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CHAPTER XXV – JOHN SWIFTWING’S FAREWELL

“White Dove, we are alone in the mountains, where neither friend nor foe can reach us. Here we will stay. Soon the sun will seek his bed to rest, and the night will smile down upon us from its starry eyes, while it breathes a soft breath to smooth the ruffled feathers of the White Dove. You must have no fear of day or night, for I am with you, and I will guard you as the she-bear guards its cubs.”

Inza Burrage, her face tear-wet, her hair tumbled and tangled, her clothing torn in two or three places, turned her gaze reproachingly upon John Swiftwing.

“It is not the day or the night that I fear,” she said, slowly, with a dignity that was womanly. “I do not fear the dangers of the mountains. Wild beasts have no terrors for me now. And still my heart is frozen within me, and all my body is like ice.”

They were standing on a small plateau, where they could look away across a plain that lay below them. The sun was in the western sky. Behind them the sweat-stained horse that had brought them thither was feeding.

“Why should your heart be frozen and your body like ice?” asked the Indian, gently, his voice soft and musical, and a light of tenderness gleaming in his eyes.

“Because, John Swiftwing – because I fear you!”

“The White Dove should not fear me, for I will guard and protect her with my life. I will face any peril in defense of her.”

He took a step toward her, but she drew back, flinging out her hand.

“Stop!” she gasped. “Please – please don’t touch me! I want to talk to you – I wish to beg you to be merciful and take me back to those from whom you carried me away!”

He folded his arms and looked at her in silence. It was an unconscious pose, and never had he looked handsomer than at that moment. After a little silence he spoke:

“Why should I take you back?” he asked. “I love you, and I want you for my mate. You shall be my mate. You shall be my wife, White Dove. We will live together in some beautiful valley, far away from all the world – live in a little nest that I will find for you. The sunny days will glide by like a soft-floating stream, and every starry night shall be a dream of happiness.”

“No! no! no!” she cried, with her hands outflung. “That could not be!”

“Why not?”

“Because – oh, because!”

“White Dove, don’t you love me?”

“No! no! no!”

“Then your eyes have deceived me, for I fancied I saw love deep down in them. It must have been the reflection of the love that was in my heart. But still I know there was encouragement in them. They spoke like words.”

“And this is my punishment!” sobbed the poor girl. “Oh, Mr. Swiftwing, it was not love – it was admiration! I thought you so brave and so noble! I did not dream you could do such a wicked thing as you have done! No one could have made me believe it was in your heart. I would have defended you against the tongues of all accusers. But now – how my idol is shattered!”

He shrank beneath her words, as if they were blows from a whip. For a moment he cowered, and then he lifted his head with an angry, defiant toss.

“They told you,” he said – “they told you the red streak was in me! They were right! I heard them say it! They told you that my heart was the heart of an Indian, even though I wore white man’s clothes and read white man’s books. They were right! They told you all the education I might receive would not change my nature. They were right! God made the white man, and He made the Indian. He did not make them alike, and what God has made man cannot change. The white man took me to give me an education. Bah! What is an education to me? What would it mean if I had the finest education that the white man could give me? I would still remain an Indian, and, with all my education, I would turn back to my people, live as they live and die as they die – no better. I have thought it all out. I have thought it is no use to try to be anything but an Indian. The fight is ended! I am an Indian again!”

Inza’s heart was full of despair.

“I will not believe you are as bad as you think!” she cried. “I saw something noble in your face, and I think it came from your heart. See, Swiftwing – on my knees I beg you to take me back to my friends! I know you will not refuse me! Take me back to them, and always will I remember you with gratitude. Always will I think of you as noble and true when the great test came!”

Thus she entreated him, and the pleading of her face and eyes was more than her words. He stirred uneasily.

“You do not love me?”

“No! no!”

“You love Frank Merriwell?”

“Yes! I think more of him than any one else.”

“I would be a fool to give you up to him now. I would be a fool to take you back to him when I have you safe. If I did that, I would not be an Indian. I love you.”

She continued to entreat him to take her back, and her words were wonderfully eloquent. He stood like an image of stone, his brow dark, his arms folded, looking down at her. She grew weak with fear, for she could see nothing of relenting in his face. Tears rained down her cheeks and she wrung her hands. He turned away.

“Give me time to think,” he said.

For a long time he stood there, looking down upon the plain, moveless as a thing inanimate. She prayed that his heart might be softened.

At last he turned and held out one hand.

“White Dove,” he said, and his voice was as sweet and gentle as the murmur of a brook, “come to me.”

Somehow she did not fear him then. She arose and went, to him, permitting him to take her hand.

“Look,” he said, pointing toward a black speck upon the plain, “there is Frank Merriwell! He is coming for you! He is on my trail, but I could take you where he could never find us. Instead of that, White Dove, I am going to take you down there to meet him!”

She gave a scream of joy.

“Oh, you dear, good fellow!” she cried, once more like a girl. “I could hug you for that!”

“Don’t do it!” warned John Swiftwing, hoarsely. “I might change my mind!”

She waved her handkerchief, and the black speck on the plain fluttered something white. The black speck was moving, and dust arose in a tiny cloud behind it.

“He has seen us,” said the Indian. “Come on; we will go down.”

He led her to the horse and lifted her upon the animal’s back. Then he led the horse down the mountain to meet the trailer.

The sun was low when they met. Frank Merriwell had a rifle in his hands, and it was aimed straight at the Indian’s heart.

“Up with your hands, Swiftwing!” he ordered, sternly. “Don’t try anything crooked, for a hundred armed men are coming behind me, and they have sworn to hunt you down like a dog.”

The redskin smiled scornfully.

“If they were a thousand it would make no difference,” he said. “They could not find me. I will not put up my hands, Merriwell, so shoot if you wish!”

“Don’t shoot, Frank!” screamed Inza. “He saw you coming, and he brought me to meet you!”

“Brought you to meet me?” repeated Frank, doubtingly. “Why should he do that?”

“He is going to give me up – going to let me go back with you.”

“Is that right, Swiftwing?”

The Indian bowed.

“The White Dove speaks straight,” he said, quietly.

“But – but I do not understand! They said the only way to save her was to kill you – that you were like all Indians, and – ”

Swiftwing seemed to cringe a bit, and the black look on his face deepened.

“They were wrong,” he said. “To-day I am not an Indian – I am a fool! Tell them I was a fool, and I brought the White Dove to meet you! Do you know what I have done, Merriwell? I will tell you. By giving the White Dove up after taking her away as I did, I shall win the contempt of my people. They will look on me as a coward! They will spit on me with scorn! They will say I have the heart of a chicken! With them I shall be an outcast and a thing of contempt. Is it nothing? I have done this for you – and for the White Dove. I thought she loved me; she says she does not. Take her – take her away. Never shall I look on her again! Farewell, Merriwell!”

“Your hand, John Swiftwing!” cried Frank. “Your heart is all right, after all! Old fellow, I’ll see you this fall, when we play Carlisle again!”

With a sad smile, the Indian youth shook his head.

“I shall not be there,” he said.

“No? Why, how is that? I do not understand!”

“I shall not go back to the white man’s school.”

“You won’t? What is the meaning of that? Why won’t you go back?”

“Because it is useless. They are right when they say the Indian can never become like the white man. I shall try no more.”

“But – but you are different! Think what you have done this day! By Jove! you have shown yourself all right! Think what a hero you would be at school if they knew the story! You are the lion of the football team anyhow. They can’t get along without you.”

“They must, for they will have me no more. You say I am different from the Indians. Perhaps I am to-day; but to-morrow and ever after that I shall be an Indian in everything! I shall forget that I was at the white man’s school. I shall forget that I can read and write and make the white man’s figures. I shall go back to be the same as I was before I learned such things, and my people will despise me, for they will say I am neither a white man nor an Indian.”

Frank used all his eloquence to influence the Indian to change his mind, but it was useless. Then Inza tried, but with no better success.

“Farewell,” said John again. “Take the horse to the Pueblo. It is owned there. Farewell forever!”

Inza’s eyes were full of tears.

“It’s too bad!” she sobbed. “I am so sorry!”

John Swiftwing said not another word, but, turning his face toward the mountains, walked swiftly away. Not once did he turn about and look back.

Frank and Inza rode to meet the white men, who were seen in the distance, coming madly along the trail. When they had traveled for a time they turned to look for John Swiftwing.

He was near the foot of the mountains, and, as they looked, he was swallowed from view by the deep shadows at the base of the Taos Range.

“Oh, Frank, it was noble of him, after all,” said Inza, half tearfully. “But – but I hope we don’t meet again.”

“It is not likely,” returned Frank.

“And, Frank – ”

“Well?”

“Can you forgive me?”

“Willingly,” he cried, and gave her a gentle hug that meant a great deal.

When they reached the other horsemen Frank sprang a surprise on them.

“It was only a bit of fun,” he said. “But Swiftwing thought best not to come back for fear there would be trouble.”

But in secret he told his companions the truth, and it was decided to leave the Pueblo of Taos early the next morning.

“Sure, an’ it was great sport, that contist,” said Barney.

“We’ll never see anything galf as hood – no, half as good,” came from Harry.

“Don’t be too sure of that,” put in Diamond. “We are not home yet by a jugful. Lots may happen before we get there.”

CHAPTER XXVI – MORNING AT RODNEY’S RANCH

Boo-oo-oo-ng!

“Horn ob Gabrul! what am dat?”

Toots gasped the words, as he sat up and stared about him in the semi-darkness.

Boo-oo-oo-ng! boo-oo-oo-ng!

“Wek up, chilluns!” gurgled the colored boy. “De crack ob doom hab come, an’ ole Gabrul am tootin’ ob his horn fo’ suah!”

“Shimminy Gristmas!” grunted Hans, as he sat up. “Vos dot a Dexas cyclones vot you hear?”

“Gol darned if it don’t saound like a kaow bellein’!” said Ephraim Gallup; “only a heap laouder.”

“Is it a stameboat we’re on, Oi dunno!” murmured Barney, sleepily. “It’s th’ foghorn Oi hear.”

Rap! rap! rap! Rapp-er-ty-bang!

Some one was hammering on the door, and a voice called:

“Turn out – turn out for breakfast!”

“That was the breakfast horn, boys!” laughed Frank. “We must get a hustle on, for this is the day of the great tournament on Rodney’s Ranch, and we are here for sport. Ye have been promised dead loads of fun. Up, fellows – up!”

The boys scrambled to their feet. None of them had fully undressed, and they had been sleeping in blankets spread on the floor of a large room in the ranch house.

Through the open window, which was on the eastern side of the house, a pink glow could be seen in the sky. In a moment, as it seemed, the rim of the sun came into view, and morning had dawned with startling suddenness.

“Oh, thunder!” grumbled Bruce. “The night was not half long enough. I’d like to sleep about five hours longer.”

“That’s natural with you,” chuckled Harry, as he drew on his shoes. “You are always tired.”

“Can’t help it,” admitted the big fellow. “I was born that way. This sporting tour is killing me. How’d we happen to know anything about this cowboy racket, anyway?”

“Oh, I’m onto all that’s going,” smiled Frank.

“That’s right enough,” agreed Bruce; “but you didn’t know a thing about it at noon yesterday, and we were on our way eastward over the Texas and Pacific. None of us expected to stop short of Fort Worth, but, of a sudden, you yank us off the train at Stanton and run us out here to this ranch, without a word of explanation. When we arrive here we are received with open arms and made to feel as if we had been expected. I’ll acknowledge that I don’t understand it.”

“Your eyes were not sharp, old fellow,” said Frank. “Had they been, you would have seen that we were invited here.”

“By whom?”

“The daughter of the man who owns this ranch.”

“Not the girl Miss Burrage met on the train?”

“Yes.”

“How did Miss Burrage happen to know her?”

“The rancher’s daughter went abroad last winter, and they became acquainted in Italy.”

“And so she invited Inza here when they met by accident on the train. Is that the way of it?”

“Sure. Inza told her she and Miss Gale were traveling with us, and Miss Rodney made the invitation include the whole of us. I was glad enough to accept it when I learned there was to be a regular cowboy tournament here to-day, to end to-night with a dance.”

“That’s all right,” said Bruce, “if you’ll let us be spectators. I don’t see any sense in getting out and trying to beat the punchers at their own tricks.”

“Don’t let that worry you. I am not chump enough to try to do any trick we’ll not have an even show at. We’ll see a bit of cowboy sport here, and our tour eastward would not have been complete without it.”

“That’s so! That’s so!”

The others of the party were very enthusiastic over the prospect of a day of sport on a Texas cattle ranch.

“All right,” grunted Bruce. “You fellows may hoe in and have all the sport you like. I’ll keep still and look on.”

It did not take the boys long to dress and prepare for breakfast.

Bill Rodney, the rancher, greeted the boys heartily, his free and easy manner making them feel that they were quite welcome.

“Sorry I had to stow you chaps the way I did, but every room in the old ranch was filled,” he said. “If I’d known in advance that you were comin’, I’d had better accommerdations for yer.”

“We couldn’t have asked for anything better,” declared Frank, pleasantly. “I didn’t know but you might think it an imposition for us to come the way we did, as – ”

“My little gal asked ye, didn’t she? Well, that settled it. What Sadie does goes on this ranch, you bet! If she invited the whole of Texas here, I’d do my best to entertain ’em. There’ll be a few people here before night, and I want you chaps to sail right in and have the best time you can. Come on to breakfast.”

They entered the big, low dining-room, trooping in after their host.

There were seats at the long table for twelve persons, and Toots had asked the privilege of showing them how a real “cullud ge’man” could wait on the party. This privilege had been granted, and he had disappeared to the kitchen.

Inza and Miss Abigail Gale were on hand to greet the boys, and then, one by one, the lads were introduced to a very pretty girl in a morning gown.

This was Sadie Rodney, the rancher’s daughter, with whom Inza had become acquainted in Italy.

“Goodness!” exclaimed Miss Abigail; “what a crowd of men! It really makes me feel timid!”

She did not look at all timid, for she had a face that was almost masculine in its sternness, and she never seemed flustered.

The rancher sat at the head of the table, with Miss Rodney at the foot, having Miss Abigail and Inza on either hand.

Frank had a seat near Inza, while Hans was placed beside the spinster.

Then Toots appeared in a white apron, and breakfast began, with the morning sunshine streaming into the windows and lighting a pleasant scene.

“Now I want you to make yourselves right at home,” said the rancher, sincerely. “We ain’t able to put on so much style here as my gal has been accustomed to away at boarding school and travelin’ abroad, but we have fodder that’s fit to eat. Now, don’t blush and shake your head at me, Sadie. It’s all right. The boys don’t expect me to put on frills, and I’d make a mess of it if I did.”

He laughed heartily, and the girl blushed all the more.

“Oh, father!” she exclaimed, reprovingly.

“Ha! ha!” laughed Rodney, in his rough, hearty manner. “I know it’s rude of me, but it’s hard to learn an old dog new tricks.”

Then he leaned over to Diamond, who sat near him, and whispered loud enough for every one present to hear him:

“Don’t you think I’ve a mighty fine gal? She’s cost me a heap of money, but I don’t care. I’d spend all I’ve got on her. Look at her! Have you got any handsomer gals than that in the East?”

“If so I have not had the pleasure of seeing them,” said Jack, gallantly.

Quite naturally, this confused the girl still more, and Frank hastened to crack a joke and tell a bit of a story to turn attention from her.

Merry saw that she was really ladylike and refined, for all of her honest father’s good-natured coarseness, and her position had distressed her not a little.

Hans tried to be very attentive to Miss Abigail, but she repulsed him, so that he was very crestfallen after that, not a little to the amusement of the others.

The breakfast progressed merrily.

While it was going on a horseman came dashing up to the house, walked up to the dining-room window, leaned on the sill, and looked in.

“Howdy, Rodney,” he said, in a familiar manner.

Then he lifted the broad-brimmed hat from his dark curls and bowed to Sadie. After that he held the hat under his arm while he stood by the window.

He was a handsome fellow in his way, having a drooping black mustache and an imperial, while his dark eyes were keen and piercing. There was about his face a devil-may-care look, as if he feared nothing that walked on the face of the earth.

He was puffing carelessly at a Spanish cigarette, held by his full red lips, which showed beneath the mustache.

“Morning Charlie,” said the rancher. “Glad to see you on hand so early. Are the boys from the Lone Star comin’ up?”

“The whole of Concho Valley will be here to-day,” returned the man at the window. “It is bound to be a big time, Rodney.”

“That’s whatever. Bill Rodney don’t do anything by halves. When did ye start?”

“Midnight.”

“Wal, it’s a right smart ride. Give yer horse to Kemble and come in to breakfast. You can have my chance here.”

“Thank you; but I’ll wait till you are through.”

Then he strolled away, his handsome horse following him like a well-trained dog.

“Who is he?” asked Frank.

“That’s Indian Charlie, foreman of the Lone Star Ranch,” answered Rodney. “He’s the best shot and roper in Texas, and the most reckless rider I ever saw. He was born in the East, and went to college, but skipped after shootin’ another chap in a duel over a girl. Lucky for Charlie, t’other chap didn’t die; but Charlie never went back, and now he has the most remarkable aversion for all tenderfeet of any man I ever saw. You all want to be right careful not to git him r’iled, for he is worse than a wild steer on the rampage when he’s mad. He has a way of shootin’ first and talkin’ it over afterward.”

“Such a fellow as that needs to be taught a lesson,” said Frank. “Some one should take the trouble to teach him, too.”

“No one who knows him dares take the trouble to try.”

“That’s strange. I had an idea cowboys were not afraid of anything.”

“It is plain you do not understand what a dangerous man Indian Charlie is, Mr. Merriwell,” said the rancher’s daughter. “You must be sure to keep away from him, as you cannot be sure he will not take offense at some trivial thing and force you to apologize.”

“Indeed!” smiled Merriwell, lifting his eyebrows. “This man grows more and more interesting to me.”

“Yaw, he peen very inderestin mit me,” broke in Hans. “I vos goin’ to kept meinself a goot vays near off from him.”

“Miss Rodney,” said Harry, “you have said just enough to arouse Frank Merriwell’s curiosity, and now he will not be able to keep away from this Indian Charlie. He is certain to do something to stir Charlie up at the first opportunity.”

The girl turned pale.

“Don’t do it, Mr. Merriwell, I beg of you!” she cried. “You will simply humiliate yourself, for you will be forced to apologize to save yourself from being shot.”

Frank laughed.

“Don’t let that worry you, Miss Rodney,” he said. “I assure you there is no cause of alarm. I am not going to chase him with a chip on my shoulder.”

But those who knew Frank best were certain he would not seek to avoid trouble with the foreman of the Lone Star, and they felt a foreboding of coming trouble.