That Girl Montana. Ryan Marah Ellis
the stranger stood back of the thick bushes, watching the stretch of level beach and the half-naked, childish figures, he grew curious to see who that one person just out of sight was.
One thing at last he did discover – that the hand awarding the prizes was tanned like the hand of a boy, but that it certainly had white blood instead of red in its veins. What if it should be the ward?
Elated, and full of mischief, he crept closer. If only he could be able to give Overton a description of her when Overton came back to the canoe!
At first all he could see were the hands – hands playing with a bit of wet clay – or so it seemed to him.
Then his curiosity was more fully aroused when out of the mass a recognizable form was apparent – a crudely modeled head and shoulders of a decided Indian character.
Lyster was so close now that he could notice how small the hands were, and to see that the head bent above them was covered with short, brown, loosely curled hair, and that there was just a tinge of reddish gold on it, where the sunlight fell.
A race was just ended, and one of the little young savages trotted up where the image-maker was. The small hand was again reached out, and he could see that the prize the little Indian had raced for was a blue bead of glass. He could see, also, that the owner of the hand had the face of a girl – a girl with dark eyes, and long lashes that touched the rather pale cheeks. Her mouth was deliciously saucy, with its bow-like curve, and its clear redness. She said something he did not understand, and the children scampered away to resume the endless races, while she continued the manipulation of the clay, frowning often when it would not take the desired form.
Then one of the sharp-eyed little redskins left his companions and slipped back to her, and said something in a tone so low it was almost a whisper.
She turned at once and looked directly into the thicket, back of which Lyster stood.
“What are you watching for?” she demanded. “I don’t like people who are afraid to show themselves.”
“Well, I’ll try to change that as quickly as I can,” Lyster retorted, and circling the clump of bushes, he stood before her with his hat in his hand, looking smilingly audacious as she frowned on him.
But the frown faded as she looked; perhaps because ’Tana had never seen any one quite so handsome in all her life, or so fittingly and picturesquely dressed, for Mr. Maxwell Lyster was artist enough to make the most of his many good points and to exhibit them all with charming unconsciousness.
“I hope you will like me better here than across there,” he said, with a smile that was contagious. “You see, I was too shy to come forward at first, and then I was afraid to interrupt your modeling. It is very good.”
“You don’t look shy,” she said, combatively, and drew the clay image back, where he could not look at it. She was not at all sure that he was not laughing at her, and she covered her worn shoes with the skirt of her dress, feeling suddenly very poor and shabby in the light of his eyes. She had not felt at all like that when Overton looked at her in Akkomi’s lodge.
“You would not be so unfriendly if you knew who I am,” he ventured meekly. “Of course, I – Max Lyster – don’t amount to much, but I happen to be Dan Overton’s friend, and with your permission, I hope to continue with him to Sinna Ferry, and with you as well; for I am sure you must be Miss Rivers.”
“If you’re sure, that settles it, I suppose,” she returned. “So he – he told you about me?”
“Oh, yes; we are chums, as you will learn. Then I was so fortunate as to see your brave swim after that child yesterday. You don’t look any the worse for it.”
“No, I’m not.”
“I suppose, now, you thought that little dip a welcome break in the monotony of camp-life, while you were waiting for Dan.”
She looked at him in a quick, questioning way he thought odd.
“Oh – yes. While I was waiting for – Dan,” she said in a queer tone, and bent her head over the clay image.
He thought her very interesting with her boyish air, her brusqueness, and independence. Yet, despite her savage surroundings, a certain amount of education was visible in her speech and manner, and her face had no stamp of ignorance on it.
The young Kootenais silently withdrew from their races, and gathered watchfully close to the girl. Their nearness was a discomfiting thing to Lyster, for it was not easy to carry on a conversation under their watchful eyes.
“You gave them prizes, did you not?” he asked. “How much wealth must one offer to get them to run?”
“Run where?” she returned carelessly, though quietly amused at the scrutiny of the little redskins. They were especially charmed by the glitter of gold mountings on Mr. Lyster’s watch-guard.
“Oh, run races – run anywhere,” he said.
From a pocket of her blouse she drew forth a few blue beads that yet remained.
“This is all I had to give them, and they run just as fast for one of these as they would for a pony.”
“Good enough! I’ll have some races for my own edification and comfort,” and he drew out some coins. “Will you run for this – run far over there?”
The children looked at the girl. She nodded her head, said a word or two unintelligible to him, but perfectly clear to them; for, with sharp looks at the coins and pleased yells, they leaped away to their racing.
“Now, this is more comfortable,” he said. “May I sit down here? Thanks! Now would you mind telling me whose likeness it is you are making in the clay?”
“I guess you know it’s nobody’s likeness,” she answered, and again thrust it back out of sight, her face flushing that he should thus make a jest of her poor efforts. “You’ve seen real statues, I suppose, and know how they ought to be, but you don’t need to look for them in the Purcell Range.”
“But, indeed, I am in earnest about your modeling. Won’t you believe me?” and the blue eyes looking into her own were so appealing, that she turned away her head half shyly, and a pink flush crept up from her throat. Miss Rivers was evidently not used to eyes with caressive tendencies and they disturbed her, for all her strangely unchildlike character.
“Of course, your work is only in the rough,” he continued; “but it is not at all bad, and has real Indian features. And if you have had no teaching – ”
“Huh!” and she looked at him with a mirthless smile. “Where’d any one get teaching of that sort along the Columbia River? Of course, there are some gentlemen – officers and such – about the reservations, but not one but would only laugh at such a big girl making doll babies out of mud. No, I had no teaching to do anything but read, and I did read some in a book about a sculptor, and how he made animals and people’s faces out of clay. Then I tried.”
As she grew communicative, she seemed so much more what she really was in years – a child; and he noticed, with satisfaction, that she looked at him more frankly, while the suspicion faded almost entirely from her face.
“And are you going to develop into a sculptor under Overton’s guardianship?” he asked. “You see, he has told me of his good luck.”
She made a queer little sound between a laugh and a grunt.
“I’ll bet the rest of the blue beads he didn’t call it good luck,” she returned, looking at him keenly. “Now, honest Injun – did he?”
“Honest Injun! he didn’t speak of it as either good or bad luck; simply as a matter of course, that at your father’s death you should look him up, and let him know you were alone. Oh, he is a good fellow, Dan is, and glad, I am sure, to be of use to you.”
Her lips opened in a little sigh of content, and a swift, radiant smile was given him.
“I’m right glad you say that about him,” she answered, “and I guess you know him well, too. Akkomi likes him, and Akkomi’s sharp.”
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