“I have my Stemteemä and my sisters, besides other kindred ties. Then, there are the traditions of my ancient race.”
“But you can not exist on sentiment alone. With no vested or property interests to demand your continued presence, you should feel at freedom to see something of the world. I take it that there are no such bonds.”
“Sure! Not only my allotment of eighty acres of the finest of land, but I have—Why do you ask?” she broke off suddenly, lifting inquiring eyes.
He stood the scrutiny with calculating coolness. She had very unexpectedly increased in value. Taking her shapely hand in his, he answered with apparent sincerity:
“I meant nothing. I am only anxious to make you happy. Listen! my little Injun sweetheart! I have plenty, all that you could wish for. I want to share my wealth with you. You won the wagers at fishing. Suppose we form a partnership and call it settled by me doubling your winnings?”
“I would not sell myself!” was the scornful reply. “Money cannot bring happiness. Too often its heritage is one of unfathomed misery.”
Densmore realizing his mistake, retrenched hastily.
“You misunderstood me. I am but endeavoring to show you that I care deeply and am anxious to be to you all that a husband should. If I could only hear you say that you care for me—that you love me ever so little.”
He was straining her to his breast and he felt her responsive form quiver. He attempted to lift her warm lips to his own, but she held aloof.
“Cogewea!” he whispered, smoothing her raven tresses. “I love you to distraction! I am willing to meet you in every way that you desire. I will be Indian. Tell me more about your tribal customs. That marriage ceremony—”
The girl, struggling free, started up in sudden fright. With arm outflung, she exclaimed in terror:
“Look! See how the frown of the Sun-god darkens the earth! He bends his shaggy brow over the portals of the West-wind and hurls his anger along the sky! He breathes! and the air is thick with anguish! It is the Swa-lah-kin! You did this!” she cried angrily. “You should not have turned the frog! Come! let us hurry home! We will be fortunate if we escape with only a drenching.”
Densmore’s eyes followed her outstretched arm and he leaped to his feet in amazement. The western heavens were overcast with a mighty canopy of black, billowing clouds, hurtling upward towards the zenith with appalling rapidity. The onslaught was swift and terrible in its silence. Only the faintest hum, like the smothered cords of an Aeolian harp struck by the softest zephyr, was audible. Never had the Easterner witnessed an elemental conflict of such awe-inspiring grandeur. Seizing their effects, they hurriedly started for home.
Gathering momentum, the storm came sweeping onward with lowering front; the chaotic cloud-rack, a sable wall blotting out the universe. The low, indistinct murmur increased in volume until the cadence became a mournful dirge in the pine tops. This was but a prelude. Murky with misty shadows, the wind, in one fell swoop enveloped the fugitives, nearly carrying them off their feet. Clasping hands, they struggled in the face of the gale now shrieking like a thousand Harpies about their bursting ears. Densmore’s hat went sailing out over the river, while Cogewea’s broad-brim fluttering, was held secure by feminine anchorage. Bracing hard, they made but slow progress and were still a considerable distance from home when the first spattering raindrops, like the skirmish shots of a hostile army, struck them. When within a hundred paces of Stemteemä’s lodge, the anguished heavens were rent by a lurid tongue of lightning, followed by a crash which seemed to rock the very earth’s foundations. The dreaded Thunderbird30 was abroad on the storm and at the gleaming flash of his eye and the booming crash of his ponderous wing, the rain descended in torrents.
“The teepee! the teepee!” screamed Cogewea above the roar of the tempest.
Densmore tore back the door-flap and completely soaked they stumbled through the opening. The interposition of the canvas walls against the sudden gale was most grateful. It was solace to hear the deluge beating against the swaying roof. The wings of the smoke-flue had been closed and the seemingly frail structure made entirely proof against the onslaughts of Thor. Not only Julia, but Mary was there and, what, with the two children sleeping among the blankets, the wigwam was well crowded.
Stemteemä spoke to Cogewea, her tone sharp and emphatic. The girl answered at length in Okanogan and without her accustomed blithesomeness. The little audience gave rapt attention as she narrated the frog incident on the river bank. The grandmother and Mary cast looks of displeasure at the Shoyahpee, but Julia appeared less impressed. The conversation was necessarily loud, because of the howling of the warring elements without, which seemed to increase the momentary violence. However, the storm ceased as suddenly as it began and the sun shone upon a drenched world.
After a futile attempt at gayety, Densmore departed for the bunkhouse; and the aged woman requested Cogewea to go change her clothing and then return to the teepee. She had a story of the past which she desired to tell her three grandchildren.
XIX
The Story of Green-blanket Feet
And he wooed her with caresses,
Hiawatha
Wooed her with his smile of sunshine,
With his flattering words he wooed her,
With his sighing and his singing.
Cogewea soon returned to the teepee in dry habiliments and with a show of her old gaiety. Seating herself on the vacant buffalo robe, she spoke:
“Well! my little Stemteemä, what is it to be—praises or a scolding? The Shoyahpee did not know that turning the Swa-lah-kin would bring a storm and when I told him what he had done, he pitched the
