"Say, Rosebud," he said. "How'd you like a heap o' dollars?"
But the girl's serious mood had not yet passed. She held out her plate to General, and replied, without looking at her companion.
"That depends," she said. "You see, I wouldn't like to marry a man with lots of money. Girls who do are never happy. Ma said so. The only other way to have money is by being clever, and writing, or painting, or play-acting. And I'm not clever, and don't want to be. Then there are girls who inherit money, but----"
"That's jest it," broke in Seth.
"Just what?" Rosebud turned from the dog and eyed her companion curiously.
"Why, s'pose it happened you inherited them dollars?"
"But I'm not likely to."
"That's so. But we know your folks must a' been rich by your silk fixin's. Guess you ain't thought o' your folks."
The girl's sunburnt face took on a confident little smile as she looked out from under the wide brim of her hat.
"Oh, yes, I have. I've thought a lot. Where are they, and why don't they come out and look for me? I can't remember them, though I try hard. Every time I try I go back to Indians--always Indians. I know I'm not an Indian," she finished up navely.
"No." Seth lit his pipe. "Guess if we did find 'em you'd have to quit the farm."
There was a short silence.
"Seth, you're always looking for them, I know. Why do you look for them? I don't want them." Rosebud was patting the broad back of General. "Do you know, sometimes I think you want to be rid of me. I'm a trouble to you, I know."
"'Tain't that exactly."
Seth's reply sounded different to what he intended. It sounded to the girl as if he really was seeking her parents to be rid of her. And his manner was so deliberate, so short. She scrambled to her feet without a word, and began to gather up the dishes. Seth smoked on for a moment or two. But as Rosebud showed no sign of continuing the conversation he, too, rose in silence, and went over to Hesper and hitched her to the buckboard. Then he came back and carried the dinner-box to the vehicle, while Rosebud mounted to the driving-seat.
"Seth," she said, and her face was slightly flushed, and a little sparkle of resentment was in her eyes, "when you find them I'll go away. I never looked at it as you do. Yes, I think I should like that heap of dollars."
Seth smiled slowly. But he didn't quite understand her answer.
"Wal, you see, Rosebud, I'm glad you take it that aways. You see it's better you should go. Yes, much better."
His thoughts had turned on the Reservations, that one direction in which they ever seemed to turn. Rosebud was thinking in another direction. Seth wanted to be rid of her, and was meanly cloaking his desire under the guise of her worldly welfare. The angry flush deepened, and she sat very erect with her head held high as she drove off. Nor did she turn for her parting shot.
"I hope you'll find them; I want to go," she said.
Seth made no answer. He watched her until the vehicle dropped down behind the brow of the farther slope. The girl's attitude was as dignified as she could make it while she remained in view. After that it was different. And Seth failed to realize that he had not made his meaning plain. He saw that Rosebud was angry, but he did not pause to consider the cause of her anger.
He stood where she had left him for some time. He found his task harder than ever he had thought it would be. But his duty lay straight before him, and, with all his might, he would have hurried on his letter to England if he could. He knew he could see far ahead in the life of his little world as it affected himself and those he loved. He might be a dull-witted lover, but he was keen and swift to scent danger here on the plains; and that was what he had already done. Cost him what it might, Rosebud must be protected, and this protection meant her removal.
He sighed and turned back to his work, but before he went on with it he opened and read the note which Rosebud had thought so unimportant.
He read it twice over.
"Little Black Fox applied for 'pass' for hunting. He will probably leave the Reservation in three weeks' time. He will take a considerable number of braves with him; I cannot refuse.
"J. P."
CHAPTER XIII
THE DEVOTION OF WANAHA
Nevil Steyne's day's labor, of whatever it consisted, was over. Wanaha had just lit the oil lamp which served her in her small home.
The man was stretched full length upon the bed, idly contemplating the dusky beauty who acknowledged his lordship, while she busied herself over her shining stove. His face wore a half smile, but his smile was in nowise connected with that which his eyes rested on.
Yet the sight he beheld was one to inspire pleasurable thoughts. For surely it falls to the lot of few men, however worthy, to inspire one woman with such a devotion as Wanaha yielded to him. Besides, she was a wonderful picture of beauty, colored it is true, but none the less fair for that. Her long black, braided hair, her delicate, high-bred face so delightfully gentle, and her great, soft black eyes which had almost, but not quite, lost that last latent glimmer of the old savage. Surely, she was worth the tenderest thought.
But Nevil's thoughts were not with her, and his smile was inspired by his thoughts. The man's mean, narrow face had nothing pleasant in it as he smiled. Some faces are like this. He was a degenerate of the worst type; for he was a man who had slowly receded from a life of refinement, and mental retrogression finds painful expression on such a face. A ruffian from birth bears less outward trace, for his type is natural to him.
Wanaha always humored her husband's moods, in which, perhaps, she made a grave error. She held silent until he chose to speak. And when she turned at last to arrange the supper table, he was so moved. The smile had died out of his thin face, and his pale blue eyes wore a look of anxious perplexity when he summoned her attention.
"Wana," he said, as though rousing himself from a long worrying thought, "we must do something, my Wana. And--I hardly know what."
The black eyes looked straight into the blue ones, and the latter shifted to the table on which the woman's loving hands had carefully set the necessaries for supper.
"Tell me," she said simply, "you who are clever--maybe I help."
"That's just it, my Wana. I believe you can. You have a keen brain. You always help me."
Nevil relapsed into silence, and bit nervously at his thumb nail. The woman waited with the stoical patience of her race. But she was all interest, for had not the man appealed to her for help?
"It's your brother," Nevil said at last. "Your brother, and the white girl at the farm, Rosebud."
"Yes."
The dark eyes suddenly lit. Here was a matter which lay very near her heart. She had thought so much about it. She had even dared at other times to speak to her husband on the subject, and advise him. Now he came to her.
"Yes," the man went on, still with that look of perplexity in his shifty eyes; "perhaps I have been wrong. You have told me that I was. But, you see, I looked on your brother as a child almost. And if I let him talk of Rosebud, it was, as I once told you, because he is headstrong. But now he has gone far enough--too far. It must be stopped. The man is getting out of hand. He means to have her."
Wanaha's eyes dilated. Here indeed was a terrible prospect. She knew her brother as only a woman can know a man. She had not noted the melodramatic manner in which her husband had broken off.
"You say well. It must be stop. Tell your Wana your thought. We will pow-wow like great chiefs."