The Talking Leaves: An Indian Story, William O. Stoddard [best novels for beginners TXT] 📗

arms were twining around her neck, and she was weeping bitterly as she exclaimed,

"He shall not take you away from me. You are not a pale-face any more. You are Apache!"

Rita could not help crying, for the idea of the change which was coming to her was getting more and more difficult to deal with.

They were interrupted by the stately approach of old Many Bears.

"Young squaws foolish. Know nothing. Must laugh. Go to lodge now. Three days go to fort."

Three days? Was it so near? The two friends were glad to go into the lodge, as they were told, and cry it out together.

The nearest United States post at which there were likely to be any traders was still a "two days' journey" to the northward, but Many Bears had actually now received a message from his tribe that there would be "heap presents" for those who should come in time to get them, and he was more than ever anxious to discover if Send Warning had been telling him the truth. His first proposition had been, as before, that Murray should send for what he wanted, and have it brought to the Apache camp, but that had been declared out of the question.

"Ugh! Good. Then Send Warning go with chief. Buy pony. Buy heap other things. Come back and take young squaw to lodge."

"No. The great chief can bring young squaw with him. Send Warning take then what he pay for. Give pony, take young squaw."

After some little argument this was agreed to, but there were almost as serious objections made to Steve Harrison's joining the party who were to visit the post.

"Tell them I'm going anyhow," said Steve to Red Wolf, "whether they like it or not. You come too. I'll buy you a new rifle. Best there is at the fort."

That settled the matter, but Steve did not imagine how much difficulty he would have in getting hold of a rifle for an Indian. He was at last, as it turned out, compelled to keep his word by giving Red Wolf his own, and then buying another for himself from one of the traders.

But Dolores and Ni-ha-be were to be of the party. The first because Many Bears would need to "eat great heap," and the second because she had made up her mind to it very positively and would not give the matter up.

"Rita," said Murray, in a low voice, the morning they rode out of the village-camp, "take a good look back. That's the last you will ever see of it."

Then for the first rime it came into the mind of Rita that she loved not only Ni-ha-be, but all those wild, dark, savage people among whom she had been living ever since she was a little girl. She forgot for the moment how she came among them. She only remembered that the village, with all its wandering, had been her home.

"Father, will I never see any of them again?"

"I think not, Rita."

"You will let me send them presents, will you not?"

"As many as you please, Rita."

"Then I will make the whole village happy some day."

The ride to the fort was a somewhat hurried one, for Many Bears was in some fear lest all the presents should be given out before he could come for his share, and Murray was half in dread lest he should not be able to keep his own promise to the chief.

His first difficulty was removed almost at once, on his arrival, by his finding a trader who had bought a great many more ponies than he knew what to do with. Fifty of them were promptly secured and turned over to Many Bears. Even while that was being cared for Murray sought and obtained two or three important interviews. One was with the United States Army officer in command of the post, and from him he received the promise of all the help he might need.

"Still," said the gallant major, "it will keep the Indians in better humor if you pay as you agreed."

"I mean to exactly."

"It's a little the biggest romance I ever heard of. I'll tell you what: you'd better have the final transfer made in my presence."

"Thank you heartily. That will be just the thing."

Another of Murray's calls was upon the "post barber," the next upon the traders in boots, hats, clothing etc.; and when he finished the last one, Steve Harrison, who had accompanied him, making some purchases on his own account, exclaimed,

"Why, Murray, you don't look as if you were over forty. The major won't know you, nor the chief either."

"I was almost ashamed to have my hair dyed. I did it partly for Rita's sake. So she can remember me better. Partly, I must say, so my English friends will know me."

Rita turned pale when she saw him, and did not say a word; but Ni-ha-be's face put on an expression of great disgust both for him and Steve.

"Ugh! Pale-face! Young brave better wear blanket and look like a man!"

"That's it, Ni-ha-be," said Murray. "He looks like a white man now, not like a red one."

Many Bears also took a look at Send Warning and Knotted Cord in their new rig, and it was not half an hour before he was strutting around in an old blue army uniform coat and a high-crowned hat.

The Apaches of his band declared the "talking leaves" to have told the truth; for, although there was not much of a "big talk" or treaty, there were a good many presents from their "Great Father at Washington," and they were in excellent humor.

Many Bears knew that the price to be paid for Rita was fast being got together, and he may have cared very little whether it should be called a dowry or a ransom, for he had as yet no idea but what she and her new father and Steve would go back with him to their lodge in his camp.

The romantic truth, however, had been told as a great secret to the major's wife, and she told it to the other ladies at the fort, and they all went wild together over a grand new wardrobe for Rita. Never had any daughter of the Apaches owned a tenth of the varied material the enthusiastic ladies prepared in less than twenty-four hours after they had their first glimpse of Rita.

"We must make quite an affair," said the major to Murray, "of your making the payment. Then they will not think of trying to back out."

"There would be danger to Rita, I fear, if I were to make the truth known publicly too soon."

"Of course there would. Are all your presents ready?"

"They will be to-morrow."

"Then bring them to the parade ground in the morning. I will have everything fixed for the occasion."

Major Norris was an experienced "Indian fighter," and just the man to be in command of such a post, for the reason that he had learned how much cheaper it was to have the red men as friends than as enemies. He sent word at once to Many Bears and a number of other "great chiefs" that Send Warning was also a "great chief" and that proper honor must be shown him by his pale-face friends on so great an occasion. Nothing could have better suited the pride of Many Bears, but both Dolores and Ni-ha-be bitterly resented the proposal of the white ladles to prepare Rita's toilet. They would surely have kept her to themselves if it had not been for the tact and good-sense of the major's wife, to whom Murray explained the difficulty.

"Nonsense! Tell them all the ladies of the great chief's family are invited to come to my room in the morning. Tell them it will be bad manners if they do not come."

That was enough. Ni-ha-be felt that the daughter of a great chief ought not to be impolite, and she and Dolores came with Rita in the morning. The white ladies preserved their gravity, but they all said afterward that it was great fun.

Somehow or other, Rita seemed to know the uses of her new wardrobe very well, except that hooks-and-eyes were a sort of mystery, and she had no skill in the handling of pins. Dolores was made happy by the presentation of a wonderful scarf of brilliant colors, and Ni-ha-be consented to "try on" everything that was put before her.

That was as far as they could persuade her to go, however, for she took off bonnet and dress, stockings and shoes, resuming her own pretty and neatly fitting garments. All she would keep on was a pair of bracelets sent to her by Knotted Cord. They were hardly ready when they heard the band begin to play on the parade-ground, and word came from the major to hurry.

It was quite a procession that marched out of the fort barracks with Rita, and the Apache warriors and squaws who were looking on felt that a high compliment was paid to their nation. There were the troops drawn up in splendid array, with flags, and cannon, and music, and the "white chiefs" in their bright uniforms.

There were the great warriors of several "bands" of the Apaches in their paint and feathers. There were the beautiful white squaws in their strange dresses. Many Bears had been looking very intently at a collection of things just in front of where Major Norris was standing, with Murray and Steve Harrison. Ponies, blankets, guns, all, and more than all, that had been agreed upon. No chief who was looking on could say he had ever received more than that for one of his daughters, and the heart of Many Bears swelled proudly within him. There was a cloud upon his haughty face, however, and another on that of Red Wolf, who was standing at his side.

The clouds did not disperse when they searched the approaching party of ladies with their eyes for Rita. Rita! Could that be the adopted daughter of Many Bears walking there behind Mrs. Norris and Mother Dolores? The beautiful young lady whose face was so very pale, and who was dressed so splendidly? They had never before seen her look anything like that. The band played, the soldiers "presented arms," the officers touched their hats, and Murray stepped forward and held out his right hand to Many Bears, pointing with his left to the ponies and things.

"There they are. Send Warning has kept his word. Rita is mine."

"Ugh! Good. Presents all right. Young squaw is the daughter of Send Warning."

He shook hands heartily as he said it; but Many Bears had something more on his mind, and was about to open his mouth, only waiting for the music to stop. He was farther prevented by a sign to his father and a word in Apache from Red Wolf.

"Listen!" exclaimed Many Bears. "Send Warning see ponies? See all presents?"

"Yes, I see them."

"All mine now. Give all to Red Wolf. Young brave want Rita. Give all ponies for her. All presents. All except gun. Great chief keep them. What does Send Warning say?"

"Not want pony. Not want anything. Want daughter. Keep her."

"Red Wolf is young. Come again by-and-by. Bring more pony."

"Listen," said Murray, in his turn. "I tell you a big truth. Rita is my own daughter. When you burn ranch in Mexico, many summers ago, burn mine, take horses, cattle, mules, take away little girl, all that was mine. Got little girl back now. Apaches all good friends of mine."

"Send Warning not come back to lodge?"

"Not now. Go to my own people for a while. Show them my daughter. Say found her again."

"Ugh! Send Warning is a wise man. Cunning chief. Throw dust in the eyes of the Apaches."

It was plain that the chief was troubled in his mind. He hardly knew whether to be angry or not, but there was no reasonable objection to Murray's doing as he pleased with his own daughter, after she had cost him so many ponies.

Murray spoke again.

"Send Warning say what great chief do. Let Ni-ha-be come with Rita to pale-face lodges. Stay awhile. Learn to hear talking leaves. Then come back to her friends. What say?"

The chief pondered a