The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Brand, by Therese Broderick

THE
BRAND

[NEW BOOKS]

THE ALICE HARRIMAN COMPANY

PUBLISHERS OF
FINE BOOKS

Denny Building, Seattle, Washington

Descriptive Catalog sent upon request

THE BRAND

A Tale of the Flathead
Reservation

By
THERESE BRODERICK
(Tin Schreiner)

HW

1909
THE ALICE HARRIMAN COMPANY
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON

Copyright, 1909, by
THERESE BRODERICK
Dramatic Rights Reserved

PRINTERS AND BINDERS
LOWMAN & HANFORD CO.
SEATTLE

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

To all who know the Golden West, And those who fain would feel Its charm and mystery, and test Its worth, which is so real; To all who love God’s mountains, His vast expanse of plain, His forests, lakes and fountains, And the secrets they contain— This book is humbly given.

—Tin Schreiner.

THE BRAND

[CHAPTER I]
BESS FLETCHER’S FIRST WESTERN ACQUAINTANCE

For two days the westbound train had hurried over the prairies as if it understood the heart of the girl and strove to gratify her impatience for a glimpse of the mountains. She sat at the car window and gazed fascinated at the scenes which were so new and strange that she forgot the coach with its tired people—forgot even her brother, who sat with his book, bored and indifferent to the flying panorama.

Her soul left the plush-covered seats and suit-cases to follow the wild creatures that moved in the gorges or climbed the wonderful mountain slopes. She did not hear the repeated “I’m going for a smoke, Bess.” Her soul was without, her eyes following a mysterious, half-hidden form.

“It’s a deer! Oh, Jim, it’s a deer!” she exclaimed excitedly, turning to her brother for corroboration. But the flashing brown eyes looked into the face of a stranger.

“Oh, I beg pardon,” she breathed, her cheek flushing. “My brother sat there only a moment ago, and I thought I was addressing him.”

The stranger smiled. “Then I infer that you are Miss Fletcher. I just now saw Mr. Fletcher going into the smoking room. Two years ago I had the pleasure of making his acquaintance when he was in the Flathead country.”

While he was speaking, she noted what a large man he was, how deliberately he spoke and in what an unusually musical voice. She saw the flush of health and strength in his face, contrasting so greatly to her brother’s pale, emaciated countenance. She wondered what color his eyes were, but as he looked at her with fleeting glances she could not tell. The thought flashed through her mind that he would be very handsome if only he would open his eyes frankly. In fact, so preoccupied was she reading the young man that she was scarcely aware of what he was saying to her. Just then she saw James coming.

“Well, well, Mr. Davis! I’m glad to meet you once more.” Fletcher reached forth his hand in friendly recognition.

“Permit me to introduce my sister, whom I am taking to the Flathead with me.”

With a nod the stranger explained how he had already had the pleasure of speaking with Miss Fletcher.

“You are not looking like the hale and hearty cowboy whom I saw two years ago riding over the range on the reservation,” he continued. “It must be the return to civilization did not agree with you.”

“I was very well until a few months ago,” said Fletcher, “but the worry and strain of settling my father’s affairs used me up generally, and I am now going West to recuperate. I love the Western life, with its sunshine, its out-of-doors, its fresh air and vast breathing space. I wouldn’t exchange the three summers on the range for all my life in the city.”

“Do you know, Mr. Davis, I have become so fascinated with tales of the cattle country that I feel almost as enthusiastic as my brother,” said Bess, brushing the stray lock of fluffy brown hair out of her eye. “Do you think,” she continued, “that I shall love the West as he does?”

“I hope so,” said Davis, with a swift glance.

“I already know what a cayuse is, and also a lariat, though I am not so sure as regards a teepee; still, if I remember correctly, it is something good to eat.”

Simultaneously both gentlemen burst forth in hearty laughter, and when Davis could speak he said: “I am afraid, Miss Fletcher, your appetite will be gone when you see or even smell one.”

Bess wrinkled her brow in perplexity. “Oh,” she said, “James has told me so many tales of the Indians and cowboys and all, that I scarcely know what to believe. Nevertheless, it won’t be long now before I shall have solved a few of the mysteries at least.”

Davis began carefully to roll a cigarette, shaping it daintily with his thumb and index fingers; then poising it carefully between his lips, he sought a match in his vest pocket and excused himself, hoping to meet them both very often during the summer. Bess watched him as he slowly sauntered toward the end of the car with a look of inquiry.

“I think I would like him better if he would look directly at one. Who is he, James? A cattleman or cowboy, or what is it you called them—oh, yes, squaw man?”

“You’ll have to guess again, Bess. He is Dave Davis, the Indian agent of the Flathead Reservation. He is probably on his way to the sub-agency at Ronan.”

She gave a little sigh in answer, and asked how long it would be before the train reached Selish.

“I fear you are nearly worn out, James. You had better lie down and rest. It is now four o’clock, and at five you say we will reach the end of our train journey. It’s been rather long and tedious. How far away New York begins to feel, doesn’t it? Oh, I wonder if I shall really like it away out here in the West?”

James quietly settled down for a nap, and Bess went on with her mental soliloquy. The West! What had she not dreamed of the West! Its wonderful mountains, so great and bold, rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, verdant with the towering pines, and again, white and softened by the crown of winter. In fancy she had seen their rugged sides caressed by crystal streams, and had stooped to drink where deer had splashed. Then forth stretched the plain, far into the blue horizon. On she dreamed, till the porter warned her it was nearly time for them to leave the train. Hurriedly awakening her brother, he hastily gathered together their numerous grips and boxes. So busily engaged were her hands that she had to blow the persistent wisp of hair out of her eyes.

“For pity’s sake, Bess, can’t you pin that bunch of hair up?”

“It won’t stay up, James. I get so annoyed at the old forelock that sometimes I feel like pulling it out,” and all unconsciously she repeated the motion, at which they both laughed.

“Here we are, dearie, at last. I wonder if anyone will meet us. Come, let the porter help you off with a few of those bird cages.”

As they stepped from the train she felt to everything which came within her range of observation like a huge interrogation point. She glanced hurriedly about, hoping to see Henry West, and wondering if she would know him. Just then she saw Mr. Davis lifting his hat to her, both in recognition and farewell, as he walked to a man holding a beautiful saddle horse. The Indian agent glanced back at the tall, graceful girl, with her pretty traveling dress and hat of brown. She could not know that he noted with what an air she walked, head and shoulders erect, chin up aggressively, nor that he thought:

“Gad! but she is great! And what a treat after three years of Indians. I shall certainly see you often, Miss Fletcher.”

“Do you see him anywhere, James?” Bess was all animation.

“West? No, sister. We better hurry over here where there is the best little hotel you ever saw or heard tell of; so immaculately clean, and excellent food—plain, but cooked to the queen’s taste. That is, if it’s run by the same party who used to be here. My mouth still waters in recollection of some of the good trout and muffins which I have had at Mrs. Strong’s.”

Nestled closely to the hillside was the hotel, and as Bess was greeted by a sweet-faced girl and her mother she wondered if all Western hospitality were as cordial.

James had ordered their trunks brought over, and soon Bess came from her room fresh and clean and rested, dressed in a becoming tan-colored riding suit of corduroy.

It was early May. In the mountains the evenings were still cold, and a blazing fire crackled as they sat down to dinner. It seemed to Bess that she never was so hungry in all her life. Biscuits never tasted so good before. She saw, with gratification, that James ate as he had not in weeks.

“Did you ever feel, James, that you could eat everything in sight? That’s just the way I feel now, but I’ll try to leave enough for you, dear.”

This brother and sister were all the world to each other. The mother died while Bess was still young, and most of her life had been spent in the convent school. During her summer vacation she was often with her father and brother in New York. The past year and a half, since the death of their father, Bess and James had been together constantly. He had hoped to carry on his father’s law business, but a severe illness necessitated his leaving the city, and so he gladly accepted the offer of Henry West to come to his ranch and assume the foremanship.

James and Henry West had been in school at Harvard together, and later both began the study of law. The close association of years caused the insoluble bond of friendship between them.

Colin West, the father of Henry, was a Scotchman, of education, tact and good judgment; a man respected by everyone with whom he came in contact. Fate or fortune had placed him in the West while still a young man. His wife was half Indian blood, and yet one of the most refined and intellectual of women. Her son was proving himself an able manager of the vast herds of cattle and buffalo which Colin West had accumulated, and since his death four years ago Henry had had the entire management of the ranch.

Here James spent three long, delightful summers. Here he learned to ride and “rope” like any of the cowboys on the range. It was always with reluctance that he left, after the fall round-up, to take up his studies again. How glad he was to return now, in hopes of soon regaining his health and strength. He had hesitated in bringing his sister into this new life, and yet he could not leave her alone in New York.

She was wild with delight when he asked her to come, for ever since she had listened to his never-ending, interesting tales of the West had she hoped that she, too, might come to know its lure. She loved out-of-door life, and the few months of her vacation in the city were usually spent riding, so that she had become a very good horsewoman, and, best of all, had grown to strong and perfect womanhood. She was girlish, and her twenty years rested lightly on her shoulders. Her optimistic and sunshiny disposition won for her the love and admiration of all her friends, and even strangers smiled at her happy face. As most of her life had been spent at school among sweet-faced nuns, she had grown up uncontaminated by the world, pure-minded and whole-souled. Her faith was implicit, and never yet had she had a rude awakening to the fact that all were not true nor good, nor even sincere.

Several times she had considered seriously becoming a nun herself, but her love of nature, of out-of-doors, of friends, of her father and brother, of the world generally, made her pause. Then, too, she knew her bright and merry nature could never endure the strict confines of the cloister and the shadow of the somber black robes. “No, I cannot, for I am not good enough,” was always her mental decision. And now that her father was dead and she and James were alone, she had put the thought from her mind entirely.

The nuns realized what her work would be, for her talents in music and painting were extraordinary; and she also had that gift, which few possess, of making a success of anything she undertook. Failure was not in her vocabulary, and she never used the word, either mentally or audibly.

“Why in the world, Bess, have you put on your riding togs?”

Bess looked up with surprise and replied: “Why, James, are we not going horseback to the HW Ranch?”

“We can’t start for the ranch tonight. It is at least thirty-five miles, and besides you can never ride so far, even though Henry West should bring saddle horses. The stage leaves here for Polson early in the morning, and we will, in all probability, meet him there. Still, he wired he would meet us here at Selish. It is early yet, and he may come soon.”

With a little impatient gesture of putting back the hair from her forehead, and with her eyes sparkling, half defiantly and half in fun, Bess said: “My dear, solicitous brother, let me tell you a few things right now. I am here in the great West where you have told me there is perfect and untrammeled freedom. Don’t begin using a lot of don’ts and can’ts, for I am going to ride—‘and ever to ride’, when and where and with whom my fancy dictates; I am going to talk with anyone who interests me, be he white or full-blood Indian. I am going to—Oh, what am I not going to do!—even shock my dear, old brother, half to death, every day—you dear”—She jumped from her seat at the table and after flinging her arms around his neck, she was out of the room, her merry laugh ringing in his ears, before he had time to remonstrate.

“My dear little sister,” he thought, “I pray there may no harm come to you, and that your frankness may not be misconstrued by those who are ever ready to criticise.”

[CHAPTER II]
THE GOLDEN GLIMPSE

Bess had donned her fluffy brown tam-o-shanter and stood on the veranda. Shadows of evening were silently gathering in the valley, and yet she could see that beyond the hill the sun still shone. “That hill looks rather high,” she said briskly, “but I do so long to see what lies beyond it. I think I’ll go up the road and take a glimpse before the sun sets. Brother won’t miss me and I’ll only be gone a minute.”

As she walked she stooped to pick some shining butter-cups, and to thrust in her hair waxen leaves of the Oregon grape, with its bright yellow clusters of blossoms. So interested was she in each new leaf and stone that the crest of the long, winding road had been reached before she was aware. Lifting her eyes she caught her breath, and unconsciously lifted her hands in silent adoration of the glorious panorama spread out before her, her first real look at the “golden West.”

It was golden indeed, for the sun had just dipped beyond the purple mountains and the scene was flooded with golden light. Away, away to the North and East and West stretched the vast rolling valley of the Indian Reservation, the Little Bitter Root mountains guarding it on the left and the Mission Range rising modestly on the East. She could see but the faint purple outline of the low hills to the northward. Dotted here and there were soft greens, of irrigated reaches, and trees, showing where the waters flowed and at which the grazing herds quenched their thirst. Bess was filled with awe at the magnificent scene, and reverently clasped her hands and lifted her eyes as she realized the immensity of it. When the Lord of Hosts should upon the last day assemble all the people of the earth together in judgment, what more fitting place could he choose! There he might sit on the crest of yonder mountain, with his host of angels about him, and below in the expanse of sweeping prairie, unmarred by the hand of man, adorned only by the divine touch of bountiful Providence, might convene all,—the good might here find a foretaste of heaven, and the less fortunate could hope for mercy of which they had not dreamed nor even dared to hope. Surely the Creator of all this beauty would condone the faults of poor, frail humanity who had fallen from grace in the hard and bitter struggle of life.

So she stood, entranced, in the fading light of day, unheeding the last thrilling notes of meadow lark, or the balsam-laden air wafted to her from the evergreen slopes of the mountains. Closing her eyes in a softly murmured prayer, she stood silent and motionless, and when she again looked upon the scene the grayness of early night had settled over all, softening every outline with indistinctness.

Abruptly she turned to hurry back to the hotel, when, in the distance, she heard the clatter of approaching hoofs. A little alarm of fear and loneliness stirred in her breast and she hurried down the road. All the bravado with which she had left her brother had suddenly deserted her, and she could feel the heart-throbs in her throat nearly choking her. She did not even glance up the road, although she heard the hoof-beats ever coming nearer. “What if it should be Indians!” The thought filled her with ever-increasing alarm. On she sped, as rapidly as the gradual descent permitted, then she struck a rock, and ere she could regain her footing she fell on her knees. Scarcely had the damp earth left an imprint on her skirt when she regained her feet, and now glanced behind her.

Silhouetted against the evening sky, on the very crest of the hill, she saw, in her momentary glance, a lone horseman leading a second horse. The next instant they had begun slowly to descend the hill.

Bess, seeing a huge, flat boulder to the right of the road, stepped out upon it so that she could be distinctly seen, even tho it was now rapidly growing dark. She looked up the road at the approaching trio, her face raised fearlessly and confidently, although her knees were still trembling.

As the man passed he courteously lifted his broad sombrero, speaking at the same time in a low, commanding voice to the horse he was leading. “Mauchacho, I am ashamed of you! Did you never see a lady before? You certainly—”

But his voice grew indistinct in the distance and Bess did not hear the end of the chiding the dainty animal had received for pricking up his ears and pulling back on the hackamore.

“Thank goodness, it was not an Indian after all,” she said aloud, as she hurried down to the hotel.

The lone rider had already reached the steps, and she saw James heartily shaking both his hands. She stopped a moment watching the pair standing in the flood of light which poured out of the open doorway. The stranger was tall and straight as an arrow, even though his shoulders had a tired droop. Heavily fringed leather “chapps” covered his trousers, a mackinaw coat, carelessly fastened and a white silk handkerchief knotted loosely about his throat completed his unpretentious costume. She could see that his face looked dark and swarthy, but it was lighted by a smile of greeting, displaying a row of firm, even teeth.

“Well, old boy, it seems mighty good to see you once more, and to breathe this air again. I had just started to find my sister, who has strayed off somewhere, when I heard you coming,” Bess heard her brother saying, “and I hope I may find her before someone lariats her for a maverick and sticks his brand on her.”

The stranger laughed. “You have not forgotten all your Western jingle, even though you have been gone a year and a half. I saw a young woman up the road a way. Perhaps she is the sister you are searching.”

Just then James caught sight of the girl, and hastily summoning her to come forward, introduced her to his old friend and comrade, after scolding her, half seriously, for staying away so long without telling him where she was going.

Smiling at her brother, Bess Fletcher turned to look into one of the strongest faces and the most unfathomable eyes she had ever seen. The features were unmistakably Indian, and it was hard to believe that the man was only a quarter-blood, as she knew. The square chin and wide, sensitive mouth, the dilated nostrils and prominent cheek bones stamped the face with character, strength and determination. One could see in the gloomy depths of the eyes a strange intermingling of sympathy, with the truculent gleam which had shone for centuries in the eyes of his ancestors. They impressed one, that he would either be wholly white, or entirely Indian, according to circumstances or environment.

As Bess turned to acknowledge the introduction, her hand, half raised, paused as she measured this man.

“Mr. West. But—but,” she added hesitatingly, “you do not look one bit as I—”

West’s lips parted in a smile as he replied, “Had you expected to see me with a blanket on and a feather in my hair? I hope you are not greatly disappointed.”

For a moment she was nonplussed. “Oh, no! But you are different somehow, and if there is any disappointment it is a happy one.”

“Thank you, Miss Fletcher,” came in a low and almost inaudible voice.

James had been listening with interest. “I guess I had impressed her that you looked more like—” he floundered and ended tactlessly, “well, like me, than an Indian, Henry.”

The “breed’s” eyes closed spasmodically and his teeth shut hard before he replied. “Jim, sometimes I feel that I could willingly be skinned alive, if it would make me—like you.”

Never before in all their relationship had this outburst of confidence escaped him; yet here in the presence of this beautiful, fair woman, his usual reticence and reserve for the moment left him, and the secret desire of his heart and soul escaped his lips. Angry at his loss of control, he turned and said, “I had entirely forgotten the horses. We came at a pretty swift pace from Polson. I would have reached here before train-time, but Eagle got a stone in his shoe, and I had the devil’s own time getting it out. I must go and attend to their beds and supper.” With this he stepped out into the gloom.

Bess had gone into the house and was standing warming herself near the stove before her brother also entered and with a shiver hastened to the fire.

“Oh, Jim, isn’t he just splendid!” cried the girl. “I had no idea there were such men as he away out here in the West! No wonder you rave over him and always sing his praises.”

“Do you know, Bess, if he were my own brother I could not honor and love him more. At college he was so superior in mind, ability, and morals to the majority of his colleagues, that everyone looked up to him. He was one of them and no gathering was quite complete without Henry West. I never thought of him as an Indian, and anyway—that is his greatest charm. Whatever else he may be, he certainly is a gentleman.”

Bess threw her arms impulsively about his neck. Then, “Good night, dearie, I am half jealous of him already. Tell him good-night for me. I want to retire so as to be up for our early start in the morning. I am tired, more tired than I knew. Don’t stay up late. You must be worn out. Brother, I believe I love this new, strange land!” With a kiss she left him and went to her room.

Hastily undressing, she was soon ready for bed. Going to the window she put up the shade, and placing her hands between her brow and the window she peered into the night. Her bosom stirred with a tremor of excitement as she whispered, “The West! The mysterious West! And he—Henry West.” She flung the window wide open, and hastily getting into bed was soon asleep.

[CHAPTER III]
HENRY WEST’S IDEAL

The aromatic smell of coffee and bacon filled Bess’ nostrils as she awoke to a glorious morning. At first she looked about in wonderment, trying to think where she was. With the sudden realization she sprang out of the snug bed, and going to the open window, filled her lungs with deep draughts of pure, mountain air. It did not take her many minutes to dress and place her belongings in the trunk, which she fastened so it would be all ready and cause no delay. One of her habits was punctuality, and she never felt that she had a right to infringe upon the time of others by keeping them waiting. She came downstairs, and going into the sitting-room to see if her brother was there, was greeted by a cheery “good-morning” from Mrs. Strong.

“Breakfast is nearly ready, Miss Fletcher. The boys are out getting the horses ready and putting the trunks on the stage.”

Just then they came upon the porch, and Bess hastened forward with pleasant greetings. “James, your cheeks are getting tanned already.” Turning to Henry West, she continued, “You are certainly good medicine to have such a marked effect upon my brother so soon.”

“I have never aspired to the dignity of the Medicine-man, Miss Fletcher, but with your permission I shall certainly consider the matter,” he replied facetiously.

The flush of shyness mounted to her cheeks. “Really, Mr. West, you—I—I did not mean it in that way,” she said, trying to cover her confusion.

He felt sorry for her and assured her that she might say anything she wished concerning the Indians, as neither his mother nor himself were at all sensitive on the subject.

However, Bess was greatly relieved when just then Mabel Strong came to announce breakfast. Again their appetites seemed abnormal, and the rainbow trout, caught not an hour before in the stream which skirted the mountains, together with the delicious muffins, bacon and eggs, golden-browned potatoes and coffee, disappeared as if by magic.

Henry West ate sparingly, and watched James with gratification as he enjoyed his meal. “Jim, old boy,” he said, in his low, softly modulated voice, “you’ll be ready for the June round-up if you keep up that clip at grub.”

“How about me, Mr. West?” asked Bess, as she helped herself to the third muffin and the second egg.

James threw up his head with a hearty laugh. “If you keep up your ‘clip’ there won’t be a cayuse on HW ranch that could carry you a mile.”

They all joined in the laugh, and then Henry West asked if he might be excused and go fetch the horses.

“Mr. West, why did you bring two horses?” asked Bess, later, as she watched the animals brought up to the porch.

“Why, I thought perhaps that James would like to ride, but I am afraid he better not attempt it just yet.”

“Oh, let me! Now James,” as he raised his hand in remonstrance, “you know it doesn’t tire me in the least.”

“Yes, dearie, but riding a few hours on the smooth pavements of New York is entirely different from a thirty-five mile trip across an Indian reservation.”

A look of disappointment clouded her face, and Henry West hastened to speak: “Mauchacho is perfectly safe, and when she gets tired we can stop and wait for the stage.”

Bess looked at him with grateful eyes and cried impulsively: “You de— oh, thank you, Mr. West,” correcting herself hastily.

Henry West looked at her with a sympathetic glance, and had she looked she might have read with what eloquence his eyes asked her to speak that word—dear.

James saw that any further expostulation would be useless, so he helped West adjust the stirrups.

Suddenly the ’breed looked at Bess. “But perhaps you use a side-saddle, Miss Fletcher? In that case I fear you’ll have to be disappointed, and go in the stage after all.”

“Oh, my, no!” she cried before the words were out of his mouth. “James taught me to ride like a boy, and besides I know how a horse should be guided across the neck.” Her chin went up with a saucy tilt at her superior knowledge as she went around in front of the horse to “get acquainted,” as she called it. West watched her as she rubbed her nose against the dainty animal’s, unconscious of his interest.

“So your name is Mauchacho? I wonder what that means? And you have a forelock which bothers your eyes, the same as mine does. I wonder if you are used to skirts?”

West came around where she was standing, and as if in reply to the questions which she had been asking the horse, he said, “Mauchacho was my sister’s horse. He has never been used at any of the round-ups. No one has been on his back, excepting myself, since—since Helen—” After a moment he went on: “I named him Mauchacho because it is the Indian word for bird. He is very swift, and in a race always takes the lead.” He snapped his fingers, and the horse lifted up his front foot and daintily placed it in his master’s hand.

“Shake hands with your new mistress now.” Then he added: “Take him. He is yours to keep, Miss Fletcher.” Before Bess could recover from her astonishment and embarrassment he added: “I notice that you have the same idiosyncrasy that Mauchacho has.” Bess tried to think if his remark was a reflection on her unruly foretop, and was about to ask him, when he left her and walked to James, already seated in the stage.

Presently, when he turned, he saw Bess already in the saddle and adjusting her skirts. With a smile at her independence, he swung into his own saddle and started up the road, saying: “We’ll lead, as the stage may be a little slow and the dust is annoying.”

Bess turned to wave her hand and throw a kiss in farewell to Mrs. Strong and Mabel, who had come out on the porch to witness the departure. With a parting “Don’t get lonely nor tired, brother,” and a wave of her handkerchief toward the stage, she urged Mauchacho forward to join Eagle and his rider.

The horses started steadily up the road which wound around the hillside. West had not spoken since she joined him, but silently made notes of her graceful seat in the saddle; how she held the reins firmly, yet lightly, in her left hand; how her shoulders were flung back; how her nostrils were dilating and her chest was moving in rhythmic, full breathing. Once, as she breathed long and deep, she cried out, “Oh, it seems as if I never shall get all this delicious air I want! What a glorious morning! See, the sun is only just peeping over the hills! Oh, the lazy old fellow! What time is it, I wonder?”

Henry West replied without first glancing at his watch, “It is about half after seven,” but to assure her he opened his watch and simply added, “Yes.”

“You stood there last evening,” he said, pointing to the flat boulder upon which Bess had stood so tremblingly in the twilight. “I felt that it was you.”

The horses were breathing hard when they reached the summit, and West drew rein that they might recover from the exertion.

“Why don’t you wear spurs?” inquired Bess. “I supposed no cowboy’s costume was ever complete without them.”

“I do wear them when I am riding a cayuse and after cattle or on the round-up,” he explained, “but Eagle nor Mauchacho nor my other thoroughbred doesn’t need them. Do you, old boy?” he interrogated, bending over and giving the beautiful horse a sound “love-pat” on the neck.

Again Bess had become entranced at the wondrous scene which lay before her, even more glorious than the one of the night before. A song arose to her lips. As the first few notes unconsciously escaped her, and the rich, full melody floated out upon the morning air, she suddenly collected herself. “Oh, I could not help it,” she apologized.

Henry West looked at her with pleading eyes as he begged her to go on. “Please don’t mind me. Sing out the joy in your heart,” he said, gently.

As side by side the horses began the stony ascent of the opposite side of the hill, she sang, at first softly, then forgetting all else in the world except that she was young and happy and glad to be alive, the music became full, sweet and strong, and in her rich, sympathetic voice she poured forth her heart.

“The sun is rising o’er the ocean,
The smiling waters greet the day;
The joyous winds to dancing motion
Wake the billows and the spray.
See where the clouds roll up the mountains!
Night has her misty banner furled,
And springing from a thousand fountains
Light and joy o’erflow the world!”

Here she paused, her heart too full to go on. Neither spoke, and when they had reached the foot of the hill and the long, level stretch of road lay before them, the horses started into a swift pace across the plain. On, on they went, gradually slowing into a steady, swinging gait. Both horses were single-footers, and they moved along without any apparent effort. How delightful it was! How Bess enjoyed every moment! The brisk morning air painted her cheeks rosily and filled her large, brown eyes with sparkling excitement. Occasionally a little cry of keenest pleasure escaped Bess’ lips.

Henry West was apparently oblivious to all about him; his eyes were looking straight ahead and his lips were closed firmly, as if with an effort to restrain his thoughts. All his life he had thought of the day and dreamed of the time when his ideal might be by his side. On his lonely rides across the plains or hills in quest of cattle or looking after his horses, his heart and soul had been filled with thoughts of Her. Never had he found her among the girls of his own people. Never had he seen her in all his years at school and college, although many who were fair and sweet would gladly have accepted his attentions. Always a welcome guest at the homes of his acquaintances, entertained and feted until he had become surfeited with it all, his heart was still an empty void, and his soul still longed for her of whom he dreamed.

Last night she came! The moment he heard her voice he knew it! The instant he saw her eyes, her face, her hair, her form, he felt like crying out in his exquisite pain of unbearable joy, “At last you have come; you for whom I have hoped, longed, sought, waited through all the ages of time! Oh, my love, my life! And yet I can not, dare not even presume to touch your hand! Oh, the irony of fate! You are so fair, so white—I, O God! I am but an Indian! They say we know how to hate! We know, too, how to love; but how much, how hopelessly, I never knew till now! And yet”—a swift thought came—“and yet—my mother! How I love her! What an honor to be my mother’s son!”

Bess stole a shy glance at the set face of her companion and wondered what he could be pondering so deeply. He had not spoken for a long time, and she half feared to break the silence. Miles passed under the horses’ hoofs, and yet he was silent.

Suddenly he looked at her with self-reproach. “Pardon me, Miss Fletcher, but you certainly must be getting tired.” He hastily leaped from his horse, throwing the reins over the beautiful creature’s head.

Eagle shook himself as if glad to be relieved of his burden. West came to Bess’ side and assisted her to dismount. He had anticipated that her knees would not sustain her weight, and clasped her in his arms to keep her from falling. Immediately the horses, with reins trailing on the ground, began munching the soft green grass, slowly picking here and there.

“Ouch!” said Bess, as her feet touched the earth. “How funny one’s knees feel after riding so far,” and she awkwardly began to move forward.

As her soft hair brushed his face when she dismounted West could scarcely refrain from placing his hand upon the fluffy and wind-tossed tresses. Taking off his mackinaw, he spread it on the ground, telling her to be seated for a moment, and strode to the feeding horses. Presently he returned, and Bess, having risen, looked up at him with a bright smile.

“Mr. West, why do the horses walk like crawfish?”

He smiled at her comparison, and told her, to avoid stepping on the reins and the attendant jerk to their mouths.

“Do you think I will soon be toughened like you?” she asked.

“Oh, yes,” West replied. “You soon will be able to ride half a day, or even more, without becoming much fatigued. At first you must go easy and not ride too long at a stretch.”

She stood gazing about her at the vast herds of cattle and horses grazing all about the valley and the gentle slopes. In front she could see the heavily willowed banks of a stream, and secretly rejoiced, for she was longing for a drink.

West was looking behind him over the road they had just come. “Well, the stage is not so slow today. Old Charley must be pounding them on the back.”

[CHAPTER IV]
THE HESITATING LARIAT

Bess could discern in the distance the stage with its little, trailing cloud of dust. “Please let us mount again. I’m quite rested, and want to reach the stream before the stage arrives.”

“You are thirsty, Miss Fletcher?” he asked, solicitously, hastening to assist her to remount.

The horses started eagerly forward, the scent of fresh water in their nostrils.

“We are nearly half-way home. The bridge yonder is about half the distance,” said West.

Suddenly he was so alarmed by a shrill cry from the girl that he brought the surprised Eagle almost to his haunches with a sudden stop.

“Look!” she cried, pointing to the right of her. Instantly West turned his horse. “My God!” he cried, starting Eagle across the rolling land. She saw a horse throw his rider, and in a moment more drag him by the foot, which in some way had become fastened in the stirrup.

Bess tried in vain to restrain Mauchacho, who insisted upon following his companion. Scarcely a half mile intervened, and Bess could see Eagle speeding like a veritable bird. She saw West swinging his lariat about his head with measured movements. Suddenly he hesitated, holding his hand for the instant still—then with one more vigorous swing the rope shot out, hissing and uncoiling like a huge snake, and in the instant it caught the fleeing horse firmly by both front feet and threw him with a crash to the ground. At the same moment Eagle braced himself like a rock, and West secured the lariat about the pommel of the saddle. So swiftly had it all happened that Bess cried out in amazement and wonder.

West reached the frightened horse, now struggling wildly, in time to save the man from being kicked to death. The foot had been wrenched from the stirrup, and the man lay silent and motionless upon the ground.

When Bess reached the spot she sprang from her horse and hastened forward to be of assistance.

“I cannot see how anyone who knows a horse could possibly have such an accident,” West was saying, as if to himself. “The horse surely could not have seen a ‘rattler,’ as it is too early for them; and, besides, I have never seen one down on this flat. Looks to me like confounded carelessness!”

“Oh, is he hurt?” she inquired, but West had mounted Mauchacho and was speeding to the stream. Bess lifted the bruised and bleeding head into her lap. As she carefully wiped the dirt from the eyes and face she discovered to her surprise that it was the same Mr. Davis whom she had only met the evening before on the train at Selish.

“See—look!” she exclaimed excitedly, as West returned, his hat dripping with the water it contained. “It is Mr. Davis!”

Henry West nearly spilled the precious liquid. His eyes flashed with hatred, and his teeth clenched so hard that she could scarcely hear his words. “You—know—that—that—devil!”

Bess was so confounded at the look of enmity and hate that she turned pale with fear.

The next moment, with trembling hands, she was helping Henry West to resuscitate the unconscious man. Cool, dripping handkerchiefs bathed his brow and temples. Upon examining the foot which had caused so much mischief, West saw that it was swelling rapidly, and soon dexterous fingers had unfastened the laces and were tenderly removing the shoe. All the passion was gone from his face, leaving it pale and anxious. Again he hastened to the stream, quickly returning with the hat filled with water. How they worked, these two! Perspiration streamed from their faces as they chafed his arms and hands and bathed the bruised and swollen ankle. Once they caught a fleeting twitch of the eyelids, and, encouraged by the knowledge that there was still life, they renewed all their efforts.

Suddenly West put his hand upon the man’s breast, Bess thought to feel his heart beats, but instantly she understood as he drew a flask from the inside of the coat. West forced the lips apart and succeeded in pouring some of the brandy into Davis’ mouth. The effect was almost instantaneous. The eyelids fluttered and a groan of torture escaped the lips. Again he relapsed into unconsciousness, but for only a few minutes, for soon he opened his eyes and looked into the girl’s face. Then a spasm of pain contracted his face frightfully, and even West turned aside that he might not see. They gave him more of the brandy, which seemed to strengthen the man, and also made the suffering, for the moment at least, less acute. Not a word had they spoken since that first moment.

West now watched for the stage, standing near Mauchacho, first releasing the horse which he had thrown. With trailing reins the animal now stood quietly beside Eagle, who seemed to be looking at him with “horse” contempt.

Just then the stage came in sight from behind a rise, and West swung upon Mauchacho, hastening to hail it. Soon Bess could see the men hurrying to where she sat with her again unconscious burden. With a strong blanket for a stretcher, four of them carefully placed the wounded man upon it, and bore him to the stage. James brought Eagle and Davis’ horse, while Bess walked behind, leading Mauchacho. Carefully they placed Davis in the stage. James insisted that his sister continue her journey in the vehicle while he rode with West. They stopped at the bridge to water the horses, and then proceeded slowly on their way.

Bess was doing everything in her power to alleviate the pain of the man, whose head now rested against her shoulder. She did not move, and scarcely dared to breathe, lest she should disturb him. She could feel the damp, cold drops of perspiration standing out like beads on the white forehead and the bruised cheek. So great was her sympathy that she, too, seemed to be in the torture of pain. The other occupants of the stage watched her with interest and appreciation.

West rode near to tell her that James and he would hasten on and have a more comfortable conveyance at Polson by which to bring Mr. Davis to the HW Ranch.

[CHAPTER V]
THE MOTLEY SPECTATORS AT POLSON

It was nearly one o’clock when the stage reached Polson, at the foot of the Lake. As it drove up in front of the hotel Bess saw that James and Henry West had already arrived. A curious and anxious crowd were gathered in the road and on the porch, each one striving to get a look at the Indian Agent, of whose accident they had already heard. It was a motley crowd; here and there were blanketed Indians with their squaws and papooses and numerous mangy curs; in groups were standing the lighter colored half-breeds, some in white men’s clothing, others with blankets carelessly folded about them. Some were fastidious in their beaded leggings and wide-brimmed hats, their gay-colored ’kerchiefs and shirts, while others were scarcely able to hide their copper-colored bodies with their scanty possessions, so unfortunate had they been in their last gambling game. Several white men and women could also be seen intermingling with the Indians or standing aloof beside the buildings. They were evidently passengers en route across the reservation, or waiting to go up the Flathead Lake and river to Kalispell.

The Klondyke had been steamed up and ready to leave for more than an hour. The passengers hurried to get aboard, the whistle blew and the boat started slowly to steam out into the Lake.

The while, Henry West, assisted by a number of the spectators, was making Mr. Davis as comfortable as he could with numerous blankets on a buckboard. The men watched him with incredulity, for they all knew the animosity which existed between these two men. How any man could show such consideration and feeling for another who was his mortal enemy they could not understand! Neither did they know the cause of the hatred. Some said that Henry West knew of some ‘crooked work’ Davis had been carrying on, yet he could not say a word while he lived on the reserve and was under the authority of the Indian Agent. But this was conjecture. No one but Henry West and his God knew the circumstances which made him hate the man with all the powers of his soul.

West had asked Mrs. White, the post trader’s wife, if she would kindly take care of Miss Fletcher until he should be able to return for her. Bess, utterly exhausted, permitted herself to be led into the dark, cool sitting-room of the hotel. Tenderly Mrs. White unfastened her jacket, removed her fluffy tam and brushed back the soft brown hair. “You poor dear,” said Mrs. White sympathetically.

Bess threw her aching arms about the little woman’s neck and wept her tired heart out. Now that it was all over and she could relax, nature opened the floodgates of pent-up feeling and healing tears flowed.

Mrs. White, seeing that the girl was physically exhausted, as well as under a great mental strain, led her over to the couch. She knew better than to speak to her now, and held her tenderly in her arms till at last only little sobs escaped the girl, and soon her head sank low upon the broad shoulders in sleep. Quietly Mrs. White laid her upon the couch, placed a cover over her, and left her to sleep. The woman came into the room every few minutes to see if she were still asleep, and when at sundown Henry West returned with the buckboard for her, Bess was still sleeping.

“Do not waken her, Mrs. White,” he said, gently. “I will wait until she has had her sleep out.”

Then he went into another room, where he gave the little woman all the details of the Davis accident. His praise of Bess and the assistance which she gave was great indeed, and the heart of Mrs. White went out to the sleeping stranger, whose first experience of the Western life had been such a trying one. They were to become the closest of friends, and Mrs. White already felt an indescribable affinity for the girl.

[CHAPTER VI]
HW RANCH

The drive through the cool of the early evening to the ranch, which lay only three miles from the trading post, fully awakened and refreshed Bess. She was longing to ask the reticent man by her side a hundred questions regarding the injured one, but she refrained, intuitively feeling that she would be touching a heart-wound. The slight hesitancy of the lariat, the sudden outburst of passion, revealed to her woman’s instinct the secret hatred of Henry West, which all his sympathy and tenderness afterward could not hide.

At last he spoke: “Mother will not have dinner until we return. You must be nearly famished, for Mrs. White told me that you had fallen asleep before she could offer you any refreshment. I cannot tell you how sorry I am that you should have experienced such an ordeal. Mr. Da—— the Agent,” he said, with a marked effort at composure, “has been made comfortable, and when I left the ranch to come after you, mother said he had fallen asleep. My mother, years ago, had a thorough course of training in professional nursing, and the knowledge has been invaluable to her. The doctors at the agency or at the mission are so far away that in emergency cases she is always sought. I sent one of the men after a physician, but he can do no more than mother has already done.”

“There is my home, Miss Fletcher,” he continued, as they came in sight of the ranch. “How I love it! I hope you may be contented and happy as long as it is to be your home and James’.” True hospitality sounded in his deep voice and shone from his now grave yet friendly eyes.

“Oh! Thank you, Mr. West. Anyone who could not find both happiness and contentment amid all this beauty would be very hard to please. It will be the first real home I have ever known—nearly all my life has been spent at school. Dear me! I expect you think I should have unlimited knowledge,” she added lightly.

She gazed with interest about her. There stood the large, square, white house, with its wide porches and many windows, within a stone’s throw of the deep, blue water of Flathead Lake. Up the hill a short distance from the house in a clump of willows was a magnificent spring, whose cool, crystal water was made to flow down to the house and into the corral. Great barns, hay sheds and granaries were back of the house, and comfortable poultry houses and roomy ice-houses were also to be seen. Even a blacksmith shop with its glowing fire caught Bess’ interested gaze, and she wondered at the completeness of the ranch and marveled at the brains that could manage such a large and varied establishment. Quite near the house stood a teepee, and Bess could not repress a smile as Henry West told her what it was and that the old Indian and his wife who assisted his mother could not be induced to sleep indoors, so pitched their teepee in the yard for their greater comfort.

As West drove up to the house the door opened, and Bess was soon clasped in the arms of his mother. Happily he watched her as she welcomed the sister of his dearest and best friend.

“Mrs. West,” said the stranger, “I cannot tell you how happy I am to know you. James has told me so many dear, sweet things of you that somehow it feels as if you were my own mother, and I do need a mother so,” added the girl, with eyes that could not hold back the tears.

“God bless you, my dear,” she heard a gentle voice saying. “I, too, need a daughter to fill the place made vacant nearly a year ago.” She lifted the girl’s face tenderly with both her hands, and looking into the clear eyes told her how much she seemed like the daughter who had been lost.

“Helen was fair,” she explained. “Her hair was even lighter than yours, dear; she was quite as tall and about your age. She was like her Scotch father, while Henry looks like me.”

Bess gently kissed the tear-stained cheek of the tender mother, and pressed her lips against the soft, white hair, as together they went into the house. How cozy everything seemed! The cheerful fire in the grate, the comfortable chairs and couches, the beautiful pictures and rugs, gave everything a ‘homey’ look. Bess was surprised to find such evidences of refinement, wealth and comfort here—away out in Montana and on an Indian Reservation! Her surprises were not to end here, however, for she would soon discover that many, many of the families scattered all over this vast reservation were equally as comfortable and thrifty.

Mrs. West led the way to Bess’ room, and telling her that dinner would be ready in a half hour, left her.

Little ejaculations of happy surprises escaped the girl as she glanced about the room. Everything was creamy white and pale blue. The large brass bed was draped with soft blue and white, the furniture was white, and several comfortable willow rockers invited to rest. In one corner was a wide couch with numerous pretty cushions. A few choice pictures adorned the walls. Surely, the one who displayed so much taste in fitting up this dainty room must have been used to refinement! It was so different from what she had expected to find. James had told her of it all, and yet she was surprised. She surmised this had been Helen’s room.

As she hurried about, getting on her fresh, clean clothes, she continued her appraisal of her room. “I love you already,” she kept saying to herself.

During dinner not a word had been said concerning the patient, and Bess was interested in hearing James and Henry discussing the affairs of the ranch—how the wheat was growing, what a wonderful crop of hay was promised, the oats, too, never stood so well before at this time of year; the spring calves were all getting along fine; up to date there had been, as nearly as could be counted, about ninety colts.

Several times the girl became so engrossed in these new, strange topics that she forgot her meal, and Mrs. West could scarcely refrain a smile at her wide, wondering eyes.

As Bess’ hostess arose from the table she said: “You must all be worn out with your experience of today, and I advise early hours.”

Henry came over to his mother’s side, and kissing her gently on the brow, told her that he would spend the night looking after Mr. Davis.

But she said: “No, dear, you go to bed and rest, and when I need you I will call you.” Finally she persuaded him to consent to retire, after he and James had had their smoke.

Bess’ heart went out to this great, dark man, as she saw his gentleness. She thought that any man who so reverenced his mother must be worthy of greatest confidence and trust.

“I’ll say good-night now,” she said, for she was glad to get some rest. Her face and neck were smarting from the unusual exposure to the sun and wind, and she was trying to find something with which to alleviate the burning when Mrs. West tapped gently at her door.

“Are you asleep, dear?”

Bess quickly opened the door for her to enter. “Mr. Davis is sleeping again, so I came to see what help I might be to our ‘little stranger,’” she said gently, and noticing that the girl was suffering with the sunburned tender face, hastened to bring something to soothe her. “Let me put this on, dearie. Why, you are dreadfully burned!”

“I should have known better than to ride so far with only that tam-o’-shanter on my head,” said Bess.

“You should have a light, soft sombrero, and then you will be a regular ‘cowboy,’ and we’ll try to find a gun and spurs, too,” laughed Mrs. West, as she gently bathed the flaming cheeks and brow.

When she had been tucked snugly in her bed, Mrs. West sat by her side, telling in her modulated voice of her own strange experiences in the West; of her days in school and college; of her teaching and her music; of her home life and her children; opening little secret chambers in her soul to the girl, who was already filling her heart. Bess listened in wonderment at all that was told so modestly, and then she readily understood the source and cause of the taste and refinement which she had already observed.

On they chatted, like two school chums who had not seen each other for years, until Mrs. West noticed the tired eyelids trying so hard to stay open, and kissed Bess gently on the brow. The girl aroused herself and said: “Please, little mother, wait until I pray. Put your arms around me tight and let me feel what it means to have a mother.”

Together they mingled their supplications to the Great Common Father, and in the sight of God they were equal—though one pair of eyelids closed on cheeks fair as a lily and tears wet the face of one so dark.

[CHAPTER VII]
“I WOULD HAVE DONE MORE FOR AN INJUN”

With the twitter of birds outside and glorious sunshine streaming through the opened window, Bess awoke early, feeling that the refreshing sleep had completely restored her energy and light-heartedness. She breathed deeply of the fresh, cold air, feeling as if she could fly with the birds.

The thought of helping with breakfast prompted her to hasten, and soon she found the kitchen. An Indian woman was busily engaged getting the meal, as Bess entered, and she inquired of the woman where Mrs. West was. A slight motion of the hand upward was the only reply, and the woman silently moved out of the room.

Bess did not understand, and left the house for out-of-doors. At a little distance stood Henry West. Bess ran toward him with a cheerful “Good morning! Are you quite rested, Mr. West?”

“Oh, yes, indeed! It takes more than a day like yesterday to tire me. But may I ask how you are feeling this morning? You look well and happy, surely.”

“I am, and completely rested, too; but my face still smarts,” she replied, cautiously touching the pretty cheeks.

“You will suffer a good deal from the sun and wind for a while, then they won’t have any ill effects at all.”

“Not after I get thoroughly toughened, you mean,” she said with a merry twinkle in her eye. “Please, have we time to walk up there to the spring, before breakfast, Mr. West?”

“Yes, I think so,” he replied, and led her to the willows bending gently over, as if to hide their treasure. Here was an immense trough hewn from a log, where the clear, cold water flowed through it, in a great stream.

Bess stooped to drink; when she lifted her dripping face, Henry West could not suppress a laugh at the picture she made. Even her stray locks had had a bath, and her brown eyes were alight like a water nymph’s. His heart swelled with increasing love for this beautiful girl, and with the love grew a most bitter anguish as he realized more and more how hopeless it all must be. He fought hard to stifle his tender passion, and fully aware of the pain he must bear to be so near her day after day, to see her so unconsciously happy, to hear her merry laugh and soft, tender voice. He could at least seek solace away across the hills, or comfort in the company of his faithful Eagle, whose confiding ear had already heard many of his master’s heartaches.

His mother summoned them from the house, and Bess, with a girlish challenge that she would reach there first, started to run swiftly down the gentle slope towards the house. Mrs. West caught the rosy, merry laughing girl in her arms as she said, “I am glad to see you feeling so well and rested this morning, dear.”

“Oh, I feel fine,” Bess replied. “I want to cry out—to shout,” she added, as she gave the older woman so vigorous a hug that it made her gasp for breath.

“Great guns! Bess, you better vent some of that superfluous squeeze on some of the rest of us. See! Mrs. West is still struggling to breathe,” said James, as he placed Bess in her chair at the breakfast table.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, little Mother! Did I really hurt you? But I just had to squeeze someone or something; so after this when any of you see me coming with fire in my eye, I give you all fair warning.” They laughed at her strenuosity and good spirits and the coffee was served.

“Bess, don’t impress those people that you came from the Bowery,” said her brother, and all through breakfast she tried to recall what she had said or done that should suggest such a thought to James.

Breakfast was nearly over when Mrs. West told Henry to go up to the sick man’s room, as Mr. Davis had requested to see him. Henry shot a troubled glance at his mother and said, “I would much rather not go, mother.”

“I cannot understand, Henry, why you have taken such a dislike to Mr. Davis; he has always treated us with courtesy and many times has shown us marked consideration. Surely you cannot have forgotten how attentive he always was to Helen—”

“Hush, Mother! I will go to him at once. No, I have not forgotten anything,—and pray you may never understand,” he added in a whisper. He arose abruptly from his chair and quitted the room before he had finished speaking, so the last words reached the ears of Bess alone.

She watched the man, and thought of his words the day before when she told him that she knew Mr. Davis. As he had not asked how nor where she had known him, she thought perhaps James had explained.

Henry West knocked softly at the door of Mr. Davis’ room and entered at a faint “come in.” He could not help feeling a twinge of pity as he saw the pallid brow and hands of the helpless man, and yet his very presence filled him with ever-increasing hatred and contempt. He put his hand to his throat as if his collar were choking him, as he said in a husky voice: “You sent for me, Mr. Davis. Of what service can I be to you?”

He could scarcely catch the faint words that came from the injured man’s lips, and going nearer, bent over that he might hear what Davis was saying.

“Will you send one of my policemen here, West? There are several important matters which I must see about today.” The Indian agent spoke with effort.

“I fear you are not strong enough to see anyone yet,” Henry suggested kindly.

The man glared at him and hotly said, “Oh, hell! Yes, I am! All that hurts is my ankle, and I don’t have to talk with that.”

With an abrupt, “Very well, sir,” West moved towards the door.

“Say, West,” said Davis, raising his voice; “I know you didn’t give me that help yesterday because you love me,” with a slight sneer,—“but I thank you just the same.”

West suddenly wheeled and stood for a moment, rigid with clenched hands, looking at the man. “No, Dave Davis,” he said in his low, firm voice, “I did not save your neck because I even respect you. I would have done as much, or even more, for any old Injun.”

Bess met him as he went through the living-room, but he did not look at her as he passed outdoors. She wondered what could be the reason for his looking so sullen as he passed, and knew that it must be the man upstairs.

“Come here a moment, dear,” called Mrs. West to her; “I want you to take some breakfast up to Mr. Davis. One of my women is sitting there.”

Bess dreaded meeting him, yet she could not refuse to go. She carried the dainty and appetizing food into his room, and entered so softly that the man did not move. She thought he had fallen asleep, when a slight groan told her she was mistaken.

“Here is your breakfast, Mr. Davis,” she said cheerily.

“Oh, it is you, Miss Fletcher! I had begun to wonder why you did not come to see your patient.”

“I do hope you are better this morning, and that you may soon be strong again,” she said, beginning to help him with his meal.

“I am afraid this confounded ankle won’t be in any hurry getting well,” he replied bitterly, “and I shall be obliged to force my unwelcome presence here for too long.”

“Please don’t say that, Mr. Davis; I am sure you are perfectly welcome here. Mrs. West is only too glad to do all she can to alleviate your pain,” reassured Bess hastily.

“Yes, I understand,” he replied, as he sipped his coffee, “but Henry West has some sort of a grudge against me. Guess he thinks that at one time I cared for his sister.” Bess noticed a swift, sneering smile flit across his lips. He continued: “One never knows what to expect from these Indians.”

“S—sh,” warned Bess, glancing at the servant. She did not like what he was saying nor the tone of his voice, and as soon as he had finished his breakfast she hurriedly left him. Could the cause of all of Henry’s hatred be the sister whom he had loved so tenderly, she wondered.

[CHAPTER VIII]
BESS LEARNS THE REAL CAUSE OF THE ACCIDENT

The girl had begun to tidy up the living-room and the pretty library, with its shelves of choice books, when Mrs. West came in to remonstrate. “There are plenty of hands to do those tasks, Miss Bess,” she said, as she held the girl’s hands in her own. “You just go out and enjoy yourself, dear. It is such a pretty day that it is a pity to stay indoors.”

“Oh, please let me help you, Mrs. West,” pleaded Bess, “for I do enjoy working; and then, too, with your increased family you will be overtaxed.” The girl spoke with such earnestness that Mrs. West relented, thinking perhaps Bess would feel more at home if she assumed some little responsibilities. “You see,” Bess explained, “my father insisted upon the nuns at the convent teaching me all kinds of housework and serving, and it has been a great source of comfort to me to feel that I need not be dependent upon anyone to do these tasks for me.”

Mrs. West’s eyes followed the girl as she continued her task quietly and quickly, all the while busily talking.

“You’ll be surprised, little Mother, when I tell you that I have made nearly all of my own clothes. You’ll let me help you sew, too, won’t you? It must be a great problem for you to find anyone here, is it not?”

The deft fingers were putting little touches here and there, now arranging a vase of flowers or moving a picture, and Mrs. West noted with pleasure how soon the room bore evidence of her artistic taste.

As the days succeeded each other and the girl grew more and more into the home life of the ranch, she became a help and consolation to Mrs. West, in a thousand different ways. She relieved her of many little duties and assumed so willingly and competently the many cares that ere long Mrs. West began wondering how she had ever been able to get along without Bess, or how she had ever had the time or strength to look after the house alone. She now found time to rest and to read. She even took up her practice again, and many were the delightful hours which she and Bess spent together with their music. The lonely place in her heart was being filled by the presence of this sweet, lovable girl, and her tender, motherly love went out to Bess, as if the girl were indeed her own daughter.

The visitor was considerate of everyone. She was always seeing some kind thing to do or gentle word to say, and everyone, including the old Indians, who frequently came to the ranch, was treated with respect and given a kindly smile. Before the autumn had come her figure, riding on Mauchacho, sometimes with James or Henry West, or often alone, grew so familiar that the Indians named her “Bright Eyes,” because of the happy face and beautiful eyes.

Those first few weeks at the ranch were full of pleasure and delight for Bess. She took long rides of exploration over the vast acres, and each time, upon her return to the house, told of the wonderful things which she had discovered.

“There is the dearest spot up along the Lake shore,” she told Mrs. West one afternoon as she and Mauchacho came up to the porch, returning from one of their pleasant rides. “It is up on a little knoll, with beautiful pine trees that looked as if they had been freshly scrubbed this very day; and such very comfortable rocks and logs lying about. I am going to take my crayons and sketch there some day. Such a magnificent view of the vast blue lake, the mountains all around and Wild Horse Island in the distance.”

Then, as if she felt half guilty for leaving, she inquired how Mr. Davis seemed. “Really, I should not have left you to take care of him so long alone. I’ll be in the house in a moment, little Mother, and relieve you.”

As none of the men were about Bess unsaddled her horse and turned him loose to bury his nose in the soft, green grass of the pasture. She stood a moment watching Mauchacho as he sniffed to find a good place to roll. “Over Mauchacho, over again, two hundred! three hundred dollars; good, but we won’t sell you for a thousand, will we, you beauty?” And with her hat and gloves she ran into the house and hurriedly dressed to take charge of the sick man.

Davis had proved a quiet patient during his confinement and was now sitting up most of the day and soon would be able to be removed to his quarters at the agency. In his secret heart he knew that he was in no hurry to go; perhaps, had he made an effort, he could have gone some days ago. But he could not tear himself away from the girl who had helped to alleviate his suffering, and whose sweet voice had charmed him when she read during the long, tedious hours, and thrilled him while she sang, he lying quietly and watching her face, songs that were simple and sweet and full of deepest melody. But she always appeared abstracted; her brown eyes did not see the things about her, but gazed upon unknown visions which only her heart saw. Sometimes the brightest smiles played upon her lips and lighted up her face with joy; again, tear-drops hung on her long lashes, and fell unheeded upon her hands.

If he could only divine the thoughts which caused her emotion! He could not, but was entranced and deeply moved. Was he growing to love this girl, he asked himself a dozen times a day. No, surely he was not. But, even if he were, did he dare? Could he, Dave Davis, make this beautiful, unsuspecting and pure child love him? Always, he would banish the thought, for he still possessed a conscience, and could not think of her in this relation without a twinge.

Today as she came into the sick-room, all rosy and fresh after her ride, he looked at her with admiration. She had never looked half so charming to him before; the simple white dress made her girlish, and the bunch of yellow blossoms thrust into the loose knot of brown hair, just behind her ear, gave her a saucy air. She was brushing the hair from her brow as she approached the chair in which he was sitting.

“I envy you your ride and the fresh air, Miss Fletcher. It seems ages since I felt my horse under me. I never shall forgive him for stepping in a hole that day. Guess if I had not been so intent watching the girl in the distance,” he spoke as to himself, “trying to assure myself it was Miss Fletcher, he would not have thrown me.”