“I warned you of this Shoyahpee, but you laughed at my words. You left them by the trail as things to be forgotten and lost. But they can not die! That which is true lives forever, but that which is false has no foundation. The pale face has at last been found out. He has never meant right by my grandchild! He only seeks the money which she has not. I have sent Jim on the trail to save her and if the Shoyahpee has harmed her as I saw in a dream, he will kill him! like the forked tongue snake that he is. The power of the Soma-ash-hee will not fail!”
To this sorrowful lament, Julia made no reply, when the venerable woman retraced her steps to the lone teepee, where she was soon joined by the shy-girl. With a troubled mind Julia turned back into the house to spend many an anxious hour awaiting tidings of the sister she loved so well. With deep regret she recalled how, unknown to the devoted grandmother, she had planned many an outing for the lovers, and how she had favored Cogewea’s marriage to the fair stranger, rather than with her own mixed or Indian blood. This was not that she was ashamed of the Red race, but since civilization was the only hope for the Indian, it would, she reasoned be better to draw from the more favored and stronger, rather than to fall back to the unfortunate class so dependent on their conquerors for their very existence.
XXX
The Cost of Knowing
You have stolen the maiden from me,
Hiawatha
You have laid your hand upon her,
Dust-flecked and foaming, the Bay Devil thundered across the bridge at Ronan, to be checked at the livery barn. Dropping the reins, Jim rushed into the office to emerge a few moments later with features more set than ever. Without a word or answer to the inquiries of the surprised bystanders, he remounted and hurried away through the “Lane,” where Cogewea and Densmore had ridden a few hours previously. He did not notice the mocking twitter of the magpie as he crossed Crow Creek nor the sporting waterfowl on the various small lakes. The Bay Devil was becoming winded, and to the impatient rider, the road to Ravalli seemed to lengthen out interminably. It was there that he expected to come up with the runaways.
Jim at last covered the long stretch of prairie road and ascended the sloping ridge overlooking Post Creek, with its fringe of thick brush and cottonwoods. Here he paused. His gaze swept the intervening miles to the steepled church and convent of St. Ignatius, for both Indian and white alike. He scanned most anxiously the serpent like road winding up the steep Ravalli Hill; a climb of three weary miles, overlooking the railway station of the same name, two miles beyond. Could the Bay make it before the westbound passenger pulled in? Jim swore as he stroked the reeking neck of the iron-nerved steed and wondered why he had not thought to procure a fresh mount at Ronan.
Turning from the discouraging contemplation of the distant pass he dashed down the slope to the creek crossing. His horse showed thirst by following the trail into the stream instead of taking the bridge. Noticing fresh hoof prints at the water’s edge, Jim dismounted and with but a brief examination was satisfied that they had been made by the mounts of the fugitives. He was later convinced of this when he discovered the imprint of a boot in the dust. By a peculiarity of the heel, he recognized this to be that of the hated Shoyahpee. He followed the tracks for a short distance off the main road, where they disappeared, trampled out by a recent band of cattle.
Jim returned to the stream and again took up the trail, but with no better success. He circled wide, satisfied that the riders had not passed on towards Ravalli. He was on the edge of despair, when there was a rustling of leaves and Bringo came bounding toward him, wagging a bushy tail. Jim called to him but whether it was appreciation or an appeal, the ranch pet stretching out, rolled over, a trick which Cogewea had taught him. Leaping to his feet the dog dashed off over a stock trail penetrating the deeper woods. At a short distance he turned back to Jim, who stood watching in puzzled wonderment. He came leaping back, executed his former antic and again took the trail whining. Now fully aroused, the foreman mounted and followed. Suddenly Bringo forgetful of his mission—if any—darted into the brush in pursuit of a rabbit, which disturbed, broke cover. Jim proceeded only a few rods farther when the trail diverged into three or four minor passages, none of them showing hoof prints of horses. One after the other of these he explored, the tangled underbrush precluding horseback riding. He was losing precious time and cursed the fates that sent “that there dam’ rabbit” across the trail at so critical a moment. In sheer desperation he forced his way through the brambles choking the last remaining trail and unexpectedly found himself in more open ground among the larger cottonwoods. He listened but heard no other than the usual noises attributable to the wild woods-life. His impulse was to haloo, but upon second thought he refrained from doing so.
Baffled, the searcher again returned to the place of first starting but was able to follow the clues no farther than on former occasions. Suddenly the Bay, whom he was then leading, pricked up his ears and whinnied. There was an answer, just back of the fringe of thicket. Jim’s heart leaped and then stood
