The Watchers of the Plains: A Tale of the Western Prairies Page 8

  CHAPTER VIII

  SETH WASHES A HANDKERCHIEF

  Seth was not in the habit of making very frequent visits to BeaconCrossing. For one thing there was always plenty to do at the farm. Foranother the attractions of the fledgling city were peculiarly suited toidle folk, or folk who had money to spend. And this man was neither theone nor the other.

  White River Farm was a prosperous farm, but it was still in that conditionwhen its possibilities were not fully developed, and, like the thrifty,foresighted farmers Rube and his adopted son were, they were content toinvest every available cent of profit in improvements. Consequently, whenthe latter did find his way to Roiheim's hotel it was always with adefinite purpose; a purpose as necessary as any of his duties in his day'slabor.

  Riding into the township one evening he made straight for the hotel, and,refusing the stablehand's offer of care for his horse, sat down quietly onthe verandah and lit his pipe. Beyond the loungers in the saloon and oldLouis Roiheim no one worth any remark approached him. He sat watching thepassers-by, but went on smoking idly. There were some children playing asort of "King-of-the-Castle" game on a heap of ballast lying beside thetrack, and these seemed to interest him most. The sheriff stopped andspoke to him, but beyond a monosyllabic reply and a nod Seth gave him noencouragement to stop. An Indian on a big, raw-boned broncho cameleisurely down the road and passed the hotel, leaving the township by thesouthern trail.

  Seth waited until the sun had set. Then he stepped off the verandah andtightened the cinches of his saddle, and readjusted the neatly rolledblanket tied at the cantle. The proprietor of the hotel was loungingagainst one of the posts which supported the verandah.

  "Goin'?" he asked indifferently. Seth was not a profitable customer.

  "Yes."

  "Home?"

  "No. So long."

  Seth swung into the saddle and rode off. And he, too, passed out of thetown over the southern trail.

  Later he overhauled the Indian. It was Jim Crow, the chief of the Indianpolice.

  "Where do we sleep to-night?" he asked, after greeting the man.

  Jim Crow, like all his race who worked for the government, never spoke hisown language except when necessary. But he still retained his inclinationto signs. Now he made a movement suggestive of three rises of land, andfinished up with the word "Tepee."

  "I must get back the day after to-morrow," Seth said. "Guess I'll hit backthrough the Reservations. I want to see Parker."

  "Good," said the Indian, and relapsed into that companionable silencewhich all prairie men, whether Indian or white, so well understand.

  That night the two men sheltered in the tepee belonging to Jim Crow. Itwas well off the Reservation, and was never pitched in the same place twonights running. Jim Crow's squaw looked after that. She moved about,acting under her man's orders, while the scout went about his business.

  After supper a long talk proceeded. Seth became expansive, but it was theIndian who gave information.

  "Yes," he said, in answer to a question the white man had put. "I find itafter much time. Sa-sa-mai, my squaw. She find it from old brave. See you.Big Wolf and all the braves who come out this way, you make much shoot.So. They all kill. 'Cep' this one ol' brave. He live quiet an' saynothing. Why? I not say. Some one tell him say nothing. See? This BigWolf. Before you kill him maybe. So he not say. Bimeby Sa-sa-mai, she much'cute. She talk ol' brave. Him very ol'. So she learn, an' I go. I showyou. You give me fi' dollar, then I, too, say nothing."

  "Ah." Seth pulled out a five-dollar bill and handed it to the scout, andwent on smoking. Presently he asked, "Have you been there?"

  "No." Jim Crow smiled blandly. He had the truly Indian ambiguity ofexpression.

  "Then you don't know if there's any traces, I guess."

  "See. I go dis place. Little Black Fox hear. He hear all. So. There aredevils on the Reservation. Jim Crow much watched. So. They know. These reddevils."

  Seth noted the man's air of pride. He was keenly alive to his ownimportance and exaggerated it, which is the way of his class. Jim Crow wasa treacherous rascal, but it paid him to work for the white folk. He wouldwork for the other side just as readily if it paid him better.

  "That's so," observed Seth, seriously; but it was his pipe that absorbedhis attention. "Wal, to-morrow, I guess," he added after a while. And,knocking his pipe out, he rolled over on his blanket and slept.

  On the morrow the journey was continued, and at sundown they neared thegreat valley of the Missouri. Their route lay over a trail which headedsoutheast, in the direction of Sioux City. The sun had just dropped belowthe horizon when Jim Crow suddenly drew rein. Whatever character he mightbear as a man he was a master scout. He had a knowledge and instinct fargreater than that of a bloodhound on a hot scent. He glanced around him,taking in the lay of the land at every point of the compass. Then hefinally pointed at a brush growing a few hundred yards from the trail.

  "The bluff," he said. "It may be what we look for. Sa-sa-mai, she tell me.Ow."

  The last was a grunt which expressed assurance.

  The horses left the trail for the prairie. The eyes of both men wereturned upon the ground, which is the habit of such men when out on thetrail. It is the soil over which the prairie man passes which is the book.The general scene is only the illustration.

  At the bluff the men dismounted. Seth now took the lead. He did not plungehaphazard into his search. He still studied the brush and the ground. Butit was the scout whose trained instincts were the first to discover thesigns they sought. And he found it in the dead, broken twigs which markedthe course of a wagon.

  The two followed the lead; followed it unerringly. With every foot of theway the task became easier. Once they had turned the cover the book hadbecome the simplest reading. In a few minutes they came to a clearing wellscreened from the road. Now they parted company. The scout went on towardthe water further on, but the white man turned to the clearing. Herein wasdisplayed the difference in the men. Seth had come to the point whereimagination served him. The other was only a craftsman.

  The grass was tall in the clearing. There was a low scrub too, but it wasa scrub that might be trodden under foot. In two minutes Seth was stoopingexamining a tent-peg, discolored by weather, but intact, and stillholding in the earth where it had been driven. It was but four yards fromthis to a place where two distinct piles of human bones were lying hiddenin the rank grass.

  Seth was on his knees pulling the grass aside, but he did not touch thebones. The skeletons were far from complete. Fortunately the skulls werethere, and he saw that they were those of a man and a woman. While hecontemplated the ghastly remains his thoughts conjured up many scenes. Hesaw the bullet hole through the woman's skull, and the horrid rift in theman's. The absence of many of the bones of the extremities made him thinkof the coyotes, those prairie scavengers who are never far off when deathstalks the plains.

  After a few moments he was searching the long grass in every direction. Helooked for remnants of clothing; for anything to give him a sign. In hissearch he was joined by the scout who had returned from the water, wherehe had discovered further traces of an encampment.

  At last the examination was completed. There was nothing left to indicatethe identity of the bones.

  The two men now stood by the bones of the unfortunate man and woman. Sethwas staring out at the surrounding brush.

  "I guess the Injuns cleaned things up pretty well," he said, while hiseyes settled on one little bush apart from the rest.

  The scout shook his head.

  "That's not Injuns' work," he said.

  "No?" Seth queried casually.

  "No. Everything gone. So. That not like Injun."

  Seth made no response, but walked over to the bush he had been looking at.The scout saw him thrust a hand in amongst the branches and withdraw itholding something.

  "What you find?" he asked, when Seth came back.

  "Only a rag."

  Then, a moment later, Seth asked suddenly: "How
far from here to--Jason'sold place?"

  "Six--eight--nine hour," Jim Crow said, with his broad smile that meantnothing.

  Seth looked long and thoughtfully at the split skull on the ground. Thenhis eyes sought the bullet hole in the woman's skull. But he saidnothing.

  A little later the two men went back to the horses and mounted.

  "Guess I'll git on to see the Agent," Seth observed, while the horsesmoved away from the bluff.

  "You go by Reservation?"

  "Yes."

  Jim Crow surveyed the prospect in silence. They reached the trail, andtheir horses stood preparatory to parting company.

  "S'long," said Seth.

  The Indian turned and looked away to the north. It was the direction inwhich lay the great Reservations. Then he turned back, and his black,slit-like eyes shot a sidelong glance at his companion.

  "You go--alone?" he asked.

  The other nodded indifferently.

  "Then I say sleep little and watch much--I, Jim Crow."

  The two men parted. The scout moved off and his hand went to the pocket ofhis trousers where his fingers crumpled the crisp five-dollar bill he hadreceived for his services. Nothing else really mattered to him. Seth rodeaway humming a tune without melody.

  All the way to the Agent's house he carried out the scout's advice ofwatchfulness; but for a different reason. Seth had no personal fear ofthese stormy Indians. His watchfulness was the observation of a man wholearns from all he sees. He slept some hours on the prairie while hishorse rested, and arrived at the Agency the next day at noon.

  Jimmy Parker, as he was familiarly called, greeted him cordially in hisabrupt fashion.

  "Ah, howdy," he said. "Prowling, Seth?" His words were accompanied by aquick look that asked a dozen questions, all of which he knew would remainunanswered. Seth and he were old friends and understood one another.

  "Takin' a spell off," replied the farmer.

  "Ah. And putting it in on the Reservation."

  The Agent smiled briefly. His face seemed to have worn itself into aserious caste which required effort to change.

  "Many huntin' 'passes' these times?" Seth inquired presently.

  "None. Only Little Black Fox says he's going hunting soon." The Agent'seyes were fixed on the other's face.

  "See you've got Jim Crow workin' around--south." Seth waved an arm in thedirection whence he had come.

  "Yes." Again came the Agent's swiftly passing smile. "We're a gooddistance from the southern boundary. Jim Crow's smart enough. How did youknow?"

  "Saw his tepee."

  "Ah. You've been south?"

  "Yes. There's a fine open country that aways."

  They passed into the Agency, and Parker's sister and housekeeper broughtthe visitor coffee. The house was very plain, roomy, and comfortable. Thetwo men were sitting in the office.

  "Seen anything of Steyne around?" asked Seth, after a noisy sip of his hotcoffee.

  "Too much. And he's very shy."

  Seth nodded. He quite understood.

  "Guess suthin's movin'," he said, while he poured his coffee into hissaucer and blew it.

  "I've thought so, too, and written to the colonel at the fort. What makesyou think so?"

  "Can't say. Guess it's jest a notion." Seth paused. Then he went onbefore the other could put in a word. "Won't be just yet. Guess I'll giton."

  The two men passed out of the house, and Seth remounted.

  "Guess you might let me know if Black Fox gits his 'pass,'" he said, as heturned his horse away.

  "I will."

  Parker watched the horseman till he disappeared amongst the bushes. Amoment later he was talking to his sister.

  "Wish I'd telegraphed to the fort now," he said regretfully. "I can't doit after writing, they'd think--I believe Seth came especially to conveywarning, and to hear about Black Fox's pass. It's a remarkable thing, buthe seems to smell what these Indians are doing."

  "Yes," said his sister. But she felt that when two such capable mendiscussed the Indians there was no need for her to worry, so she took outSeth's cup and retired to her kitchen.

  In the meantime Seth had reached the river. Here he again dismounted, butthis time for no more significant reason than to wash out the rag he hadrescued from the bush south of the Reservations. He washed and rewashedthe cotton, till it began to regain something of its original color. Thenhe examined it carefully round the hem.

  It was a small, woman's handkerchief, and, in one corner, a name wasneatly written in marking ink. The name was "Raynor."