready, and it is 
 best that you decided not to go." 
 
 " You have always been very good to me, Mr. 
 Tuscan" her soft eyes fixed upon his kindly 
 face. " Until now I have always been glad to 
 take your wise counsel ; but now, I think I 
 know myself what is right now." She came 
 toward him with both hands outstretched. " You 
 will forgive me ? I know you mean to be a good 
 friend to us both, but you would not ask me to 
 leave Lorin, dying, alone, in misery, without 
 aid?" 
 
 " Well, well," he said, his eyes moist as he 
 took her hands in one of his, softly stroking 
 them with the other, " perhaps you are right ; 
 I do not dare to judge. I will go for the satchel, 
 as Nancy said." 
 
 She detained him. " There is no need ; Mrs. 
 Tuscan found an old bag for me. My things 
 are packed. I am all ready when I put on my 
 bonnet and shawl." 
 
 " I will go and tell Mr. Balch, then. It be- 
 hooves me to be active," - with a smile, " else I 
 might break down, for you are so brave, dear 
 girl!" 
 
 Her calmness distressed him more than tears. 
 
68 LOR1N MOORUCK. 
 
 " I shall be thankful if you will see Mr. Balch 
 and say I would like to go with him but one 
 moment, please, until I tell you my plans. Han- 
 nah has gone to ask Elmer Stone to come too. 
 He was going into Crespy the last of the week. 
 Lorin rode a horse of his, and he is going to 
 bring it home with him. He is going to visit 
 Lorin. I thought he might start with me to- 
 night ; he has a pony I often ride. Hannah 
 has gone to ask him to bring that too, so that 
 after we reach Smike's Ranch we can go off 
 the main road, over the mountains, and search 
 for Lorin. He will likely bring John Turner 
 with him, and they will ride with the stage 
 until we reach the ranch. Then I will mount, 
 and we will start off. I remember hearing 
 Lorin say that a shorter road ran along the 
 slope of the mountain ; he may have taken that. 
 Hannah will see about some one to take my 
 place in school, though whom, I cannot think." 
 
 " No matter, my dear ; don't worry about that ; 
 I can easily get some one to fill your place. I 
 have a man in my mind this very minute he'll 
 do first rate," said Mr. Tuscan cheerily, think- 
 ing of himself. " Now I will go and see our 
 friend, Mr. Balch. I could not consign you 
 to better hands. He is a fatherly man, has 
 daughters of his own at home, and I am sure 
 he will care for you." 
 
MR. HAKROLD'S LETTER. 69 
 
 Mrs. Tuscan tried in vain to persuade Mee- 
 tah to take some food before the stage came. 
 When the rumbling stage drove up, Meetah, in 
 bonnet and shawl, with her bag in hand, was 
 waiting at the gate. Several people in the vil- 
 lage had heard of her going, and a knot of men 
 and women had gathered to bid her good by 
 and God speed. 
 
 She knelt with bowed head as an old man 
 with wrinkled face and long white hair feebly 
 raised his hands in blessing over her. He was 
 the oldest man in the village, and much rev- 
 erenced by the people : it was a good omen, 
 they whispered, that he was there to bless 
 Meetah. 
 
 Elmer Stone was there also, and called to 
 Meetah as the stage drove off, " I will be up 
 to you before the stage reaches the ranch : you 
 can trust me to be there when you need me." 
 
 She smiled sadly, waving her hand. She 
 knew well that Elmer would keep his word. 
 
 Over the creek and around the mountain they 
 rode in the coming dusk, Mr. Balch keeping 
 silent, for he knew Meetah was busy with 
 serious plans. The darkness fell, and still 
 they rode over creek and mountain, the little 
 rill of water coming back again and again for 
 the nineteenth time, till they left it and plunged 
 into a narrow ravine. The night grew apace, 
 
?O LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 the moon hid her light, and on they rode, dark 
 mountains rising on either side like huge mon- 
 sters. Meetah leaned far out, trying to catch 
 sight of the stars that unwillingly glimmered 
 amidst the passing clouds ; then wearily throw- 
 ing herself back against the seat, she exclaimed : 
 " I wish I had my knitting, something, any- 
 thing to do anything but this terrible waiting 
 with hands folded. A thousand thoughts rush 
 through my mind, the last more horrible than 
 the first. What do you think could have hap- 
 pened to Lorin ?" 
 
 Mr. Balch, appealed to in this passionate 
 manner, endeavored to imagine something to 
 detain Lorin, something with no evil following. 
 At last he said, " No doubt his horse has gone 
 lame, and he is obliged to walk." 
 
 "Ah! yes," Meetah answered slowly ; "if it 
 only were that, but ' then she tightened her 
 lips and became silent. 
 
 As the morning dawned, they wound around the 
 curved mountain road, down into a deep canon, 
 and out upon an open plain ; stray cattle graz- 
 ing here and there told of some habitation near. 
 
 Meetah leaned far out of the stage, glancing 
 back to see if Elmer Stone and his friends were 
 coming ; but no one followed them. 
 
 "You think they will come in time, do you ? " 
 Mr. Balch asked anxiously. 
 
MR. HARROLD S LETTER. /I 
 
 "Yes, I am sure Elmer will come. He will 
 be in time. I cannot bear to think I might 
 have to wait at the ranch I could not. If 
 they are not there when we arrive, I shall go 
 on alone, on foot. I cannot wait ^o see where 
 Lorin is and what has happened." 
 
 " If they are not there, I shall go on with 
 you/' Mr. Balch said decidedly. "I presume 
 they could accommodate me at the ranch until 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "I would not have you wait," Meetah inter- 
 posed. " I am not afraid to go alone, but Elmer 
 promised to bring the pony for me. I am sure 
 he will come. They were not to leave until 
 midnight ; and if they took the road over the 
 mountain, they ought to come out on this plain 
 somewhere near here, as that path joins this 
 road. They will surely come." 
 
 She relapsed into silence ; but as the wheels 
 revolved, her thoughts kept time : " The horses 
 are so slow so slow so slow. Drive faster, 
 faster, faster ! O God ! keep him safe from 
 harm ! If the driver would let me urge the 
 horses once, just once. If they would go 
 faster, faster, faster ! " 
 
 Suddenly behind them arose a cloud of dust ; 
 they could see the ranch in the distance, a low, 
 rambling, one-storied dwelling made of mud and 
 stones. The ranch was now only a quarter of 
 
72 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 a mile away ; cattle were grazing near the road ; 
 goats, watched by a faithful shepherd dog, 
 stopped nibbling and raised their bearded chins 
 and staring eyes, as the creaking stage, with its 
 white, dust-covered horses, drew near. Still 
 nearer came the cloud of dust ; Meetah looked 
 out. "Thank God, they have come at last!" 
 she said reverently, but at that moment shots 
 struck the stage. One of the horses plunged, 
 reared, and fell; the stage stopped with a jerk. 
 The air was filled with the sound of cries and 
 whizzing bullets. 
 
 Mr. Balch, in excitement, anger, and surprise, 
 thought, " This is treachery so much for an 
 Indian's promise ! " 
 
 But Meetah heard Elmer's voice above all the 
 din. " Quick ! It is the people at the ranch ; a 
 flag of truce ! " 
 
 She snatched part of a sheet from her bag, 
 that was meant for bandages. Seizing Mr. Balch's 
 umbrella, she tied one end to it, and sprang out 
 amidst the shots and cries. 
 
THE LIGHT STRUCK OUT. 73 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE LIGHT STRUCK OUT. 
 
 THE people at the ranch, seeing the white flag, 
 suspended hostilities. Elmer Stone urged his 
 pony toward Meetah, and leaning over, took the 
 flag from her trembling hand, as he murmured, 
 " Bravely done," and galloped on toward the 
 ranch. 
 
 Two of his friends came forward to help the 
 stage driver, who was striving to remove the 
 harness from the dead horse ; a third bent over 
 the wounded form of a comrade. Meetah has- 
 tened to him. With Mr. Balch as assistant, 
 she succeeded in binding the wounded arm of 
 young Wahsoo ; she gave him some brandy from 
 the flask in her bag, and then left his friend to 
 care for him while she and Mr. Balch walked 
 quickly toward the ranch. 
 
 An excited group crowded about the door of 
 the long, low, mud-colored building. In their 
 midst, his back toward Meetah Tocare and the 
 Eastern gentleman, was Elmer Stone demanding 
 an explanation. Back in the hall, near the door, 
 were the shrinking forms and white faces of the 
 
74 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 women. The question, in Meetah's eyes and 
 on her lips, was for Lorin, but she controlled 
 her impatience and waited. 
 
 " I see no excuse for your firing upon us as 
 though we were a pack of hungry wolves, " Elmer 
 was saying. "What were you afraid of?" 
 
 "That's just it. We seen a lot of Injuns 
 swoopin' down on us, and thout we'd show 
 fight." 
 
 " Smike, you'd best make a clean breast of 
 it," said one of the men, nudging him ; "no one's 
 goin' to take your scalp." 
 
 Smike looked cautiously about, as though an 
 assassin lurked near, and lowering his voice, 
 said : " The truth of it is, we thout you'd come 
 down to burn th' ranch and murder every moth- 
 er's son of us. We thout you'd come for re- 
 venge. That's the whole of it;" spreading his 
 hands as though having laid bare his soul. 
 
 "That's a queer story," said Elmer Stone; 
 " revenge for what ? " 
 
 Smike glanced around keenly at his own men 
 and answered: "We heard of a row a few miles 
 beyond/down by th' creek, between some whites 
 an' some of the men from your village. You 
 might ride on an' see if you rec'nize any of 'em. 
 We thout mebbe you might toss the blame on 
 us. We'd nothin' to do with it. We seen you 
 comin' on in the dust, an' thout there was more 
 
THE LIGHT STRUCK OUT. 75 
 
 on you. I'm sorry 'bout the firm', but blessed if 
 I could a held th' men back." 
 
 While he spoke, Elmer's quick eye glanced 
 into the hall where the women were huddled 
 together. He noticed two strapped trunks, and 
 near them, shawls and bags : the women wore 
 bonnets. 
 
 "Why are the women going to leave the 
 ranch?" he asked suddenly. "They were evi- 
 dently going on this stage. You have killed 
 the horse : unless you put one in its stead they 
 will have to wait." Fixing his clear, penetrative 
 gaze upon Smike, he continued: "We will not 
 remain much longer waiting for the truth. You 
 have not told it. Why are the women to leave? 
 and why do you persist in lying ? As I rode up, 
 I saw that cream-colored mare over there : this is 
 not the first time I have seen that animal. You 
 might as well tell the truth now, and here." He 
 dismounted, and holding his pony by the bridle, 
 walked up and faced Smike. 
 
 As he spoke, each one in the group glanced at 
 the mare, grazing at the end of its lariat rope, 
 but neither Meetah nor Mr. Balch understood 
 the reference. 
 
 "I'm not afraid to tell th' story if you want 
 it," blurted out Smike, who was in truth a good 
 fellow, but had been until now inventing tales, 
 that the women might have time to get off. It 
 
/6 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 was evident that Elmer Stone was no hostile ; 
 the truth might as well be told. 
 
 " Monday mornin' come along a man from 
 your village, an' wanted breakfast here. Of 
 course you know he rode that there cream 
 mare." 
 
 Meetah's cheeks paled, her lips parted, her 
 eyes glowed. 
 
 "He carried a tony rifle with him." 
 
 Yes; Meetah remembered the beautiful ini- 
 tials he had carved upon the butt. 
 
 "He was standin' right along-side of th' 
 bir'.ldin', leanin' on his rifle like, waitin' for his 
 grub, when up rides two settlers. I could spot 
 either one of th' rough cowards. I saw 'em after ; 
 only th' women was here then. One on 'em, 
 th' biggest, drops off his horse, comes up to the 
 Injun an' says, ' Le' me have that gun!' My 
 old woman told me the Injun says, 'No,' and 
 somethin' 'bout squarin' accounts. With that 
 the man calls out, 'Dtimfrey, jump off an' take 
 it.' T'other fellow jumps from his horse and 
 reaches for the rifle. Back steps the Injun. 
 T'other man knocks the Injun down from be- 
 hind ; the Injun struggles, but th' man with the 
 rifle springs forward and knocks the Injun over 
 th 1 head. He fell in the doorway there. The 
 women begged the men not to murder him ; his 
 tribe would come and kill us ; but they dragged 
 
THE LIGHT STRUCK OUT. 77 
 
 him, half senseless as he was, and killed him. 
 We buried him yonder on the plain." 
 
 An agonized shriek pierced the air, making 
 the men and women shiver. Meetah, wild-eyed 
 and with terrible force, staggered toward the 
 man, and grasping him by the arms, cried out, 
 " The truth ! Is that the truth ? " 
 
 He started back, terror-stricken, gasping, as 
 he tried to shake himself free, " Take her off ! 
 She is mad ! " 
 
 Elmer turned upon Mr. Balch. "Had you 
 no mercy, no pity, to bring her here ?" 
 
 As he spoke, Meetah's arms fell. " You do 
 not believe it is true," she said, raising her 
 tortured face to him. 
 
 " I fear something terrible has happened," he 
 said in an awed, solemn voice. 
 
 She turned slowly from one face to another 
 in the silent group, with eyes that seemed to 
 have lost their sight ; then her gaze rested upon 
 Elmer Stone. She pointed her finger at him, 
 saying, in a rapid, smothered voice, "You 
 know Lorin. Take me to him." 
 
 " Heaven knows I would if I could. Thank 
 God ! she does not realize what has happened." 
 
 "The grave is over yonder," jerked out 
 Smike, pointing over on the plain. 
 
 " Come ! " and Meetah wildly grasped at El- 
 mer's arm. " Come ! He needs me." 
 
78 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 Elmer handed the reins of his pony to a man 
 near. The men and women, who had crowded 
 around, fell back in awed silence. Meetah fol- 
 lowed close upon Smike's footsteps, as he led 
 the way, her arms crossed beneath the back of 
 her head, her eyes upon the ground as though 
 searching for something lost. Elmer, in pain 
 and sorrow, walked near her, Mr. Balch follow- 
 ing. In the background were the men and 
 women, uncertain whether to come or to remain 
 where they were. 
 
 Upon the broad prairie, surrounded by rug- 
 ged mountains, lay a little mound of newly 
 turned earth. About it grouped the four peo- 
 ple, the men with heads uncovered, Meetah in 
 the same strange position, her eyes upon the 
 dark mound. 
 
 Suddenly she loosened her arms, looked up 
 with wide, dark-lined eyes, and in a voice never 
 to be forgotten, asked, " Will you not leave 
 me? It is mine. Leave me to my own." Her 
 eyes fell, her lips trembled; and as they turned 
 away, she cast herself upon the ground, moaning 
 piteously. 
 
 The three men stood at a distance beneath a 
 clump of young trees, Elmer Stone with prayers 
 and entreaties begging them to go away and 
 leave Meetah to herself ; he would watch over 
 her from a distance, " Some people might 
 
THE LIGHT STRUCK OUT. 79 
 
 faint with grief, but her sorrow is too deep for 
 that." 
 
 Finally they left him watching. He strove 
 painfully to realize her grief, to put himself in 
 perfect sympathy with her. 
 
 Meetah's mind aroused itself to a dim con- 
 sciousness of darkness closing in upon every 
 side. She could not escape it ; she might fight 
 to the death, but this darkness would choke her. 
 She could never wake in light again. She 
 might dig deep into the earth, but this darkness 
 would surround her. What to do ! Face it, 
 stifle it, yet would it arise and envelop her. A 
 moment ago Lorin was with her in a breath 
 he was gone, annihilated. It took but a mo- 
 ment. Something had happened. They were 
 never again to be together. She was left alone 
 in a cold, vast space where he would never 
 come. Why should a moment drag all light 
 from a life ? a moment, such a little thing, why 
 should it be a gulf to divide happiness from 
 eternity ? Happiness eternity what were 
 they ? She laughed shrilly. What was either ? 
 No one could tell. People always differed over 
 nothing ; there was neither. She half raised 
 herself upon her hands ; her shawl and bonnet 
 had fallen off. Why, the sun was shining ! It 
 was round and bright was that God ? 
 
 Her eyes fell upon the earth. " That damp 
 
8O LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 mound, what is it ? " she muttered. " Ah, Lorin's 
 statue ! that is it ; they are trying to hide it. 
 They have buried it ; they are afraid people 
 will see. They fear he will be great. Ha-ha ! 
 ha-ha ! He shall ! He shall! I will uncover it. 
 Lorin, never fear; you shall be great ! " 
 
 With tugging and hasty breathing, she dug 
 in the wet clay, clawing handfuls of the earth 
 away. 
 
 Elmer Stone, hearing the insane laughter, 
 hastened to her, but not until the ghastly form 
 of Lorin Mooruck lay half uncovered, as she 
 bent above, crooning a soft lullaby. 
 
 Horrified and amazed, he knew tha^ much 
 depended upon his self-command. 
 
 "What are you doing ? " he said sternly. 
 
 She started and looked up at him with a 
 blank stare. 
 
 "Come, get up. You are going to Crespy." 
 He held out his hands to her. " Come ; we are 
 going to Crespy." 
 
 Slowly a light seemed to dawn in her bewil- 
 dered face ; she half arose, then turned to look : 
 suddenly, with a terrible cry, she seemed to 
 realize what was before her. She got hastily 
 upon her feet. "They made him suffer. Re- 
 venge! that is all that is left." She paused, 
 turned slowly backward, and with arms out- 
 stretched, cried, " Lorin, Lorin, come back to 
 
THE LIGHT STRUCK OUT. 8 1 
 
 me. O God! I cannot bear it ! Lorin! Lorin!" 
 
 She took one step forward and fell heavily. 
 
 ******* 
 
 The sun was shining, the birds were singing, 
 and the yellow stage, drawn by a white horse 
 and a small cream-colored mare, came rattling 
 over the prairie on its way to the viHage of 
 Natsee : in it were two well-dressed men from 
 Maine. The younger was hastily making notes 
 as they jolted along, He was, for the time, a 
 special correspondent for a New York weekly. 
 
 The older man, a senator, had come out to 
 this unknown country for new scenes and sights, 
 to rest his mind and exercise his body, after a 
 busy city life. 
 
 " Hollo ! " said the younger, as the plain dis- 
 appeared, and they plunged into a ravine, " what 
 is that curious object over there ? No. You 
 are looking the wrong way ; the other side of 
 the ravine something j ogging along. Couldn't 
 be a buffalo all by himself." 
 
 " Possibly ; I hardly think so," replied the 
 senator. " Some curious phenomena of the 
 West. I see you have your pencil ready." 
 
 " Yes," laughed the younger. " Down she 
 goes when we get nearer." 
 
 An hour afterwards he wrote : " Five Indians 
 on the mountain path one leading six horses, 
 using his left hand stolid, well-knit fellows. 
 
82 LOR1N MOORUCK. 
 
 Use ponies only in war ; when travelling save 
 the ponies' muscle and waste their own. In- 
 dians with close-cut hair and civilized dress ! 
 Four of them carrying a box weight heavy ; 
 two poles attached to box, one on either side." 
 
 " There, there ! now we're near enough to 
 speak. *I say, driver, driver! Give you a dol- 
 lar to stop ten minutes ! Hope they'll pay well 
 for this article." The horses are pulled up ; the 
 stage stops. 
 
 "Hollo there!" cries the enthusiast; then 
 sotto voce, " Don't suppose they know a word 
 of English." 
 
 The men stopped ; the one following with the 
 ponies also stood still. 
 
 "Where are you bound for ? " 
 
 Elmer Stone answered, " For the village of 
 Nat see." The four men slowly lowered their 
 burden, resting it upon the ground. 
 
 " You speak English ! Is that the way you 
 carry freight ? " asked the correspondent, pencil 
 in hand. 
 
 Elmer Stone did not answer; but Wahsoo, 
 who was leading the ponies, spoke in a hushed 
 voice : " It is the body of our friend, Lorin 
 Mooruck." 
 
 " Ah ! " the correspondent paused, then asked, 
 " You have his horse with you ? Was it an 
 accident ? " 
 
THE LIGHT STRUCK OUT. 83 
 
 Elmer pointed to one of the horses drawing 
 the stage: " That was the horse he rode. No 
 accident : he was killed in a brutal manner by 
 two white men who attacked him in the pres- 
 ence of some helpless women." 
 
 "Why did they kill him?" 
 
 " It is a sport of some white men here, an 
 amusement." 
 
 " But why do you carry him that way ? why 
 not bury him at home ? " 
 
 Elmer turned his deep eyes upon the ques- 
 tioner. " He has gone to his Home. We are 
 taking the shell back to the place of his child- 
 hood." 
 
 Surprised at the answer, the correspondent 
 turned to his friend, " Queer ! " then to Elmer, 
 " Don't suppose you know that a bill has passed 
 Congress, making you citizens of these United 
 States; under certain conditions, though." 
 
 " I have heard," was the laconic answer. 
 
 " Your land is to be apportioned to individ- 
 uals; after that you are citizens." 
 
 " Each of us has his patch of land now, 
 marked off and fenced. Under your law we 
 cannot rent our land it would be of no use 
 then to us who work in the lumber mills and 
 have no time for farming, or to the men who 
 can the salmon ; beside, one hundred and sixty 
 acres could not be found together for a farm 
 
84 LOR1N MOORUCK. 
 
 we live among the mountains ; as for grazing, 
 few of us have enough cattle to need much land 
 for that. Your law is good for some Indians, 
 but not for us. All white cities have not the 
 same laws, neither will one law be good for 
 all Indian villages make it to suit different 
 cases. But we want courts, we want law. He 
 was a citizen," pointing to the rough box upon 
 the ground, "subject to your laws. Let us see 
 if he will be protected by them." 
 
 It was rather embarrassing to the correspon- 
 dent, who had come out to teach the Indian, to 
 find him talking about law and the practical use 
 of a bill approved by the educated men of the 
 nation who were interested in the aboriginal's 
 welfare ; but swallowing his chagrin, he asked, 
 " What do you mean by the law protecting him ? 
 He is dead." 
 
 "Yes, murdered without cause by a white 
 settler, a citizen. A coward striking out the 
 life of a pure, noble soul. We will see what the 
 law does. The white man comes here and 
 preaches God and right ; beside him come other 
 white men sacrificing the lives of our women 
 and children. There is a flag, it is said, to pro- 
 tect those under it ; but us, you put outside of 
 it. A week ago your citizens offered a reward 
 for the scalp of any one of us. In our village is 
 law and order, but outside of it, here, lawless- 
 
THE LIGHT STRUCK OUT. 85 
 
 ness and death reign. You talk of the law; 
 what use is it unless you can enforce it ? Your 
 law is bought and sold here. We pay no tax ; 
 therefore your men hold us not worth the law. 
 You wish us to become part of the Republic. 
 You legislate ; even this law you speak of, what 
 is it unless properly carried out ? You form 
 laws for our good ; at the same time you allow 
 border men to take law into their own hands. 
 There are others beside philanthropists who 
 form laws and carry them out." He pointed to 
 the rough coffin with tragic intensity. "There 
 is their answer. Come among us if you would 
 have the right done. You try to help us from 
 too long a distance. Unless you are ready to 
 come and see your good plans carried out, you 
 merely dream about us, think of us as a peo- 
 ple unwilling for anything but a forest life. Do 
 not come to the village and see a poor, striving, 
 hard-working mass ; people who love, hope, 
 weep, laugh, and die. Go back to the East, 
 think you have made good laws, and there is an 
 end of wrong ; else put the fire of your soul 
 into the work, and bring us your law to be car- 
 ried out, your courts where justice is supreme. 
 Bring us your civil protection. Make laws for 
 our welfare, but enforce them." 
 
 The newspaper correspondent felt rebuffed. 
 He had not expected to meet an Indian as a 
 
86 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 man to respect. He imagined them helpless, 
 dependent ; he meant to sympathize with them. 
 
 The Indians took up their burden. The stage 
 rumbled on, while the eager young man from 
 Maine dropped his head forward, lost in thought, 
 and the older man murmured : 
 
 " After all, he is right. Making a good law is 
 but one step for the right ; unless one sees it 
 properly carried out, it were better not made. 
 Some people will let their interest cease when a 
 good law comes into view. They think all has 
 been done ; they stop at the most important 
 point, that of seeing it put into practice. A 
 man is a man be he Indian or white ; God cre- 
 ated each, and I hardly believe one was made 
 to have dominion over another. Grant you, in- 
 tellect is a power; yet would I rather be an 
 Egyptian mummy than a man all thought and 
 no feeling." He paused; he was having the 
 conversation all to himself; the correspondent 
 was leaning over his note-book with pencil fly- 
 ing along the page. 
 
THE LITTLE WHITE CKObS ON THE CLIFF. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE LITTLE WHITE CROSS ON THE CLIFF. 
 
 THE people at the ranch were very good to 
 Meetah. The women respected and were sorry 
 for her ; one of the women offered the use of 
 her room, when they carried Meetah in, and 
 there she was laid. 
 
 She gradually awoke to the darkness and 
 despair of consciousness. She arose, and asked 
 to be left alone. The woman quietly withdrew. 
 She sat by the closed window, alone in the 
 strange room. She pressed her fingers to her 
 tearless eyes. Nothing could shut out the past ; 
 nothing could ward off the future. 
 
 In a desperate moment she had thought to 
 end her own life ; but that would only be putting 
 her further away from Lorin : a criminal might 
 never go where he was. 
 
 Anything would have been easier to bear 
 than the thought that Lorin had suffered at the 
 hands of murderers. If he had died of some 
 terrible disease she might have thought it one 
 of the plans in the all-wise Providence, but she 
 
88 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 could never think such a violent death as his 
 the result of any Supreme Will. 
 
 She arose, shuddering. What was her own 
 grief ; her own loss ? They would press their 
 claims always ; but Lorin's future, Lorin's life, 
 cut off, Lorin's dreams ended here, and by 
 whom ? Lorin an unwilling, defenceless victim, 
 Lorin struck down 
 
 She rushed from the room. It was not too 
 late, the stage had not gone. They were trying 
 to master the cream-colored mare ; they had 
 been hours trying to harness it. 
 
 Elmer Stone stood aloof, his hands shading 
 his eyes ; Meetah glided to him. 
 
 " You will take Lorin back to the mountains 
 he loved ? Do you remember the cliff, the 
 place where Lorin loved to dream ? there. " 
 
 She turned away ; he understood what she 
 meant. 
 
 Elmer put out his hand. " And you ? Where 
 are you going ? " His voice was husky. 
 
 "For justice; if not, then revenge. Mr. 
 Harrold will help me. I shall go to him. I 
 shall not believe there is a God in heaven 
 if " 
 
 "If what, Meetah?" 
 
 "Oh! I do not know. Do not ask me 
 Her face worked painfully as she turned away. 
 
 Mr. Harrold wondered and waited for Lorin 
 
THE LITTLE WHITE CROSS ON THE CLIFF. 89 
 
 three days, and neither sight of him nor word. 
 On the morning of the fourth day, as he sat 
 beside his log fire, in the sitting-room, still won- 
 dering about Lorin, his door burst open, a 
 woman with haggard eyes and wan features 
 stood upon the threshold. 
 
 " You did not hear my knock, and I could 
 not wait. O Mr. Harrold, help me ! Lorin is 
 dead. Killed by two white men murdered ! " 
 Then she stood staring before her. Suddenly : 
 " On a lonely plain I found him, dead." Eagerly : 
 " Have you seen him ? Have you seen Lorin ? 
 Tell me, tell me, for I am Meetah Tocare." 
 
 She put her hands to her forehead, then with 
 a puzzled look : " This is Mr. Harrold, I believe ? 
 I am Meetah Tocare. Have I told you about 
 Lorin ? I am very weary. I do not believe I 
 know what I say, I ." She paused, and in a 
 hushed voice said, " He told me of this room. 
 Oh, you were so good, so kind to him ! Be good 
 to me. Help me ." 
 
 Mr. Harrold could not doubt the horrible 
 truth. All that Lorin had said of Meetah came 
 back to him. Without a word he led her to an 
 easy-chair, and, going to the cupboard, brought 
 a glass of wine and put it to her lips. She drank 
 it, and, leaning back her head wearily, closed her 
 eyes. He stood a moment gazing at her. He 
 
9O LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 could not overcome the chilliness creeping 
 through his nerves. 
 
 Softly opening the hall door, he called his wife, 
 she who, as Miss Slater, had first directed his 
 attention to Lorin Mooruck. He spoke to her 
 hurriedly in the hall. She came into the room 
 and knelt by Meetah's side, taking the long, 
 slender hands of the Indian girl in hers. She 
 tenderly stroked them, while the hot tears rolled 
 down her cheeks at sight of Meetah's face. 
 
 At her touch, Meetah unclosed her eyes, 
 looking long and earnestly at her : " Yes, Lorin 
 spoke of you, too. You were good to him." 
 She leaned forward and lightly touched Mrs. 
 Harrold's cheek with the tip of her finger. 
 "Tears ! You will help me, too, then." 
 
 She turned her face to the artist. "There 
 was a statue you will let me see it." She 
 arose, steadied herself by the chair, refusing 
 assistance. 
 
 " Is it not better for you to rest, to " Mr. 
 Harrold paused. 
 
 "Me" rest? me rest?" She shook her head 
 slowly. " No ; no more rest for me ; never 
 again." 
 
 He left her in the studio and turned silently 
 away, but not before he saw her start, catch 
 her breath, her hand to her heart, pause, then 
 fling herself upon her knees, her lips to the cold 
 
THE LITTLE WHITE CROSS ON THE CLIFF. 9 1 
 
 marble, her arms thrown protectingly around it, 
 while her whole form shook with convulsive sobs. 
 
 " Poor thing, poor thing ! Don't you think 
 we had better take her away ? " said Mrs. Har- 
 rold, raising her tear-stained cheeks to her hus- 
 band, as they heard the heart-bursting sobs. 
 
 "No," he said taking her hands in his ; "no, 
 Madge ; these are probably the first tears the 
 poor heart has shed." His voice trembled. 
 
 She laid her head against his breast. " Our 
 happiness seems wicked in the face of grief like 
 that. Tell me, is it because we are white and 
 they are Indian, is that the reason it all hap- 
 pened ? Isn't a man a man, no matter about the 
 race ? Is a heart and soul of no account ? " 
 
 "I do not know," he answered. "God for- 
 bid that this wrong should be laid at our door, 
 that we should forget the soul, forget manhood, 
 right, and justice." 
 
 The manner of Lorin's death was very indis- 
 tinct in the mind of Mr. Harrold and his wife, 
 until Mr. Balch came and explained all to them. 
 
 Great anger was mixed with the artist's sor- 
 row at loss of his friend. He swore by all holy 
 things to help Meetah Tocare. He, too, cried, 
 "If not justice, then revenge;" but first he 
 would compel the law. 
 
 Mrs. Harrold proved a friend to Meetah ; a 
 sister could not have been more deferential or 
 
92 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 thoughtful to such grief. Meetah remained the 
 Harrolds' guest for many days ; looking up the 
 law, going with Mr. Harrold to first this one and 
 then that, endeavoring in all ways to urge the 
 law to mete out justice to Bob McHenry and 
 Dumfrey, of whom they had sufficient evidence 
 that they were the murderers. 
 
 Meetah spent much time in the studio, sitting 
 silently, her eyes on Mr. Harrold's work, or else 
 deep in dreaminess gazing at nothing. She 
 loved the place because there Lorin had begun 
 to realize his dreams. 
 
 One day as she stood beside Lorin's half- 
 finished statue, her fingers caressingly upon 
 the marble, she looked up at the artist, with 
 dreamy eyes and the shadow of a smile about 
 her lips, asking with hesitation, "Would it be 
 possible do you think I could ever learn to do 
 as Lorin did ? Do you think with years of per- 
 severance and work, I could ever go on with this 
 his work?" 
 
 Mr. Harrold shook his head : " I am afraid not ; 
 no one but Lorin could finish that." 
 
 "It is like my life," she murmured, "half 
 done half in the rough. The tools are dropped ; 
 it will never be finished as was meant." 
 
 Mrs. Harrold dropped her white sewing: "Ah, 
 Meetah, you have that within you which is im- 
 mortal, that which is meant to be beautiful, 
 
THE LITTLE WHITE CROSS ON THE CLIFF. 93 
 
 never to die. The statue's master is gone, the 
 spirit is dead. Your Master lives always, His 
 spirit lives in you. You will go on emerging ; 
 heart-break and bitter sorrow are oftenest the 
 tools with which His work is perfected/' 
 
 Meetah's eyes flashed up at her ; then the 
 tears filled them. She came to her, pressed 
 her hand : " Thank you, my sister. You have 
 given me a new thought." She passed silently 
 from the room, her head bent. 
 
 Mrs. Harrold heaved a sigh as her eyes fol- 
 lowed the girlish form. " I do not want her to 
 give up her young life," she said, turning to her 
 husband, "in endless rebellion. There is much 
 useful work for her to do in the world; she has 
 a strong influence, a fine mind, and what is 
 more, a sympathetic heart. She is a help to all 
 who know her ; there are many weary ones for 
 her to help. Who knows, that might have been 
 her mission, to taste the bitter dregs so that she 
 might be able to administer comfort to others." 
 
 " A very sad life, at best," the artist answered. 
 " I think she might have helped others quite as 
 much, if Lorin had not been brutally murdered." 
 
 At last Bob McHenry was arrested with the 
 rifle in his hand. There could be no mistake, 
 for the initials L. M. were wondrously carved 
 upon the butt. 
 
 Dumfrey had fled the country, the sheriff 
 
94 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 advising him to do so, until the excitement 
 should have died out. 
 
 The testimony of Smike, and that of the 
 women, established Bob McHenry's and his 
 accomplice's guilt beyond a doubt. After the 
 testimony and the examination, six thousand 
 dollars bail was accepted, and the murderer 
 released. 
 
 Meetah left the court-room in feverish ex- 
 citement ; she was ready to return to the village 
 now that the law was in operation ; but Mr. Har- 
 rold, who lingered behind, saw the murderer, with 
 the judge, cross the street and enter a saloon. 
 He followed them, and was in time to hear the 
 judge order two drinks, and raising the glass to 
 his lips say, " Here's to you, Bob, hoping you'll 
 come through the business A, No. i. It'ud 
 be best for you to skip the country, till this 
 Indian girl's friends cool off. The Indians'll 
 have to get out of the way soon ; they'll object, 
 but we wont have any foolin'. We'll soon settle 
 the red-skins ! " 
 
 When Mr. Harrold bade good by to Meetah, 
 the next morning, he had not the courage to tell 
 her that he believed Bob McHenry would go 
 unpunished. 
 
 Meetah was back among her friends, those 
 who had loved Lorin and been proud of him. 
 They gathered about her, and she told them of 
 
THE LITTLE WHITE CROSS ON THE CLIFF. 95 
 
 his statues. She left Mr. Tuscan to tell how 
 far the law had gone. Some of the young men 
 threatened to shoot either Dumfrey or Bob 
 McHenry on sight ; but Mr. Tuscan exerted all 
 the influence he possessed among them, and 
 they promised to await the course of the law. 
 
 The children very seldom walk from the 
 school-house with Meetah now ; she asks to be 
 left alone, and sits there at her desk for hours, 
 her head buried in her hands. 
 
 Every day she walks to the cliff. Where she 
 and Lorin sat of yore stands a little white cross 
 at the head of a grave. 
 
 This evening, as she sits there in the twilight, 
 a horseman gallops up to Mr. Tuscan's door ; it 
 is Wahsoo with a message from Mr. Harrold. 
 His news is soon told. A new trial had been 
 given Bob McHenry, and to-day he had been 
 proven innocent. 
 
 Little does Meetah dream of the word that 
 awaits her, when she goes home to Hannah this 
 night. She sits thinking of Mrs. Harrold's last 
 letter, wherein she urges her to go East and 
 lecture ; to tell the people of Lorin ; to show 
 what education has done ; to picture the village 
 and the public spirit and ambition of both men 
 and women ; to prove that "a man's a man for 
 a' that." Suddenly Lorin's words came to her, 
 those he spoke that Sunday when they together 
 
96 LORIN MOORUCK. 
 
 waited for Hannah and Joseph, the day she 
 went to live with Mr. Tuscan ; the air seems 
 vibrant with them : 
 
 " If you go out to make the world hear the truth, 
 I will always be near you. My spirit shall help 
 you." 
 
 She sits gazing at the mountains that are 
 softened by the evening's shadow, her arm 
 thrown over the grave. A rim of rosy light 
 quivers in the blue above, then gives place to 
 gray clouds growing darker and darker, until 
 they envelop Meetah Tocare and shut her from 
 our sight. 
 
THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. 
 
 IN the far distance, snow-capped mountains ; 
 nearer, billowy, purple-hued hills ; yet nearer, 
 a faint touch of green upon the hills, and at 
 their feet a valley, through which winds a 
 limpid stream. 
 
 The rudely built houses scattered over the 
 emerald vale are owned by warm-hearted men 
 and women ; people who once owned the land 
 on which they lived, but who have been forced, 
 step by step, to yield to a Superior Power ; a 
 Power that permits them to remain here a little 
 while, then jostles them aside, their labor lost, 
 their homes taken from them, to make room for 
 people from foreign lands. 
 
 It is a peaceful village to-night. The sun 
 sheds his rich light over hill and valley, as he 
 sinks beyond the mountain's crest. 
 
 The bare, square building across the field is 
 closed. Teachers and pupils have gone home 
 to rest. The herd has wound around the hill 
 and down the valley, and the bars of the corral 
 have been closed for the night. The tired 
 
2 THREE MEN OF WALLOWA, 
 
 gleaners have left the field, but only as the sun 
 sank, men and women both wending their way 
 to the different log dwellings ; the men in coarse 
 working-dress, the women in worn calicoes. 
 Soon, before the homes of many is built the 
 evening fire. 
 
 From pine boughs and burning spruce the 
 flames leap high, often disclosing the family 
 circle around, who while the hours of the 
 short evening away with weird tale or merry 
 song. 
 
 The more studious are within the houses, 
 poring over the lessons for to-morrow, old and 
 young learning to read and write. 
 
 In among the trees there, a little to the right 
 of the limpid stream, is the home of Lapwar. 
 He and Medina, his wife, are within the house, 
 talking with serious air. The child they call 
 Bright Eyes has dropped asleep, the tired head 
 upon her mother's lap. On the door-step sits 
 the elder daughter, her back towards the room, 
 but her dark features lighted up by the fire that 
 splutters and spurts before the door-way ; it 
 brings into bold relief her straight nose and 
 strong chin, and glints along the heavy braids of 
 her dark hair that fall on either side of her nar- 
 row, sloping shoulders. 
 
 Her unconscious grace has won for her the 
 name of Bending Willow, and many are the 
 
THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. 3 
 
 young men who long for her favor ; among them 
 is Creekie. 
 
 He has been jeered and laughed at for his 
 bashful awkwardness. He may be in the midst 
 of a village crowd, but utterly unconscious that 
 any one is there, save Bending Willow. He 
 wins at the races, he wins at the games, but 
 only for the smile of Bending Willow. 
 
 To-night, he has come to tell her of his love. 
 He is half concealed by the trees at the stream's 
 edge, as he watches the firelight flicker across 
 her face. There is a serious dream-look about 
 her eyes as the uneven flames compel her gaze ; 
 she in the light and warmth, Creekie shivering 
 beside the stream. 
 
 They say he is brave in all save love. He 
 plunges boldly forward, the branches crackle 
 under his feet, he has an air of shy determina- 
 tion as he goes toward the girl, but suddenly 
 she raises her head and listens. She has heard 
 his foot-step ? No. Creekie cowers back to the 
 stream as he sees the glad expectancy of her 
 face, the love-light in her eyes, the smile about 
 her lips, the joyous quivering of her form as, 
 leaping from the steps, she shyly greets White 
 Swan, the tall, careless son of Chief Sawyer. 
 
 Creekie watches them only a moment, then he 
 slinks back to the shadow of the trees ; no one 
 sees him, no one knows he has been there ; he 
 
4 THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. 
 
 has read his fate, but in the smile of Bending 
 Willow. The tall trees, by the water's edge, 
 bend back to let him pass. Alone midst the 
 trees in the darkness, alone with his heart's sor- 
 row, alone through the long hours of the night 
 he wrestles and prays. 
 
 A few years since he might have sought to 
 appease the wrath of some evil spirit ; but 
 to-night he seeks the Great Father of us all. 
 Poor Creekie has always been favored until 
 now; the same blind rebellion that comes to 
 each of us, at times, comes to the bewildered 
 Indian ; the same heavy curtain that shuts out 
 all light from us, at times, falls for him ; were 
 there no thunder-clouds, no lightning would 
 illumine the distance. 
 
 " Faith in the darkness for all things," thinks 
 Creekie, "save such a sorrow as mine." But 
 here must be endurance for those whose love 
 is selfish ; happiness for those whose sorrow is 
 drowned in the sight of the beloved one's joy. 
 Creekie's first thought was for himself, but, be- 
 fore the night wore away, his heart had righted 
 and his thought was for the happiness of Bend- 
 ing Willow, or Suzette, as he loved to call her. 
 He could always be near her, her happiness 
 would content him. But there rose a bitter 
 feeling in his heart towards White Swan. The 
 son of Sawyer was learned, he had been away 
 
THREE MEN OF WALLOW A. 5 
 
 three years at school, he knew more than most 
 men in the village. 
 
 Suzette had known White Swan but a short 
 time, while Creekie she had known always ; as 
 children they had gone over together to the 
 mission to learn and play, it was the mission- 
 ary's wife who had given her the name of Su- 
 zette, but that was long since. 
 
 The missionary had taught them the sweet 
 hymns that rose at morning and at even- 
 ing from the valley ; but a great sorrow had 
 come upon them, Creekie shuddered when he 
 thought of it ; the Indian had not forgotten it, 
 neither had the white man. 
 
 Some years ago a terrible disease broke out 
 among the Indians ; there was a death each 
 day, sometimes two, sometimes three, nothing 
 seemed to stop the scourge ; mothers watched 
 their suffering children die, children their fa- 
 thers, husbands their wives. Again and again 
 did they seek their " medicine-man" : he always 
 gave them the same answer : " The squaw is 
 dying, the papoose wails like the wind in the 
 trees, the warrior is dead. The Red Man must 
 live. The pale-faces walk among us. The 
 pale-faces must go. The pale-faces must die 
 that the Red Man may live." Always the same 
 answer. Sorrowfully, slowly, the Indians went 
 back to their sick and dying, solemnly they 
 
O THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. 
 
 buried their dead. Then one of the chiefs 
 went to the missionary and begged him to leave 
 them, saying : " In a little while you may re- 
 turn." But the missionary smiled, and would 
 not go. Then the Indian told him of the strong 
 influence the medicine-man exerted over the 
 tribe, and that some of the younger members of 
 the tribe firmly believed that he had brought 
 this plague upon them. The chief could not 
 restrain them much longer ; they would not sit 
 quietly by and see their people die. "My hands 
 and those of my people are free from the white 
 man's blood. We have protected the white 
 man against other Indians. We have always 
 been the white man's friend, but you must de- 
 part from us now. One hand is stretched out 
 in friendship in the other there is the toma- 
 hawk." 
 
 The missionary smiled at fear. His friends 
 begged him to leave ; some of the Indians even 
 went to his distant friends and asked them to 
 persuade him to go, but he would not listen to 
 them. 
 
 One night, as he passed through the village, 
 an arrow whizzed towards him. No one knew 
 who sent the death-dart. There was a crazed 
 young man in the village who had lost both 
 wife and child that day, perhaps it was he. 
 
 The Indians sought revenge, so also did the 
 
THREE MEN OF WALLOW A. 7 
 
 white man, and before the summer was over war 
 and desolation swept through the valley. 
 
 Years had passed since then ; the Indians had 
 lost more than the whites. Whom shall we 
 blame, the superstitious Indian, or the reckless 
 missionary ? The Indians had warned him to 
 depart, only for a little time, while the tribe 
 were crazed with grief and swayed by the words 
 of their medicine-man. 
 
 Witches were burned in Massachusetts when 
 we had reached a much higher state of civiliza- 
 tion than the Indians in this village. We yet 
 hold an entire tribe responsible for the action of 
 one or two men ; " a poor law that will not work 
 both ways," yet there are brawls and murders, 
 almost nightly, in Western and Southern villages, 
 where the murderers are not even brought to 
 justice, much less the whole village punished for 
 the crime of an individual member. I do not ex- 
 cuse the Indian. I condemn the white man's 
 law that protects the criminal, while refusing 
 the law to the Indian. 
 
 The morning sun rose brightly over the val- 
 ley, and with it rose a sweet hymn from the 
 Indian village. As the sound died away, Lap- 
 war was followed into the house by his wife and 
 daughters. 
 
 Seating themselves before the morning meal, 
 Lapwar bent his head to ask a blessing, then 
 
8 THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. 
 
 served his wife and daughters. It was a merry 
 meal, with much laughter and joking, but, as 
 Medina followed her husband to the door, he 
 bade her good-by, with sad eyes, saying, "My 
 heart is like the clods I go to break, heavy " ; 
 and Medina can give him no cheery reply, 
 their conversation of last night still weighing 
 heavily upon her. 
 
 The white people beyond their village have 
 taunted them of late, the settlers have en- 
 croached upon their grounds, some of their 
 cattle have been stolen and branded by these 
 settlers. Chief Sawyer has been twice to see 
 about it ; he has been told no one can prove who 
 stole the cattle. " But," he urged, " I can point 
 out one, one that belongs to Lapwar. Bending 
 Willow made a pet of it. It is tame as a doe." 
 
 " But there is no use in your appearing against 
 a white man in court ; it can't be done ; the jury 
 will acquit him." 
 
 It was only true. What Western jury would 
 agree in finding a white man guilty who had 
 stolen from an Indian ? A Pole, an Irishman, 
 a Swede, a German, a negro, has the protection 
 of the law, but an American Indian is helpless. 
 He has no redress save that of war. 
 
 But this morning, as the men were working 
 in the fields, word passed from one to the other 
 that the Great Chief, the Governor of the Terri- 
 
THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. 9 
 
 tory, had come to visit them. At last there was 
 hope. He would see their wheat-fields, their 
 corn, their vegetables, their school-house, their 
 cattle; he would see that they were trying "to 
 walk in the white man's road" ; he would help 
 them to make their village still better; he 
 would punish the men who took their homes, 
 who ran off their stock ; at last, justice had 
 come to their village. 
 
 The Governor was a man recently appointed ; 
 his object in coming here was to gain popularity 
 with the people of the Territory. He and his 
 companions came to Sawyer's house. The chief 
 was working in the field ; one of his children 
 ran to tell him. He came up smiling, his child 
 upon his shoulder ; then, gently putting the 
 child upon the ground, he held out his hand and 
 welcomed the Governor ; he was filled with joy 
 at sight of him, he was honored by the visit. 
 The Governor and his aide entered the house of 
 Sawyer, ate of his bread, but, when they went 
 forth, a line of soldiers stood in front of the 
 house. Sawyer's eyes flashed and he darted a 
 hasty glance at the Governor, then drew himself 
 to his full height, folded his arms, and waited 
 for Governor Lanigan to speak. 
 
 "My friend," said the Governor, smiling 
 blandly, " perhaps you remember an affair that 
 took place near here not many years ago, the 
 
IO THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. 
 
 massacre of the missionary. That massacre 
 brought on a great war in which many people 
 were killed. I represent your Father at Wash- 
 ington, and come here to demand the surrender 
 of those concerned in this horrible deed/' He 
 paused, looked at the armed men, then at the 
 solitary Indian, and smiled. 
 
 "I have heard what you have to say," replied 
 Sawyer. "I knew the missionary and loved 
 him as a brother, but my whole tribe are not re- 
 sponsible for his death. We warned him many 
 times to leave, but he would not. I could no 
 longer restrain my young men who were wild 
 with grief. They did not wish to kill him. 
 They begged him many times to leave. They 
 thought he had brought the terrible disease 
 upon us. They killed him to save the lives of 
 those yet left, but the whites fell upon us and 
 killed many more than the disease had taken. 
 During the summer, two of our men have been 
 wickedly slain by the whites, but we have not 
 avenged their death. Our cattle have been sto- 
 len ; the penalty is death, if one Indian steals 
 from another. We have let the white man go 
 free. In the war, when the pale-faces rained 
 down upon us, many more of our men than 
 theirs were killed. You have many times 
 avenged the death of the missionary." 
 
 "Do not get my temper aroused, man! 
 
THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. II 
 
 Would you be shot down like dogs ? If not, sur- 
 render the men who were engaged in the mas- 
 sacre." 
 
 "That I cannot do. One young man might 
 have killed him, two young men, I do not know, 
 it was night. The men did not wish to kill 
 the missionary ; they begged him to go home." 
 
 " Surrender the murderers. Do you see these 
 men ? They are here to obey my orders. If I 
 tell them to fire into your village, they will kill 
 you all ; these are but a few there is another 
 detachment a mile from here. We are not 
 responsible for any Indians that the bad white 
 men around here may kill ; we are not here 
 to talk about bad white men we have come 
 to deal with you. It will be death to you all, if 
 you refuse to surrender these men." 
 
 " There are good white men, but they bear no 
 proportion to the bad," said Sawyer, slowly, 
 hopelessly ; "the bad must be the strongest, for 
 they rule." Then fiercely, "You would enslave 
 those who are not of your own color, although 
 created by the same Great Spirit. You would 
 make slaves of us ; you cannot, so you kill us. 
 You are not like the Indians, who are only ene- 
 mies in war. You take us by the hand and say 
 1 my friend/ my brother ' ; only now you took 
 of our food, yet you would destroy us. You 
 want to put your foot upon our necks and grind 
 
12 THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. 
 
 our faces in the dust. We have spared the long 
 knife. We have suffered much in support of 
 the whites. We love our country. We have 
 endured much. Misery encompasses our fami- 
 lies. I am the chief, but not the only one in 
 my nation ; there are other chiefs who raise 
 their crests by my side. I will call a council 
 and tell them you wish to murder our men " 
 
 "Not murder your men," interposed the Gov- 
 ernor, hastily ; " we will take three of your men 
 back with us and give them a fair trial in the 
 courts ; if guilty, they shall be hung ; if nothing 
 is proved against them, you will see them back 
 soon. This must be done to satisfy the citi- 
 zens, otherwise they and the soldiers will come 
 down here and wipe your village out of exist- 
 ence.'* 
 
 "The good Father at Washington sent you ?" 
 queried Sawyer. 
 
 But the irony fell short of the fat Governor, 
 and he replied, pompously, "I represent to you 
 the Father at Washington." 
 
 There was great commotion in the village as 
 the short, pompous Governor wheeled with his 
 men and left what, an hour before, had been a 
 quiet, hopeful, expectant community ; now, he 
 had said if the men were not surrendered the 
 village would be wiped out of existence. The 
 Indians were not afraid to fight, but it meant 
 
THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. 13 
 
 that men, women and helpless children would 
 be slain or taken prisoners ; they would have to 
 leave the homes they had worked hard to make 
 like the white man's ; they must leave the coun- 
 try that they loved ; all the work of past years 
 would be for naught ; they must wander in a 
 strange land. As a people, they were not in- 
 debted to the United States for either food or 
 raiment ; thus far they had refused to sign trea- 
 ties, thus far they had taken care of themselves ; 
 they had been the friend of the white man 
 now they were to experience the white man's 
 gratitude. 
 
 There were sad hearts in the homes that day, 
 as the men left for the council ; the ploughs left 
 vacant in the field, the cattle lowing in the cor- 
 ral long before the accustomed time, the women 
 trying to busy themselves about household cares, 
 striving to work away the heavy sorrow gnawing 
 at their hearts, the children sitting idle by the 
 door-steps, the school-house benches put aside 
 while stalwart men and some wise women spoke 
 in council. 
 
 That tall man, with the furrowed lines upon 
 the face, and shoulders slightly bent about the 
 narrow chest, is Lapwar ; near him sits Medina ; 
 she has been called the war woman of her tribe, 
 and the men are always glad to listen to her 
 wise sayings. Another Indian, whom we have 
 
14 THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. 
 
 seen before, is White Swan, the tall son of Saw- 
 yer; yet another, Creekie. Among them all, 
 there is no handsomer face ; he has the straight, 
 aquiline nose, the jet-black eyes, the thin lips, 
 the slender form of a pure Indian ; about his 
 mouth is an expression that once seen is never 
 to be forgotten, a sweetness induced by suffer- 
 ing overcome, a firmness denoting strong pur- 
 pose, a force implying sudden action. 
 
 When Sawyer first told them of his interview 
 with the Governor they would hear of nothing 
 but war ; their hope was to die fighting, rather 
 than be driven from their village ; but when 
 Sawyer pictured the desolation of their homes, 
 their farms laid waste, their children slain or 
 perhaps taken prisoners and subjected to a 
 worse fate, their wild revenge subsided, hope of 
 victory vanished, dread despair took its place. 
 The simple people loved their country, loved 
 their homes ; they listened hopelessly, quietly, 
 to the cruel proposition made by the Governor. 
 
 In the desperate silence that followed, Sawyer 
 spoke with the dignity of a warrior, with the love 
 of a father for helpless children, saying : " If you 
 will go out to war, you shall not go without me. 
 I have thought of peace measures, it is true, but 
 only to save my tribe from destruction. A few 
 of us may be willing to die for our nation let 
 these go with the Governor that the rest may 
 
THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. 15 
 
 live, may keep their homes, and live in the land 
 of their forefathers. But if you think me wrong, 
 if you insist on fighting go ! and I will go with 
 you. I will lead you on. I will place myself in 
 the front. I will fall with the first of you. The 
 struggle will be great. We must be valiant and 
 resolute. You can do as you choose, but, for 
 me, I shall not survive my nation. I will not 
 live to survive the destruction of so brave a peo- 
 ple, who deserve, as you do, a better fate." 
 
 Then up sprang Creekie. " It is better a few 
 of us should die to save the nation, to save our 
 village from destruction and the pitiless hand of 
 the white man. Who of you will go to save the 
 people ? Who of you will die like dogs ? Have 
 no hearing, no justice ; for we have proven the 
 faith of the white man. Who, for his people, is 
 willing to be shut out forever from the happy 
 hunting-grounds ? Who of you will give a life 
 
 for the nation ? " 
 
 
 
 There was no prolonged silence as a few men 
 slowly arose, but instantly seven men sprang to 
 their feet ; then others arose, old men with wives 
 and children, young men with the possibility of 
 joyous years, each ready to cast aside, forever, 
 the beckoning future, willing to renounce all 
 happiness in the future world, knowing that the 
 Indian who is ignominiously strangled is forever 
 debarred from the happy hunting-grounds. 
 
l6 THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. 
 
 A look of pain, and then a look of triumph, 
 crossed Medina's face as she saw Lapwar rise, 
 but suddenly death seemed to have touched her 
 heart, and, with the rest, she tottered from the 
 school-room, for Sawyer had asked that the first 
 seven men who arose might be left alone with 
 him. 
 
 When the door had closed upon the people, a 
 silence akin to death reigned within ; the horror 
 of the situation crept through their very nerves. 
 
 The stronger power had said death for a few 
 of them, or death for all. We are that stronger 
 power. The Indians who fight, we seek to pacify 
 with food and raiment, slight though it be, but 
 Indians such as these we are among, we seek to 
 crush ; as Sawyer has said, " We seek to grind 
 their faces in the dust." The foot of Liberty is 
 pressed upon their neck. "You are our wards," 
 we cry ; "you shall not have our laws ! " 
 
 The old fashion among these Indians had 
 been to decide questions of moment while smok- 
 ing the long-handled pipe ; people about to per- 
 form some daring deed were selected by fate ; 
 the one in whose hand the pipe went out 
 must accomplish the deed ; but this custom 
 had passed away soon after their adoption of 
 the white man's dress and mode of living. 
 
 To-day, Creekie took upon himself the privi- 
 lege of passing the fatal slips. It was decided 
 
THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. IJ 
 
 chat three of the men must go with the Gov- 
 ernor, four would remain in the village. While 
 they were talking, Creekie had prepared and 
 placed in his hat seven slips of common paper, 
 three bore the death mark, four were blank. 
 
 What thoughts must have besieged his brain 
 in these terrible moments ! Among the seven 
 were the lover and the father of Suzette. Per- 
 chance White Swan would get a slip with death 
 upon it, and Creekie, remaining behind, might 
 yet win the love of Bending Willow ; did Lap- 
 war take a fatal slip, who would care more 
 tenderly for his desolate family than Creekie? 
 Even great heroes hear the tempter's voice. 
 
 Creekie was coming slowly forward ; he had 
 so arranged the slips that he knew where each 
 fatal one lay. First, he passed the hat to White 
 Swan, watching him breathlessly as he saw his 
 hand deliberately seek the fatal slip. 
 
 Suddenly, Creekie dropped the hat, the slips 
 were scattered about the floor ; hastily he gath- 
 ered them up, one he tucked in his pocket, one 
 he left face downward at the feet of White 
 Swan, saying, as he passed, " It is fair. That 
 is yours." 
 
 White Swan stooped, his eyes fell upon a 
 blank slip. 
 
 With trembling heart, Creekie passed on to 
 Lapwar ; he had so mixed the slips in picking 
 
1 8 THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. 
 
 them up that he knew not one from the other ; 
 he knew only that but two death slips remained. 
 Lapwar looked at his slip with face unchanged, 
 and Creekie, not knowing whether Suzette's 
 father had received a fatal slip or not, went on 
 with slow step and sad heart. The silence of 
 the grave was not more deep than that which 
 reigned among these men. 
 
 Sawyer gave the signal, and the freed men, 
 who a moment before had stood upon the ragged 
 edge of their own graves, left the room, almost 
 reluctantly. Then the old chief, with bowed 
 head and bursting heart, prayed for the doomed 
 men. He asked God to guard their homes and 
 children ; he besought the Great Spirit to give 
 them justice, and he prayed, " Forgive us our 
 debts as we forgive our debtors." 
 
 A deep "Amen" came from the hearts of 
 Lapwar and John Lone, but Creekie's lips re- 
 fused to form the word ; his heart could not yet 
 hold that amen. 
 
 An hour had passed and Creekie found him- 
 self, he knew not why, walking toward the 
 house of Lapwar. Suddenly Suzette sprang 
 before him, her eyes red with weeping, her long 
 hair falling loose about her shoulders, her very 
 lips white. 
 
 "Tell me tell me," she said, "how many 
 " Her sobs checked her voice. At sight 
 
THREE MEN OF WALLOWA, 1 9 
 
 of her tears Creekie could scarce command his 
 voice, and, trembling, he answered, "Three." 
 
 "And and Her lips made motion, but 
 they could not form the words. 
 
 Creekie knew what she would say ; tenderly 
 he took her hands between his own, saying, 
 with gentle voice, " White Swan is safe, Su- 
 zette." 
 
 Joy rose to her eyes. She did not dream that 
 Creekie's love for her had been the price of 
 White Swan's life. 
 
 "Tell me," she said, "the names, the names!" 
 
 Creekie had never wavered in the council, 
 had never faltered in his strong purpose ; but 
 now his lips quivered, and he said, "John Lone 
 is one to go." He was softly smoothing back 
 her long hair: he might touch that dark hair 
 now, he might breathe close to those wide eyes 
 he loved. He was looking upon Bending Wil- 
 low for the last time. 
 
 "Poor, poor John Lone," she moaned, "his 
 child is ill, it will kill her." 
 
 "Better so, better so," he said, slowly, think- 
 ing that heaven was near at hand for the child. 
 
 "But another?" she asked, fearfully. 
 
 " Ah, Suzette ! my poor wounded child, my 
 poor little Suzette." He held her head back, 
 looked long into her dark eyes, then said gently, 
 " Courage ! you have the heart of a brave wo- 
 
2O THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. 
 
 man. If your whole nation demanded your 
 life, could you not give it, Suzette ? Be brave 
 be brave But his own eyes filled with 
 tears and his voice shook. 
 
 " You need not tell me," she said, looking 
 with dazed sight before her ; her hands loos- 
 ened from his and she turned slowly away : 
 " You need not tell me it is my father." 
 
 " Suzette, Suzette," he cried; he did not 
 know that his arms were held out to her, he did 
 not know of the anguish in his own face, and 
 Suzette only remembered the Creekie of her 
 childhood, the kind, sympathizing, warm friend 
 to whom she had often gone with her girlish 
 sorrows ; he folded her in his arms and she 
 sobbed her grief upon his breast. 
 
 "You must be brave, Suzette," he said ; "try 
 to think of others, little one. Remember, he 
 goes to save his people ; he goes to save those 
 he loves." His voice was growing strong now, 
 and the girl was trying to be brave and stifle 
 her sobs. " It is because he loves you better 
 than his life, my dear one." He softly kissed 
 her dark hair and put her gently from him, say- 
 ing : " Courage ! others are left ; think of Me- 
 dina. Go, comfort her. The Good Father keep 
 you in his care. The Good Father fill your 
 home with love and peace." His hand was 
 
THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. 21 
 
 raised in blessing, his face was drawn, his lips 
 tightly closed. 
 
 She could not speak, but turned and slowly 
 obeyed his bidding, so slowly that years seemed 
 to have passed over Creekie's face before she 
 was out of sight. Years ? Aye, centuries, for 
 in one moment the heart may be cleft in twain. 
 Resolve is the first step, but the hard tearing 
 out of the heart-strings may be the second. 
 
 Bending Willow went back to her desolate 
 home ; she had not asked the third name ; her 
 father's name had been the name of thirty ; and 
 Creekie turned, but it was not of his nation 
 that he thought now, this man who had deliber- 
 ately chosen death. He was thinking of Su- 
 zette as a child, Suzette as a woman, and the 
 long years to come when Suzette might be a 
 happy mother. Would it grieve her to think he 
 was one of the three who went to meet what? 
 He had met his death. Henceforth he must 
 be the warrior he straightened himself, he 
 threw his head back, but the sunlight blinded 
 him, the notes of the birds jarred upon his 
 ears. He clasped his hands and prayed, prayed 
 only that he might yet live ; live to see the joy 
 of 'Suzette. The birds sang joyously, the sun 
 rose higher in the heavens. Black Hawk stood 
 before him ; he came with a message from Saw- 
 yer. The Governor and the men were waiting 
 
22 THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. 
 
 for Creekie. Patrick Lanigan wished to start 
 at once. 
 
 Creekie went silently to the house of Sawyer. 
 His erect form renewed the courage of the other 
 men, his sweet smile recalled to them their 
 pride ; their one thought was to die as became 
 warriors. 
 
 An hour since, John Lone had entered his 
 poor little shabby home and been met at the 
 door by his young wife; she had been at home 
 all day with a sick child and neither heard nor 
 knew what was going on no one had the 
 heart to tell her. " I am glad you have come, 
 John," she said ; " the child has been calling 
 for you. You were gone long/' she ventured, 
 gently. 
 
 He did not answer the implied rebuke ; he 
 went into the room where the sick child lay. 
 
 The poor, wasted form would have called 
 tears to the eyes of a less tender heart than 
 that of the Christian, John Lone. He bent 
 gently and kissed her, and a smile came over 
 the child's wan face as she slowly opened her 
 eyes and rested them on her father ; she was 
 too ill to speak. Her hand stole into his and 
 she closed her eyes, satisfied. 
 
 " Don't you think she is better?" asked the 
 wife, anxiously. 
 
THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. 23 
 
 But John did not answer, his hungry eyes 
 sought the face of his child. 
 
 "You do think she is better ?" said Liddie, 
 crowding nearer and placing her hand upon his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "The Good Lord will take care of his own," 
 he said, slowly withdrawing his hand from that 
 of the child, who had fallen into a feverish 
 sleep. "Come, Liddie," he said, gently lead- 
 ing his wife away, " come, I have something 
 to say to you." But when he had taken her 
 into the next room his heart failed him, he 
 could not tell her all that had happened in the 
 short time since he had left his home this day ; 
 there are limits to all endurance and bravery. 
 
 " I am going to leave you for a little time, 
 Liddie," he said. "The Governor of the Terri- 
 tory came to our village this morning. He 
 wants to take a few of us away with him, away 
 to a large city. We are going down in the boat. 
 Creekie and Lap war are going." 
 
 "You will not leave me and the child, not 
 when the child is ill ? " she pleaded, in wide- 
 eyed alarm. 
 
 "It is hard to leave you and the child now." 
 His voice almost broke, but he controlled him- 
 self with an effort. 
 
 " She calls for you when you are gone ! What 
 
24 THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. 
 
 shall I do ? You will not go ? You cannot go 
 and leave me and the child " 
 
 " Listen ! If a great war were to come upon 
 our people, if by going with the Governor I 
 might help to avert it, would you not say go?" 
 
 "No, no. There are others, let them go.*' 
 
 "You will forgive me, Liddie. I have no 
 choice. We drew lots to see who should go." 
 
 " But you will return soon ? " 
 
 He turned his face away. 
 
 She put a hand on either of his shoulders 
 and, looking up in his face, repeated her ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " It may be many days before I return. It 
 may be we part only for a little while, it may be 
 longer. I have not been as good to you 
 as I might," he said, placing his arms about 
 her. "There are many things I might have 
 done. You know my love for you and our 
 child. You will tell the child I loved her." He 
 paused. " You will teach her to pray tell her 
 to pray for me. If I should never- But 
 he thrust his wife aside and hurried from the 
 house. Without one farewell to his child, with- 
 out one backward glance at his wife, he hastened 
 to the house of Sawyer ; there, he begged some 
 of the women to break the sad news to her. 
 "For," he said, mournfully, "the heart of a 
 coward is here," placing his hand upon his 
 
THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. 25 
 
 breast. " The heart of a warrior is crushed. I 
 cannot tell her." His grief was pitiful. But 
 he cautioned, " You will let her hope. Let her 
 hope I will return, for a little time. It will 
 smooth the edge of her despair. Let her hope 
 for a little, till the child is better. Then tell 
 her all. She will live for the child." 
 
 Medina had been truly called the war woman 
 of her tribe. Although at first overcome by the 
 thought that Lapwar was to go, she soon roused 
 herself and with a warrior's pride burst forth : 
 
 " Show the white men of what stuff the In- 
 dian is made. They may kill your body, but 
 they cannot crush your spirit. They will see 
 how warriors can die. Your names will be 
 handed down to your children. You are the 
 heroes of your nation. Oh ! that I were a man, 
 to go with you." And she cried to the men, as 
 with noble mien and heads unbent they passed 
 out of the village : " They are cowards who 
 would make you die ; show them what bravery 
 is. Die like Indians, like warriors." 
 
 Aye, but the desolate village when the sun 
 withdrew his rays that night ; the desolation, 
 the heart-break, the bitter wailing, the despair ! 
 
 The Governor pushed on through the night 
 in his boats till darkness fell like a hideous pall. 
 The Indians were put on shore while the white 
 men slept in the boats. One guard was placed 
 
26 THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. 
 
 over these Indians. Think you they could not 
 escape ? Nothing easier than to knock the 
 guard senseless and fly through the woods ; but 
 they had given their word. 
 
 Do not blame the men who had accompanied 
 the Governor ; they were soldiers, they merely 
 obeyed their superiors, they were under oath, 
 they did as they were bid. 
 
 A sickening, howling crowd met these Indians 
 as they landed at Devil City, and through this 
 miserable, jeering, taunting crowd they passed 
 with heads erect to the jail. 
 
 They were tried in a language they did not 
 understand, they were found guilty by a court 
 which allowed them no chance for defence. 
 
 The Indians listened with immovable faces 
 when their sentence was pronounced. 
 
 There was no murmur of despair, no sigh of 
 regret, as with the majesty of heroes they 
 walked slowly to the gallows. 
 
 They were hung, amid the jeers and hurrahs 
 of civilized American children, women and men 
 in this enlightened nineteenth century. Did 
 Liberty veil her .eyes ? 
 
 Look back at the village of despairing people ! 
 Look to this crowd of our boasted civilization ! 
 Look to these three men of Wallowa, mangled 
 at the foot of the gallows and tell me, shall we 
 give the Indian our law ? Which are the sav- 
 
THREE MEN OF WALLOWA. 2/ 
 
 ages, they who vent their law upon these men 
 of Wallowa, or they who died without the pro- 
 tection of the law ? Let Creekie, John Lone, 
 and Lapwar speak to you from their graves. 
 
SAMUEL, AN ARAPAHOE. 
 
 I HAVE heard that there are a good many 
 white people who know nothing of the 
 wrongs which have been done to our people 
 and would like to hear a little of them ; I be- 
 lieve the Great Spirit is going to pity the 
 Indian. 
 
 I have been asked to tell my story in my 
 own way. It is a poor way, but for the sake 
 of White Doe I will tell it. 
 
 My people call me Branching Pine, because I 
 am tall and straight, with heavy, short hair that 
 flies out in stiff tufts and nods in the blowing 
 breeze like the top branches of the swaying 
 pine; but in the prison-book I am Samuel, an 
 Arapahoe. 
 
 White Doe is slender and timid. No one 
 knows why she gave herself to a big fellow like 
 me. White Doe is brave ; she will bite her lips 
 and keep back the tears though her heart breaks. 
 She has little, brown hands that lose themselves 
 in my black, bushy hair. Her large, soft eyes 
 would make a man good and brave, just for the 
 
2 SAMUEL, AN ARAPAHOE. 
 
 look of love and trust in them. I did well until 
 she was dying, dying. Then my heart leapt 
 to my throat, my blood rushed through my body, 
 till my soul was on fire. I would have killed 
 any one that stood in the way of White Doe's 
 life. 
 
 But I am all a-tremble. I cannot tell my 
 story unless I begin at the beginning. 
 
 It warms my heart to think of my home 
 again, with the clean, dirt floor and the window 
 high in the wall for the sun to shine through, 
 and the neat roof of close-packed earth with the 
 grass growing up on the edge. In the field, 
 White Doe and I work side by side until she 
 leaves me to go in and get the evening meal ; 
 I hear her voice through the open door as she 
 sings the songs they taught at the school ; then 
 the red sun sets, and that is the last happy day 
 that we know. 
 
 To go back and tell you of the misery of my 
 people would make your heart ache, if you are 
 a true man or a true woman. 
 
 Many promises were made us by too many 
 people ; we believed them, but the Indian has 
 learned to know the white man better. We 
 lived in a broad country with much game, but 
 the white man set his foot upon our country and 
 the game fled. Because we let the white man 
 go through our country and own land, the Great 
 
SAMUEL, AN ARAPAHOE. 3 
 
 Father called a council, and for the right of way 
 through our country, and because the white man 
 scattered our game, he promised us each a dol- 
 lar a year for fifty years, and we promised to be 
 at peace. But the Great Father at Washington 
 thought again, and took back his promise. He 
 gave us each a dollar for fifteen years, and the 
 Indian kept his peace with the white man, 
 though he came and took rich mines on our land 
 that we were not taught to work. The great 
 travel sent the buffalo away. We had nothing 
 with which to kill the small game. They would 
 not let us go to hunt the buffalo away off where 
 the white man did not tread, and we were starv- 
 ing. The Great Father promised to teach us to 
 be farmers, but I think he must have forgotten. 
 
 The women were pinched with want and the 
 children crying with hunger. We begged for a 
 farmer or a blacksmith, but it was years before 
 the Father at Washington remembered us. 
 Other Indians stole horses and cattle, they stole 
 food, and killed the white man, and the Great 
 Father thought them brave. We were starving 
 while we kept our faith with the white men. 
 
 What I say here is true. You may kill me, 
 but do not say what I tell here is a lie ; and this 
 is how it happened. A number of young men 
 were weary of starving, just to be at peace with 
 the white man who had forgotten his promise, 
 
4 SAMUEL, AN ARAPAHOE. 
 
 so they went to make war on a hostile tribe that 
 was always our enemy. They did not go to 
 make war on the white man. 
 
 When they were in camp the mail wagon 
 passed and two young men went out to beg to- 
 bacco, but the mail carrier fired on them so the 
 Indians fired back, and that is the way it was. 
 The carrier fired on the young men who had 
 gone out in a friendly spirit. The chief ran out 
 and stopped the firing. He brought the two 
 men into camp and flogged them. He said the 
 white man would say they had broken the peace, 
 even although they were not the first to fire. 
 
 The mail man went to the fort and told a 
 strange thing, for the soldiers came down and 
 fired on us and killed many. The chief could 
 no longer control the war spirit of Indians 
 who saw their friends killed by soldiers, after 
 they had thrown down their bows and arrows 
 and said there should be peace, so a war followed. 
 
 After this our chiefs went into a great council 
 and said they would kill any young man who 
 tried to go on the war-path. Some of the young 
 men were killed. 
 
 A white chief came and demanded our men 
 who had taken part in the war. Peace had come 
 and we would not give them up ; then the white 
 chief burned our village and destroyed our food. 
 Suffering and sorrow visited us through the long 
 
SAMUEL, AN ARAPAHOE. 5 
 
 winter. The white chief did not remember that 
 we had kept our faith when the whites had for- 
 gotten theirs. He only remembered that now 
 he was the stronger power. The Great Spirit 
 had forgotten us. We went to hunt buffalo, 
 but could hardly find any. We had to kill a 
 good many of our ponies to eat, to save our- 
 selves from starving. The children got sick and 
 died. A great many of our finest young men 
 died, as well as many women. Then the gov- 
 ernor chief sent out to call all friendly Indians 
 into the fort, because there was to be a great 
 war, and he told us we would be safe. He said 
 he would protect us because we had kept our 
 promises. They gave us food. Then they 
 moved us some miles from the fort so that we 
 would be better protected. 
 
 My mother could have told what happened. 
 When daylight came, the troops fell upon us 
 and murdered our men, women, and children. 
 My mother fled with me over the prairie. When 
 my father ran to the troops and begged them 
 not to fire, they shot him dead. The head chief 
 carried a white flag, and when he saw what had 
 come upon us, that there was no mistake, it was 
 a planned attack, he folded his arms and waited 
 till he was shot down. Young men and old 
 women, old men and little children, were mur- 
 dered ; their fingers were cut off, their legs and 
 
6 SAMUEL, AN ARAPAHOE. 
 
 arms broken, their ears cut off. It makes my 
 heart sick to remember my mother's words and 
 to hear what she saw before she carried me, a 
 little child, in her arms and fled. 
 
 This was the faith of the white man. 
 
 The Indian was a fool-man who kept peace 
 with them. They held out their hand in peace, 
 and when we took it, they stabbed us in the 
 back. 
 
 After this it was hard to believe white men 
 any more. We were afraid we would be be- 
 trayed again. Now we are afraid no longer. 
 We come and take the white man by the hand 
 once more, it is better to be at peace. 
 
 They gave my mother 160 acres of land, and 
 to me, because they murdered my father, they 
 gave the same. Did they think it would bring 
 my father back from the spirit world ? Did they 
 think the land could take the place of a father 
 and husband ? We had plenty of land before 
 the v/hite men came. They took our land, 
 murdered my father, and then gave us back a 
 little piece of land to make us happy. Did they 
 think because we had the land that we were sat- 
 isfied that he was murdered ? Did they think 
 it would dry my mother's tears, or ease the pain 
 at her heart ? Some people think because we 
 are of a different complexion, we are not men 
 and women. 
 
SAMUEL, AN ARAPAHOE. 7 
 
 We were no longer allowed to hunt and we 
 had no implements to work the ground. We used 
 axes, sticks of wood, and worked with our hands 
 in the earth to prepare our ground for planting. 
 We had a few cattle ; but the white man ran 
 them off and we were not allowed to go after 
 them. 
 
 When my mother died, White Doe and I 
 came to live in the house I had built. We had 
 suffered many years from giving up our own 
 way of living and trying to live as the white 
 man, with nothing to do it with, and no one to 
 show us how. The white man did not learn in 
 a day, neither can the Indian. 
 
 We did not know how to work the field at 
 first, and the man who came to show us did 
 not know either. To-day he would tell us one 
 way, and to-morrow he would tell us another, 
 and we were worse off than before. He was 
 old and feeble and the work was not good for 
 him. Soon the Great Father at Washington 
 sent him off. The Great Father does not 
 allow his children to remain in one place long. 
 Just when we understand, he sends them away. 
 
 The Great Father wants us to stay in one 
 place forever, but he changes his own children 
 all the day. Where did the Great Father get 
 his authority to say to us, "Stay in one place;" 
 and to the white man, "Go where you please, 
 
8 SAMUEL, AN ARAPAHOE. 
 
 only stay on a reservation until you begin to do 
 your work, then go on"? I have asked many 
 men, but they cannot tell me. 
 
 The next man who came to show us could 
 not understand our language. We had not been 
 taught the English language in the school, so 
 we could not understand him. There was no 
 interpreter and it took a long time for us to 
 learn, and a great patience before he could 
 teach us. 
 
 After a few years we succeeded in farming, 
 but there was no one to buy our produce, so we 
 could get no money. We had food enough to 
 eat, but no money to buy any clothes. 
 
 There were few farm implements. We had 
 to wait our turn to use them, for we had no 
 money to buy others. We lost part of our crop 
 because we could not get it in in time. 
 
 White Doe and I had a neat little plat. We 
 had enough to eat and enough to carry food to 
 our sick neighbor, and we thought the white 
 man's way a good way. 
 
 But the last year we worked our field and 
 nothing would come. The sun shone hot and 
 died in a red ball at night, no rain came to 
 quench the earth, everything withered and died. 
 It was hard to keep a brave heart. 
 
 There was much sickness in our village. 
 
 Many people died because there was no medi- 
 
SAMUEL, AN ARAPAHOE. 9 
 
 cine for them. We were always hungry. We 
 never had enough. When they that were sick 
 felt they could eat something, we had nothing 
 to give them. 
 
 A white chief came from Washington. He 
 said our land had not been marked out right and 
 it did not belong to us. Our homes were to be 
 taken from us. Why did not the white man 
 mark it right at first ? Why did he wait until we 
 had built a home and worked the land ? Was it 
 not enough that we were starving? Was it not 
 enough that we were dying? Surely the Great 
 Spirit had hidden his face from us. We had no 
 longer heart to go into the field and work. 
 Many of our relatives and friends died. We 
 felt that we would like to be asleep with the 
 rest. But I, for the sake of White Doe, worked 
 in the field. I did not want her to realize that, 
 after all her work and plans, she had no home 
 on the face of the earth ; and she, for my sake, 
 came and worked by my side to make me forget 
 our wrong, to make me forget our sorrow. She 
 would laugh and sing as though she were 
 happy, but often I would see tears upon her 
 cheeks as she laughed. My heart ached that I 
 was powerless to help her. Why could we not 
 be treated as other men? Why could we not 
 have a home? Why could they not give us an 
 even chance to live as other men? We would 
 
IO SAMUEL, AN ARAPAHOE. 
 
 be content if we had an even chance with the 
 white man. It makes my heart sick to remem- 
 ber all the promises of the white man ; to re- 
 member our own country where we had plenty 
 to eat, where we had a home, and now to see my 
 people cooped up like chickens, their food taken 
 from them, their houses delivered to others, no 
 even chance in the law. If this is the kind of 
 guardian that brings this upon us, we want no 
 guardian. We want to be free men to have an 
 even chance in the law. We know we must 
 change. We are willing to adopt the white 
 man's way, but the Great Father is always 
 changing. He puts us here ; he puts us there. 
 This man is put over us and when we know this 
 man's way the Great Father takes him off and 
 puts another man over us and we learn a different 
 way. How would a child do, if it had thirty 
 mothers a month, each day a different mother ? 
 Would the child grow and prosper? No more 
 can the Indian. I wish the Great Father at 
 Washington would remember and think of this. 
 
 The Great Father must think we are made 
 different from other men. 
 
 The night when the sun went down so red, 
 the night I remember so well, we had been 
 making believe that this was our own home 
 once more, that this land we had worked was 
 ours ; that we had enough to eat and to give our 
 
SAMUEL, AN ARAPAHOE. II 
 
 neighbor. White Doe had laughed as she ran 
 into the house and we had much merriment over 
 our last bit of meal and salt. Her merriment 
 lightened my heart. There were bright spots 
 in her cheeks and a brightness in her eyes that 
 did my heart good, for she had looked pale of 
 late. 
 
 When I slept that night I dreamed that we 
 were travelling the white man's road content. 
 
 But in the morning she muttered strange 
 things. I thought she was asleep, but her eyes 
 were open wide. The red spots burned in her 
 cheeks. I trembled under the weight of this 
 mighty sorrow. White Doe was ill of the fever. 
 Her lips were parched with thirst, her hands 
 were hot and dry. She begged for food. I hid 
 my face in my hands, for I had none to give 
 her. A fierce pain clutched at my heart when 
 I heard this cry of hunger that I could not help. 
 My nails sank into the palms of my hands until 
 the flesh bled. All about us the white man had 
 plenty, but my dear one lay ill of a fever and I 
 had nothing to give her. I bathed her brow 
 and hands in cold water. I smoothed back her 
 hair and spoke in a soft voice. Soon her moan- 
 ing ceased, her eyes closed in sleep. 
 
 Then I went for old Matilda. She came and 
 watched by the side of White Doe and I went 
 forth with sad heart. 
 
12 SAMUEL, AN ARAPAHOE. 
 
 Blackfoot was the pony that my dear one 
 loved. It had some of the gentle ways of 
 White Doe and raised its glad eyes in mute 
 welcome as I came and led it out into the yard. 
 We had always divided our food with Blackfoot, 
 but to-day there was nothing for her. The dry 
 stalks of grass had long since ceased to give her 
 any nourishment. When she stuck her moist 
 nose in my empty hand I could only pat her 
 head and tell her she must carry me swift. She 
 whinnied and crooked her neck to look for 
 White Doe. I think the dumb beast knew 
 there was something wrong, for my dear one 
 had always come out to her the first thing in 
 the morning. I sprang upon her sleek back 
 and pressed my feet against her side and away 
 she sped with me over the prairie. In our home 
 lay my dear one starving and parched with fever. 
 I would have killed myself that she might live, 
 yet I could not help her. I groaned aloud when 
 I thought of our misery. 
 
 Before the sun sank in the west I was near 
 my home again. Blackfoot had carried me swift 
 and sure to the door of the white medicine man. 
 He gave me fair words, but that would not bring 
 White Doe back to health. He could not come 
 to see her, he had no wagon, no horse. I told 
 him to mount Blackfoot, but he said the In- 
 dian's pony was full of tricks. I told him 
 
SAMUEL, AN ARAPAHOE. 13 
 
 to get on Blackfoot, and I would lead her 
 all the way. He said it would take too much 
 time. He had to tend his sick at home. I said 
 I would work for him night and day for noth- 
 ing, after White Doe was. well, if he would only 
 come. I said I would give him Blackfoot, he 
 could sell her and take the money, if he would 
 but come. He said if he had a horse and team 
 of his own he would come. The Great Father 
 furnished him none. He could not come. He 
 said to give her nourishing drinks. He might 
 have told me to shoot the stars, or make the 
 moon square. 
 
 Why does the Great Father at Washington 
 send us a physician and give him no way of 
 coming to us when we are sick ? I think the 
 Great Father forgets many things. 
 
 His words were fair, but White Doe lay ill 
 and he would not come to help us. There was 
 no food and he said she must have nourishing 
 drinks. No one would help us. White Doe 
 must have something to nourish her and there 
 was nothing. 
 
 Out on the prairie there, no one would 
 notice the report of a rifle. There was a 
 stake near, made ugly and black by the prai- 
 rie fire. Blackfoot looked at me with wide 
 eyes when I tied her bridle to it. She had 
 never been tied up before. She had never 
 
14 SAMUEL, AN ARAPAHOE. 
 
 strayed beyond her lariat rope. She was breath- 
 ing hard and the steam rose from her strained 
 flanks. 
 
 Then I went up and spoke gently to her. 
 We had brought her up from a colt. White 
 Doe and I loved her next to each other. When 
 I went off a few paces, she tugged at her rope 
 to be free and whinnied to me. I went back 
 and spoke gently to her. I twined my fingers 
 in her mane and leant my cheek against her 
 face. I patted her shiny neck. Then again I 
 stood a few paces off ; her mild eyes looked at 
 me in wonder as I raised my rifle to my shoul- 
 der. Never shall I forget her look of human 
 reproach. I shut my eyes and pulled the trig- 
 ger the bullet went crunching crunching 
 
 She made one mad leap, then fell to the 
 ground. She moaned like a human child and 
 moved her head near me where I had dropped 
 on my knees before her. My hot tears fell 
 upon her face. I had killed my dearest friend, 
 next to White Doe. With broken voice I tried 
 to tell the dumb creature why I had done this. 
 I could not bear the look in her mild eyes. 
 
 I would have died that White Doe might live, 
 yet I must live to take care of my dear one. 
 Blackfoot could die and nourish my poor, sick 
 one. It would have been easier to run a knife 
 into my breast than to stand and kill our faith- 
 
SAMUEL, AN ARAPAHOE. 15 
 
 ful Blackfoot, White Doe's friend and playmate; 
 now she lay stiff and motionless before me. 
 Never more would she bear my dear one over 
 the rolling prairie ; never more would her moist 
 nose seek my hand for a caress ; never more 
 would she prick her ears and whinny at our 
 approach ; never more would she hear the voice 
 of White Doe. Forever more should I see the 
 look in her hazel eyes as I raised my gun to kill 
 her. 
 
 I dragged myself home and told old Matilda 
 what I had done. Some one else must do the 
 rest. I could do no more ; so Matilda went and 
 told Beverlie. He was the friend of White Doe 
 and me. He did the rest. 
 
 Then I sat by the side of White Doe. She 
 was asleep and breathing heavily. When Ma- 
 tilda asked me where was the medicine man, 
 and where was the medicine, I could not answer 
 her. I turned my face away. 
 
 Near me was some meal and water; some one 
 had brought it for White Doe to drink. I had 
 had no food that day, but while I sat there a 
 kind neighbor brought me a potato, which I 
 eagerly ate. I must keep up my strength for 
 the sake of White Doe. 
 
 In the morning, White Doe knew me. I 
 gave her some hot soup to drink. Her eyes 
 brightened at sight of it, and while she sipped 
 
1 6 SAMUEL, AN ARAPAHOE. 
 
 it she said, " Where did this come from ? " And 
 I answered, "Beverlie brought it," for had he 
 not finished my work ? 
 
 Then she said, " Poor Blackfoot ! is there 
 nothing for her ? What have you given her ? " 
 
 I steadied my voice and answered, " Blackfoot 
 has plenty," for I knew she was now beyond 
 suffering and want. But old Matilda came, 
 and stood in the open door, and she said, " Be 
 not foolish ; Blackfoof is killed to nourish you, 
 and that is - But White Doe screamed. 
 
 The bowl dropped from her fingers and she fell 
 back as one dead. 
 
 Then I cried, " You are the fool ! " to Matilda, 
 and rushed to the side of White Doe. She lay 
 still and pale a long time. When she opened 
 her eyes, she was raving raving. She would 
 scream out, " Blackfoot, Blackfoot, I have killed 
 you," and then sink shivering under the bed- 
 clothes. " Come, Blackfoot, dear Blackfoot," 
 and she would stroke her hand as though she 
 touched Blackfoot's shiny neck ; then she would 
 start back, her eyes full of terror, screaming, 
 "Take your eyes away ! Yes ; it was I, I that 
 killed you," and I would sit there trying to 
 soothe her till my heart was nearly dead within 
 me. The fever had seized her stronger than 
 before and now there was no nourishment for 
 her, 
 
SAMUEL, AN ARAPAHOE. I/ 
 
 Matilda wept and was sorry, but she could not 
 undo her foolishness. 
 
 The work that Beverlie had done, I gave to 
 him and his family, for now White Doe knew ; 
 and I would never touch it anyway. 
 
 You, who have food and plenty, do not know 
 what it is to be hungry. You do not know 
 what it is to see your sick cry out for food you 
 cannot give. You do not know the pain of it. 
 I would have been a fool-man to sit with my 
 head in my hands while my dear one lay sick 
 for want of food. For what I had given Bever- 
 lie, he sent me some meal, but a handful of meal 
 in water would not nourish White Doe. 
 
 My people were all starving. Others had 
 suffered as we were suffering now, but it is 
 different when the misery creeps under your 
 own roof. It is different when the dearest one 
 on earth lies ill ; it is different when she raises 
 her eyes to yours in want, and the thing that 
 she needs lies all about you, yet she must die 
 for lack of it. If you were a weakling like the 
 sick one very well but when you are a 
 strong man you cannot sit still. The Great 
 Spirit knows whether I did right or not. It 
 would have been easier to kill White Doe than 
 to see her slowly die while I stood helpless. I 
 strode from the house. My mind was fixed. 
 I could bear it no longer. 
 
1 8 SAMUEL, AN ARAPAKOE. 
 
 My friend Beverlie went with me. Over the 
 prairie and away to the mountains we went. 
 We had offered to work for the white man if he 
 would give us meat, but he would not. We had 
 nothing to give but the work of our hands. 
 This was our country. If the white man had 
 treated us fair we would not have been starving. 
 If we had been allowed to go in pursuit of our 
 cattle that the white man ran off from our herd, 
 we would have had some cattle now. 
 
 What we did, we did in the broad light of 
 day. We did not, like the white man, wait for 
 the covering of night. We were desperate, 
 starving men, and my loved one was dying for 
 what the white man might have given in mercy. 
 Blackfoot would have carried me swift. I killed 
 her that I might not take from the white man as 
 he had taken from us. 
 
 It is true that Beverlie and I killed the ox. 
 We carried as much of it away as we could. I 
 believe the Great Spirit is looking down on all 
 of us, and for that reason I am telling the truth. 
 
 White Doe had nourishment that night, and 
 I did not shrink from telling her what we had 
 done. Is there a man or woman of you who 
 would not have done the same ? We were no 
 cowards. 
 
 The next day came men to carry Beverlie and 
 me to prison. 
 
SAMUEL, AN ARAPAHOE. 19 
 
 There lay the sick dear one. But the Chris- 
 tian white men did not care for that. She 
 moaned and cried when they dragged me away. 
 But the Christian white men did not care for 
 that. 
 
 News was brought to White Doe that every 
 one at the agency sympathized with us. The 
 poor dear one thought they would free us, and 
 give us food. But, when she found we were to 
 go to the prison, she cried out and said she 
 would no longer have the religion of the white 
 man, and I cannot but think she was right. 
 
 The white man has had many years of your 
 religion, yet he lies to us, he cheats us, he kills 
 us. You tell me that your religion is to do to 
 your brother as you would he did to you, yet the 
 white man says, " Kill all the Indians." Are 
 we not brothers with one Father above us ? 
 
 They locked us in prison. My heart did not 
 break, for I thought I should be near my dear 
 one. I could hear how she was. I could send 
 her word. Some one would sometimes come 
 and tell me how she was and what she said, but 
 they sent us off from the Territory. They sent 
 us over a waste of country to a strange land and 
 put us behind iron bars. 
 
 I did not feel the shackles that I wore. I did 
 not feel the heavy irons sinking about my legs. 
 The iron was in my heart. White Doe lay 
 
2O SAMUEL, AN ARAPAHOE. 
 
 dying. They bound Beverlie and me together 
 with heavy chains, and burdened our feet with 
 irons. 
 
 White Doe sleeps, never to awake. 
 
 White man, do not hold out your hand to me 
 and speak of friendship. The body of White 
 Doe lies between us. Do you think your hand 
 could reach me over tJiat ? 
 
 My heart is heavy. I hope that I, too, shall 
 soon sleep in peace. 
 
 You took my food from me, and when I had 
 learned to toil, you stole the home I had built 
 with my hands and the ground I had worked 
 hard to make like the white man's garden. 
 You put me in iron chains and brought me to 
 prison. I do not say I am innocent. I did take 
 an ox that Be.verlie and I found in the moun- 
 tain ; and the man who stole my cattle and 
 branded them with his mark claimed the ox as 
 his ; but had your law been right, that man 
 should have been in prison seven times, for 
 those are the number of cattle he took from 
 me ; but he is a white man, and I an Indian. 
 You are a rich nation. You have conquered 
 a brave people. We do not want to fight. 
 The white man has taken away everything. I 
 hope some day the white man will do justice 
 to the Indian. I want to say that I only ask 
 for justice. 
 
SAMUEL, AN AKAl'AHOE. 21 
 
 They tell me that your nation is governed by 
 the will of the people. After much thought, 
 I make . out that, because the white man has 
 learned your will, he can steal from the Indian, 
 he can ruin his home, he may kill him ; but the 
 law* that you use will not punish the white man. 
 I do not see that we have been benefited in the 
 least by all your laws. Is this your will ? I 
 want to say again that I only ask for justice. 
 Give the Indians an even chance with the 
 white men. Treat them as men and women. 
 I can say no more. I speak to-day ; perhaps 
 to-morrow I die. 
 
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