The Heritage of the Sioux, B. M. Bower [feel good fiction books TXT] 📗

then what for you? He don' maree yoh, eh? He don' lov' yoh; he think too good for maree Indian girl. Me, I not think like that. I, Ramon Chavez, I think proud to lov, yoh. Ramon—”

“I not think Wagalexa Conka marry me.” The girl was turning stubborn under his importunities. “Wagalexa Conka my brother—my friend. I tell you plenty time. Now I tell no more.”

“Ramon loves yoh so moch,” he pleaded, and smiled to himself when he saw her turn toward toward him again. The love-talk—that was what a woman likes best to hear! “Yoh say yoh lov' Ramon jus' little bit!”

“I not say now. When I say I be sure I say truth.”

“All right, then I be sad till yoh lov' me. Yoh maybe be happy, yoh know Ramon's got heavy heart for yoh.”

“I plenty sorry, you be sad for me,” she confessed demurely. “I lov' yoh so moch! I think nothing but how beautiful my sweetheart is. I not tease yoh no more. Tell me, how long Luck says he stay out here? Maybe yoh hear sometimes he's going for taking pictures in town?”

“I not hear.”

“Going home, maybe? You mus' hear little bit. Yoh tell me, sweetheart; what's he gone do when roundup's all finish? Me, I know she's finish las' week. Looks like he's taking pictures out here all summer! You hear him say something, maybe?”

“I not hear.”

“Them vaqueros—bah! They don't bear nothings either. What's matter over there, nobody hear nothing? Luck, he got no tongue when camera's shut up, perhaps?”

“Nah—I dunno.”

Ramon looked at her for a minute in mute rage. It was not the first time he had found himself hard against the immutable reticence of the Indian in her nature.

“Why you snapping teeth like a wolf?” she asked him slyly.

“Me? I don' snap my teeth, sweetheart.” It cost Ramon some effort to keep his voice softened to the love key.

“Why you not ask Wagalexa Conka what he do?”

“I don' care, that's why I don' ask. Me, it's' no matter.”

He hesitated a moment, evidently weighing a matter of more importance to him than he would have Annie-Many-Ponies suspect. “Sweetheart, yoh do one thing for Ramon?” His voice might almost be called wheedling. “Me, I'm awful busy tomorrow. I got long ride away off—to my rancho. I got to see my brother Tomas. I be back here not before night. Yoh tell Bill Holmes he come here by this rock—yoh say midnight that's good time—I sure be here that time. Yoh say I got something I wan' tell him. Yoh do that for Ramon, sweetheart?”

He waited, trying to hide the fact that he was anxious.

“I not like Bill Holmes.” Annie-Many-Ponies spoke with an air of finality. “Bill Holmes comes close, I feel snakes. Him not friend to Wagalexa Conka—say nothing—always go around still, like fox watching for rabbit. You not friend to Bill Holmes?”

“Me? No—I not friend, querida mia. I got business. I sell Bill Holmes one silver bridle, perhaps. I don' know—mus' talk about it. Yoh tell him come here by big rock, sweetheart?”

Annie-Many-Ponies took a minute for deliberation—which is the Indian way. Ramon, having learned patience, said no more but watched her slant-eyed.

“I tell,” she promised at last, and added, “I go now.” Then she slipped away. And Ramon, though he stood for several minutes by the rock smiling queerly and staring down the arroyo, caught not the slightest glimpse of her after she left him. He knew that she would deliver faithfully his message to Bill Holmes, she had given her word. That was one great advantage, considered Ramon, in dealing with those direct, uncompromising natures. She might torment him with her aloofness and her reticence, but once he had won her to a full confidence and submission he need not trouble himself further about her loyalty. She would tell Bill Holmes—and, what was vastly more important, she would do it secretly; he had not dared to speak of that, but he thought he might safely trust to her natural wariness. So Ramon, after a little, stole away to his own camp quite satisfied.

The next night, when he stood in the shadow of the rock ledge and waited, he was not startled by the unexpected presence of the person he wanted to see. For although Bill Holmes came as cautiously as he knew how, and avoided the wide, bright-lighted stretches of arroyo where he would have been plainly visible, Ramon both saw and heard him before he reached the ledge. What Ramon did not see or hear was Annie-Many-Ponies, who did not quite believe that those two wished merely to talk about a silver bridle, and who meant to listen and find out why it was that they could not talk openly before all the boys.

Annie-Many-Ponies had ways of her own. She did not tell Ramon that she doubted his word, nor did she refuse to deliver the message. She waited calmly until Bill Holmes left camp stealthily that night, and she followed him. It was perfectly simple and sensible and the right thing to do; if you wanted to know for sure whether a person lied to you, you had but to watch and listen and let your own eyes and ears prove guilt or innocence.

So Annie-Many-Ponies stood by the rock and listened and watched. She did not see any silver bridle. She heard many words, but the two were speaking in that strange Spanish talk which she did not know at all, save “Querida mia,” which Ramon had told her meant sweetheart.

The two talked, low-voiced and earnest, Bill was telling all that he knew of Luck Lindsay's plans—and that was not much.

“He don't talk,” Bill complained. “He just tells the bunch a day ahead—just far enough to get their makeup and costumes on, generally. But he won't stay around here much longer; he's taken enough spring roundup stuff now for half a dozen pictures. He'll be moving in to the ranch again pretty quick. And I know this picture calls for a lot of town business that he'll have to take. I saw the script the other day.” This, of course, being a free translation of the meaningless jumble of strange words which Annie heard.

“What town business is that? Where will he work?” Ramon was plainly impatient of so much vagueness.

“Well, there's a bank robbery—I paid particular attention, Ramon, so I know for certain. But when he'll do it, or what bank he'll use, I don't know any more than you do. And there's a running fight down the street and through the Mexican quarter. The rest is just street stuff—that and a fiesta that I think he'll probably me the old plaza for location. He'll need a lot of Mexicans for that stuff. He'll want you, of course.”

“That bank—who will do that?” Ramon's fingers trembled so that he could scarcely roll a cigarette. “Andy, perhaps?”

“No—that's the Mexican bunch. I—why, I guess that will maybe be you, Ramon. I wasn't paying much attention to the parts—I was after locations, and I only had about two minutes at the