“I awoke singing the spirit-song, for the great Soma-ash-hee53 had spoken to me in the darkness. I was singing his song, and the song of the Mountain Herb which is strength for the Indian’s heart. Go now, my son! Follow swift on the trail for my Cogewea is in distress. You may not understand the dreams and visions of the old Soma-ash-hee woman who communes with that which is unseen, for the snows of such wisdom you have not yet reached. But go! And if the Shoyahpee has harmed the grandchild, destroy him as you would the poison-snake. Be quick! and the strength of the Soma-ash-hee will be with you!”
Jim made no reply, but darting from the lodge, he ran to the barn and threw the saddle on Diamond, who impatient of his daily exercise, was restlessly pawing in his box stall. Leading the prancing racer out he caught the saddle horn and vaulted lightly to his seat as the Bay Devil leaped away in an easy, measured glide. He was held in check by the experienced rider, for the steed’s endurance must be conserved for an indeterminate race. Silent Bob, watching his foreman ascend the slope and disappear over a ridge, soliloquized:
“Well I be dam’! He’ll sho’ly get his needin’s this time—that there tenderfoot—’cause ol’ Jim means biz’. Guess I’ll hit th’ grub pile! I hater be so hongry as a wolf; I hater be a cinchn’ of my belt so of’en.”
With this, the Monongahelian sought the kitchen where he was doing ample justice to the substantials set before him by Mrs. Carter, when Celluloid, Slim and Frenchy, all from the fruitless chase, entered. As Celluloid seated himself opposite Bob, he accosted that worthy:
“What made yo’ leave me all flared up ’bout what I said? A feller’d think yo’ was in love with th’ gal ’stead of ’spectable people. Wher’s Jim?”
“Guess it’ll be all off with that there tenderfoot guy,” answered Bob, ignoring Bill’s rather doubtfully meant sarcasm. “Ol’ Jim’s madder’n blazes when he lef’ while ’go. Thar’s pizen in the air! I hater know—”
“What’s Jim mad at th’ guy for? Didn’t know he seen him since mornin’. Yo’ mus’ be all loco’d!”
“I tol’ him what yo’ said on th’ ridge ’bout th’ guy an’ th’ gal. Tol’ him—”
“Bob, yo’re a durn’ fool!” interrupted Bill, anger in his voice. “What made yo’ go do a trick like that—buttin’ in on love ’fairs like that? Yo’ should a kep’ yo’ mug clamped! It ain’t none of our put in.”
It was a long moment before the Southerner attempted reply. He seemed on the verge of choking, as he swallowed hard. Drawing a sleeve across his eyes, he muttered complaint about “that there pepper bein’ so durn strong.” There was a suspicious tremor in his tones when he did speak:
“Bill, it ain I am wantin’ to butt in on no body’s biz’! It’s ’cause I like th’ little gal an’ I want Jim to win in this here race. He’s her kin’; is truer’n hell an’ a plum good rider! No blood a mixin’ with that there money-hunter who can’t stick a cayuse. I hater see him get ’way with so good a gal; I hater see her get th’ wo’st of th’ deal.”
Celluloid was silent. He was suddenly made to realize the significance of the unintentional part that he had played in an unfortunate affair, the termination of which was as yet unforeseen.
“Do yo’ think there’ll be some shootin’ doin’ when Jim comes to them there pair?” asked Slim of the Foot Hills, who was fond of excitement. “Think th’ show wo’th travelin’ to see?”
“Sho thin’!” answered the Silent one. “I see blood in ol’ Jim’s eye an’ that means biz! No joke ’bout it; nuther! ’t’s sho’ goin’ be biz’! But what’s a use talkin’! I hater—”
“Say yo’ fellers!” broke in Celluloid, turning to Slim and Frenchy. “Hurry an’ swaller yo’ grub! We’ll foller our foreman who’s gone to take his gal from that there cayuse-busted tenderfoot. There’ll be some little circus an’ maybe a grave-diggin’ social.”
“Jim don’t need no ’sistance a shoot-scrapin’ any guy, else I’d a gone with him,” volunteered Bob. “But if yo’-all is goin’, I’ll go ’long an’ see th’ ’formance.”
Hastily disposing of the meal, the riders ran to the barn where their horses were feeding. Leaping to the saddles, they were off up the long grade. Just over the swell, they met the belated Rodeo, who eagerly joined them, unmindful of his tired mount as well as the lankness under his own belt. It was no time to spare a cayuse nor consider a foregone dinner when a “shootin’-dance” or a “lariat-stretchin’ ” was in prospect.
Julia and Mary, the shy-girl, were standing on the veranda where they hurried when the boys left in such haste. They had watched them sweep over the ridge and pass from sight in a rolling cloud of dust, and were speculating on the probabilities of a tragedy, when, to their surprise, the Stemteemä appeared coming up the river incline. Only on important occasions did she venture so far from her lodge. She made her way slowly, leaning on a thornwood cane, and as she drew near, the low chant of the Soma-ash-hee was bourne on the breeze. She spoke directly to Julia:
“Your ears were closed to my words of warning,” she began, in low earnest tones. “That the snows have left my hair withered, does not bespeak a tottering mind or that the vision is less clear. The white man’s books I know not, but the wisdom of the spirits has been given me. Walking where there is light, I stumble not in the dark. I understand the good and the bad as traced on the
