LOST SISTER

Patsy stood in the doorway of the Davis cabin when I approached to pay my respects. She was wearing a linsey petticoat and a short gown for an overskirt. Her ma.s.s of wonderful hair was partly confined by a calico cap, and on her feet were my gift moccasins. She believed she was conforming to the frontier standard of dress, but she was as much out of place as a b.u.t.terfly at a bear-baiting. Before I could speak she was advancing toward me, her hands on her hips, her head tilted back, and demanding:

"What do you say now about the influence of trade and the trader?"

She did not ask that she might learn my opinion; she firmly believed there was but one thing I could say. She was in an exultant mood and happy to parade her triumph. Of course she was proud of her father and was viewing him as the deliverer of the settlement. Without waiting for me to answer she excitedly continued:

"And your long rifle! And the rifles of all these other men! What good would they have done? They spoke night before last, and the Indians kept up their attack. Then my father spoke and the Indians have gone! John Ward, who was out scouting when the Indians attacked, says they greatly outnumbered us and were led by Black Hoof, one of their greatest chiefs.

He says they would have captured or killed us if not for my father. Now, Mr. Rifleman, what do you think about the influence of an honest trader?"

I would not have shaken her pride in her father even had that accomplishment been possible. To convince her--which was not possible--that her father's success was no success at all, that Black Hoof's behavior was simply an Indian trick to lull us into a foolish sense of security, would mean to alienate even her friendship, let alone killing all chance of her ever reciprocating my love.

While not deeply experienced with women, my instinct early taught me that my s.e.x is most unwise in proving to a woman that she is wrong. She will hold such procedure to be the man's greatest fault. It is far better to let her discover her own errors, and even then pretend you still cling to her first reasoning, thereby permitting her to convince you that she was wrong.

On the other hand there was, I sensed, a peril in the situation, a peril to Howard's Creek, that made my seeming acquiescence in her opinion very distasteful to me. I had no proof of my suspicions except my knowledge of Indian nature and my familiarity with frontier history. A red man can be capable of great and lasting friendships. But to judge him, when he is at war, by the standards of the white race is worse than foolish.

Cornstalk, according to his blood, was a great man. Under certain conditions I would trust him with my life as implicitly as I would trust any white man. Under certain conditions I would repose this same trust in him although he was at war with my race. But when placed among the combatants opposing him, I knew there was no subterfuge even that great warrior would not use to attain success.

So I said nothing of my doubts, nothing of my vague suspicions concerning John Ward. I felt a strong antipathy toward the fellow, and I realized this dislike might prejudice me to a degree not warranted by the facts. To put it mildly, his status puzzled me. If he were an escaped prisoner then he had committed one of the gravest sins in the red man's entire category.

To be taken into the tribe, to be adopted after his white blood had been washed out by solemn ceremony, and then to run away, meant the stake and horrible preliminary tortures should he be recaptured. As a prize such a runaway would be more eagerly sought than any settler. And yet the fellow was back on the fringe of imminent danger and ranging the woods unconcernedly. His captivity must have taught him that every war-party would be instructed to bring him in alive if possible.

"What's the matter with you, Basdel?" demanded the girl sharply as she turned and walked by my side toward the Davis cabin. "You act queer. Do you begrudge giving my father his due? Aren't you thankful he was here to stop the attack?"

"If he were here alone, yes. But I am terribly worried because you are here, Patsy."

"But that's doubting my father's influence!" she rebuked, her eyes lighting war-signals.

"When one has loved, one stops reasoning," I quickly defended. "I can not bear to see even a shadow of a chance of harm come to you."

"That was said very pretty," she smiled, her gaze all softness.

Then with calm pride she unfastened several strings of white wampum from around her slender waist and holding them up simply said:

"My father's belts."

Among the strings was a strip some seven or eight rows in width and two hundred beads long. It was pictographic and showed a man leading a pack-horse along a white road to a wigwam. The figures, like the road, were worked in white beads, the background being dark for contrast.

Refastening them about her waist, she said:

"There is no danger for me here so long as I wear my father's belts. There are none of the Ohio Indians who would refuse to accept them and respect them. When they see the Pack-Horse-Man walking along the white road to their villages they will lift that belt up very high."

"When one sees you, there should be no need of belts," I ventured.

She smiled graciously and lightly patted my fringed sleeve, and ignoring my fervid declaration, she gently reminded:

"Even if I had no belts I am no better than any of the other women on the creek. Don't think for a moment I would hide behind my father's trade wampum. The belts must protect all of us, or none of us. But there is no more danger for me than there is for them even if I threw the belts away.

Not so much; because I am Ericus Dale's daughter. Basdel, it makes me unhappy to fear that when we leave here the danger may return to these people. I carry my safety with me. I wish I could leave it for them. I wish a general and lasting peace could be made."

"G.o.d knows I wish the same," I cried. "As for being no better than these other women, I agree to that." And she became suddenly thoughtful. "In judging from a Howard's Creek standpoint you are not so good in many ways.

Rather, I should say, not so valuable."

"You measure a woman's value as you do your guns and horses," she murmured.

Her calmness was rather ominous, and I feared I had bungled. Yet my meaning should have been transparent even to a child. To make sure she had not misconstrued me I explained:

"You know what I mean, no matter how I appear to measure you. In making a new country a woman on the edge of things must have certain qualities that the town woman does not possess, does not need to possess. It's because of these qualities that the new country becomes possible as a place to live in; then the town woman develops. Two hundred miles east are conditions that resulted from the rugged qualities of the first women on the first frontier.

"Those first women helped to make it safe for their children's children.

Now it's behind the frontier and women of your kind live there. In other words"--I was growing a trifle desperate, for her gaze, while persistent, was rather blank--"you don't fit in out here. I doubt if you know how to run bullets or load a gun or throw an ax. I'm sure you'd find it very disagreeable to go barefooted. It isn't your place. Your values shine when you are back in town. That's why I'm sorry you're here."

"I haven't shot a rifle, but I could learn," she quietly remarked.

"I believe that," I heartily agreed. "But could you take an ax and stand between a drove of children and what you believed to be a band of Indians about to break from cover and begin their work of killing? I saw the Widow McCabe do that. I saw the little Moulton woman, armed with an ax, run to meet the attack."

"It's hardly sensible to ask if I could have done this or that. Who knows what I could have done? I shall never have to deal with what is past. And there was a time, I suppose, when all these women were new to the frontier. At least I should be allowed time to learn certain things before you apply your measuring-rod, sir!"

"That's right," I admitted. "I was rather unjust, but the fact remains that just now you are out of place and not used to this life and its dangers."

"I feel very cross at you. You pa.s.s over my father's great work for the settlement with scarcely a word. You complain because I am here and look different from Mrs. Davis. I can't help my looks."

"You are adorable. Already see the havoc you've wrought among the unmarried men. Observe how many times each finds an errand that takes him by this cabin door. How slow they are to scout the woods and seek signs.

No; you can't help your looks, and it results there are few men who can resist loving you. There's not a youngster in this settlement who's not up to his neck in love with you already. And there's not one of them who does not realize that you would be the poorest mate he could pick so long as he must live on the border."

"I'm glad to hear just what you believe about me," she muttered. "But you're bewildering. It seems I'm a rare prize for any man and a most uncomfortable burden."

"Oh, dash it all, Patsy! You understand that what I've said applies to Howard's Creek. If we were standing two hundred miles due east I should say directly the opposite."

Of course she understood my true meaning, and of course in her heart she agreed with it. She was town-bred and therefore was intended for the town.

Yet so strangely stubborn and eccentric is a woman's reasoning that she can feel resentment toward a man because he has brains enough to comprehend the same simple truth that she comprehends.

Had there been no danger from the Indians I could have scored a bull's-eye with her by baldly declaring her to be the most valuable a.s.set the frontier ever had received; and she would have dimpled and smiled and but faintly demurred, knowing I was a rock-ribbed liar for a.s.serting it, and yet liking me the more for the ridiculous exaggeration. That is one reason why it is more sensible and much more satisfactory to quarrel with a man than a woman.

With the tenacity which her s.e.x displays when believing a male is trying to avoid some issue, she coldly reminded:

"Talk, talk, but not a word yet as to what my father did two nights ago."

"It was one of the most splendid exhibitions of faith and moral courage I ever witnessed."

Her gaze grew kindly again and she halted and stared up into my eyes, flushed with pleasure, and waited to hear more encomiums.

"I never before saw one man rush out and confront a war-party. Then his going out alone last night and prowling about through the dark forest!

That was magnificent. Your father is one of the bravest men I ever saw."

She rubbed a pink finger against her nose and tilted her head and weighed my words thoughtfully. Obviously I had omitted something; for with a little frown worrying her fair forehead she began:

"But--but there's something else you haven't said. What about his influence over the Indians? You thought him foolish to take me over the mountains. You now admit you were foolish to think that?"