The "Wild West" Collection. William MacLeod Raine
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keep us posted," Seth observed quietly to Rube.
"You kind o' understan' him."
"He understands Injuns," the dog's master returned significantly. No more was said for a while, and the two men peered out into the darkness with eyes trained to such watchfulness.
"'Bout them tents?" said Rube later on.
"They're the troops. The postmaster told me they were comin' hard."
"Kind o' handy."
It was very dark. The moon had not yet risen. Presently Seth fetched a chair. The older man watched him seat himself a little wearily.
"Hurt some?" he said.
"Jest a notion," Seth replied in his briefest manner.
"Say, you got around jest in time."
"Yup. Wanaha put me wise after I left here, so I came that aways. Say, this is jest the beginnin'."
"You think----"
"Ther's more comin'. Guess the troops 'll check it some. But--say, this feller's worse'n his father. Guess he's jest feelin' his feet. An' he's gettin' all the Pine Ridge lot with him--I located that as I came along."
They talked on for some time longer, in their slow, short way discussing their plans. The one topic they did not discuss was Rosebud. They tacitly ignored her share in the evening's work like men who knew that certain blame must attach to her and refused to bestow it.
The night dragged slowly on. Rube wanted Seth to go in and rest, but Seth sat in his chair with dogged persistence. So they shared the vigil.
Rube, by way of variation, occasionally visited the stables to see to the horses. And all the time the dog was out scouting with an almost human intelligence. After once being dispatched he did not appear again. Seth had brought him up to this Indian scouting, and the beast's natural animosity to the Indians made him a perfect guard.
The moon rose at midnight. There was no sign of disturbance on the Reservation. All was quiet and still. But then these men knew that the critical time had not yet arrived. Dawn would be the danger. And by dawn they both hoped that something might result from Charlie Rankin's journey.
Rube was sitting in a chair at Seth's side. The clock in the kitchen had just cuckooed three times. The old man's eyes were heavy with sleep, but he was still wide awake. Neither had spoken for some time. Suddenly Seth's right hand gripped the old man's arm.
"Listen!"
There was a faint, uneasy whine far out on the prairie. Then Seth's straining ears caught the sound of horses galloping. Rube sprang to his feet, and his hands went to the guns at his waist. But Seth checked him.
"Easy," he said. "Guess it ain't that. General only whined. He mostly snarls wicked for Injuns."
They listened again. And soon it became apparent that those approaching were coming out of the north.
"Charlie's located 'em." Seth's tone was quietly assuring, and old Rube sighed his relief.
Then the dog suddenly reappeared. He, too, seemed to understand that friends were approaching.
And so it proved. The night of long suspense was over. A few minutes later a squad of United States cavalry, in charge of a dapper, blue-coated lieutenant, rode up to the farm. And when they arrived Seth was there by himself to receive them.
"Rube Sampson's farm?" inquired the lieutenant, as he swung from his steaming horse.
"Right." Seth shook hands with the man.
"Trouble over there," observed the other, indicating the Reservation with a nod of the head.
"Yup. Come right in. Guess your boys had best make their plugs snug in the barn. Come right in, and I'll rouse Ma."
Those last two hours before morning were the hardest part of all to Rube and Seth, for, in the parlor, they had to detail all the events of the preceding day to Lieutenant Barrow and his sergeant. And neither of them was good at explaining.
Breakfast was partaken of; after which, since the soldiers had accepted all responsibility, Ma packed her men-folk off to bed. Seth had not seen a bed since Friday night, and this was Tuesday.
The neighborhood of the farm, and, in fact, all along the north side of the river presented an unusual sight when Seth and Rube reappeared at noon. Two regiments of United States cavalry had taken up their position ready for any emergency.
The midday meal was a little late, so that Seth's shoulder might be properly dressed. And when at last the family sat down to it, it threatened to be more than usually silent. All were weary, and the women overwrought. Ma was the only one who made any attempt to rouse the drooping spirits about her. The men knew that they were confronted with no ordinary Indian rising. There was something far more threatening to them personally.
As the meal dragged on Ma abandoned her efforts entirely, and a long silence ensued. Finally Rube pushed back his chair and rose from the table. Then it was that Seth spoke for the first time.
He looked from Rube to Ma. He was trying to look unconcerned, and even smiled.
"Say," he observed, "guess I was fergittin'. I got a bit of a letter from--England."
Rube dropped back into his chair, and his eyes were questioning. Ma was staring through her spectacles at her boy. She, too, was asking a mute question. But hers was merely a quiet curiosity, while Rube's, slow old Rube's, was prompted by Seth's manner, which, instinctively, he knew to be a false one.
Rosebud was patting General's head as he sat at her side. She continued her caressing, but her eyes, swift and eager but tenderly grave, watched Seth as he drew out the letter from his pocket and smoothed it upon the table. There was just the slightest tremor in her hand as it rested on the dog's head.
"Yup," Seth went on, with a great assumption of unconcern which deceived nobody. "It's a feller--jest one o' them law fellers. He's comin' right along to the farm. I 'low he must be nigh here now. He was goin' to git here Tuesday the 16th--that's to-day."
He was intent on the letter. Nor did he once raise his eyes while he was speaking. Now he turned the paper as though in search of some detail of interest.
"Ah," he went on. "Here it is. Says he's hit the trail o' some gal as was lost. Guesses he'd like to see--Rosebud, an' ask a few questions."
"Seth!"
Ma had risen, and somehow her chair overturned behind her. Her exclamation was a gasp. Rube stared; he had no words just then. Rosebud continued to caress the dog, who whined his pleasure at the unusual attention. At last she turned. For an instant her eyes met Seth's.
"May I read that letter, Seth?" she asked quietly.
"Sure." Seth rose from the table. "Rube," he said, "I'd take it friendly if you'd fill my pipe." Then he moved across to the window.
Rosebud looked up from reading the letter. She came round to him and handed it back.
"So my name's Marjorie Raynor?" she said with a queer smile.
Seth nodded.
"And all this money is what you once spoke about?"
Again came Seth's affirmation.
"And how long have you known--that I'm not Rosebud?"
"Got that bit of a letter Saturday."
"But you guessed it long before that--when we were out at the slough?"
"I'd a notion."
The girl glanced round. Ma's face was still in a condition of florid perplexity. Rube was quietly whittling a match with his tobacco knife. Rosebud's eyes were very soft as she looked from one to the other.
"And I'm to go away from--here?" she said at last, and her lips were trembling.
"Guess when a 'stray' comes along we mostly git it back home."
Seth