The "Wild West" Collection. William MacLeod Raine
shed during that last terrible week.
CHAPTER XXXI
THE SENTENCE
The relief of the farm was really only the beginning of the campaign. It meant that following on its heels the great northern posts were pouring out their thousands of troops, and that a general advance was in progress. It meant that now, at last, but, alas! too late to avert the awful massacre of the white settlers, the force was adequate to the task of subjugating the savages.
The flying column that had ridden to the rescue was a small band of picked men, with a couple of light machine guns. It was composed of veteran Indian fighters, who, fully understanding the desperate chances of thus cutting themselves off from their supports, and riding into the very jaws of death, were yet ready to do it again and again.
The Indians, believing this initial attack of white troops to be the immediate advance guard of an overwhelming force, withdrew in something very like panic. But with morning light they realized they had been "bluffed" and at once returned to the attack.
For the defenders, however, all real anxiety was past. They knew that a sweeping movement was in progress throughout the whole disturbed area, and it was only a question of days before the Indians would be shepherded back to their Reservations.
The mischief, however, was done, the country was devastated. The prosperous farming region was laid waste, and the labor of years utterly destroyed. Of the survivors of the awful holocaust the majority found themselves utterly ruined; their homes destroyed; their possessions gone. Many were wounded, and all were homeless. Their plight was pitiable.
While others showered their praise and thanks and rough compliments upon the girl who had dared all to bring her friends the help they so sorely needed; while old men and young rivaled each other in their admiration of her reckless courage; while the women sought to minister to her, and wept over her, Seth held aloof, working and organizing for the general comfort and well-being with that everlasting thought for others which was so great a part of his nature.
It was not that he was indifferent; it was not that he had no thanks to tender. His heart was full, full to the brim with pride for this girl he loved. Hers, he felt, had been the great foresight, hers the great courage to carry out their only possible salvation. When his grave eyes had first fallen upon the slight blanketed figure of the little white squaw he recognized indeed the clever head which had done more than trust to rash courage. It would have been impossible for him to love her more.
Nevertheless his was the first greeting when she had been discovered in their midst. His had been the first hand to grip hers. But there was no effusion. Nothing but what, to strange ears, might have sounded cold and wanting.
"Thanks, little Rosie," was all he had said, while his hand held hers. But, at that moment, the girl would rather have foregone life itself than the glance he bestowed upon her out of his grave, dark eyes.
It was many days before any freedom from the fortress farm could be enjoyed. But at last the time came round when the troops began to converge upon the Reservations, and the shepherding process swept the Indians to their homes, a dejected horde, hating but cowed for the moment. As before, as always, their fierce fires of savagery were alight; they were only burning low, for, as every plainsman knows, they are unquenchable.
It was late in the afternoon when the news of their freedom flew through the camp. None but those who have passed through a similar ordeal can realize the unutterable joy and thankfulness that filled each heart. Though possessions had gone and many were absolutely ruined, still liberty was theirs at last. Liberty with its boundless possibilities.
Seth was sitting alone, propped against the charred gate-post of the stockade. He was smoking and resting, and incidentally thinking deeply after a long day's work. There was much to think about. Rube was slowly recovering under the careful hands of his devoted wife. Mrs. Rickards and Rosebud had relieved the farmwife of all her duties that she might be free to lavish her utmost care upon her staunch old friend and husband. The future prospects of the farm were less involved than the affairs of most of the farmers. The setback of the rebellion was tremendous, but years of thrift had left White River Farm independent of a single year's crops. Besides the farmhouse and buildings were intact.
But none of these things was in his mind just now. There was something else which filled his heart with unutterable bitterness, which revealed itself in the hard, thoughtful stare of his dark eyes as he gazed out upon the wide encampment of soldiers spreading itself out in all directions.
Every now and then he shifted his gaze into a certain direction, only to turn away with apparent indifference and let his eyes wander over every chance object that attracted them. Once the Agent came to him and they spoke for some moments in a low tone. Then he was again left to his thoughts. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the twilight waned. He remained at his post. There could be no doubt now that he was waiting with some fixed purpose.
At last he turned decidedly in the direction in which he had been so frequently glancing, and this time his movement was anticipatory. A dark figure was approaching from among the tents. It was the scout, Jim Crow, who came up and squatted at the white man's side. The two talked together for a long time, and at last the Indian rose to depart.
"So," he said, in his pompous fashion, "I do these things. I, Jim Crow. Good."
"You've done good work," Seth responded casually. "And you've been paid for it, I guess. See you do this, sure."
He watched the Indian while he solemnly spat upon the ground.
"I, Jim Crow, have said." And with this vaunting claim to honesty the scout abruptly turned and moved away.
A moment later Seth made his way slowly to a small outhouse. He raised the latch of the door and passed within. There were two occupants. The Indian Agent was sitting at a little table smoking and reading, and Nevil Steyne was lying full length upon some outspread blankets upon the floor. This place was the temporary abode of the three men. The farmhouse had been given up to the women and children.
Seth took a seat. As he came in Parker closed his book and put it away. From his blankets Nevil glanced up quickly, and continued to watch the movements of both with expectant eyes. He was aware that permission had been given for every one to leave the farm. Nor did he delude himself. He knew that he was a prisoner.
Seth placed his chair so that he was in full view of the man on the blankets. And his first words were addressed to him.
"Guess you're goin' to quit this farm," he said, calmly, but in a manner which compelled his prisoner's attention. "I've thought a heap, an' that's how I've got figgerin'. You're goin' to quit this night. That is ef you're so minded."
He paused, but his grave eyes still surveyed the ungainly form, still stared coldly into the lean unshaven face, into the shifty pale eyes. Nevil made no response. He knew instinctively that this was only a prelude to more that was to follow.
Parker watched Seth. In a measure he was mystified, for the plainsman had never given him his full confidence with regard to Nevil. He suspected a lot, but that was all.
"Guess I don't need to tell you a deal about yourself," Seth went on presently. "I'll just mention that Nevil Steyne ain't your real name, an' it wouldn't take me guessin' long to locate the other. That's as mebbe. You're a skunk," he proceeded, without raising his voice. "You're wuss'n a yaller dawg, but even a yaller dawg mostly has an option. That's how it is wi' you, seein' you're o' that breed. I ain't no feelin' o' mercy for you anyways, but I'll give you a chance. Ef you stay right here ther's the courts as 'll hang you sure; ef you quit, ther's the Injuns as you've lived by, an' as you fooled to suit your own dirty schemes. I don't see as ther's a great choice for you. Your game's played, an' you're goin' to cash in, an' it kind o' seems to me you've got to pay anyways. Wal, you'll choose right now."
Nevil had sat up while the other was speaking. He gave no outward sign beyond that one movement. Now he slowly rose to his feet and looked down upon the set face of the arbiter of his fate a little uncertainly. He turned from him to the Agent, who was looking on in no little puzzlement. Then his eyes came back to the relentless face of Seth, and he seemed to