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

that he could see the pure, Indian profile of her face when she raised it to the sky in a mute invocation, it might be, of her gods.

“When yoh come?” he asked swiftly, his race betrayed in tone and accent. “I look and look—I no see yoh.”

“I come,” she stated with a quiet meaning. “I not like cow, for make plenty noise. I stand here, you smoke two times, I look.”

“You mus' be moonbeam,” he told her, reaching out again, only to lay hold upon nothing. “Come back, sweetheart. I be good.”

“I not like you touch,” she repeated. “I good girl. I mind priest, I read prayers, I mind Wagalexa Conka—” There she faltered, for the last boast was no longer the truth.

Ramon was quick to seize upon the one weak point of her armor. “So? He send yoh then to talk with Ramon at midnight? Yoh come to please yoh boss?”

Annie-Many-Ponies turned her troubled face his way. “Wagalexa Conka sleep plenty. I not ask,” she confessed. “You tell me come here you tell me must talk when no one hear. I come. I no ask Wagalexa Conka—him say good girl stay by camp. Him say not walk in night-time, say me not talk you. I no ask; I just come.”

“Yoh lov' him, perhaps? More as yoh lov' me? Always I see yoh look at him—always watch, watch. Always I see yoh jomp when he snap the finger; always yoh run like train dog. Yoh lov' him, perhaps? Bah! Yoh dirt onder his feet.” Ramon did not seriously consider that any woman whom he favored could sanely love another man more than himself, but to his nature jealousy was a necessary adjunct of lovemaking; not to have displayed jealousy would have been to betray indifference, as he interpreted the tender passion.

Annie-Many-Ponies, woman-wily though she was by nature, had little learning in the devious ways of lovemaking. Eyes might speak, smiles might half reveal, half hide her thoughts; but the tongue, as her tribe had taught her sternly, must speak the truth or keep silent. Now she bent her head, puzzling how best to put her feelings toward Luck Lindsay into honest words which Ramon would understand.

“Yoh lov' him, perhaps—since yoh all time afraid he be mad.” Ramon persisted, beating against the wall of her Indian taciturnity which always acted as a spur upon his impetuosity. Besides, it was important to him that he should know just what was the tie between these two. He had heard Luck Lindsay speak to the girl in the Sioux tongue. He had seen her eyes lighten as she made swift answer. He had seen her always eager to do Luck's bidding—had seen her anticipate his wants and minister to them as though it was her duty and her pleasure to do so. It was vital that he should know, and it was certain that he could not question Luck upon the subject—for Ramon Chavez was no fool.

“Long time ago—when I was papoose with no shoes,” she began with seeming irrelevance, her eyes turning instinctively toward the white tents of the Flying U camp gleaming in the distance, “my people go for work in Buffalo Bill show. My father go, my mother go, I go. All time we dance for show, make Indian fight with cowboys—all them act for Buffalo Bill-Pawnee Bill show. That time Wagalexa Conka boss of Indians. He Indian Agent. He take care whole bunch. He make peace when fights, he give med'cine when somebody sick. He awful good to them Indians. He give me candy, always stop to talk me. I like him. My father like him. All them Indians like him plenty much. My father awful sick one time, he no let doctor come. Leg broke all in pieces. He say die plenty if Wagalexa Conka no make well. I go ticket wagon, tell Wagalexa Conka, he come quick, fix up leg all right.

“All them Indians like to make him—” She stopped, searching her mind for the elusive, little-used word which she had learned in the mission school. “Make him sdop',” she finished triumphantly. “Indians make much dance, plenty music, lots speeches make him Indian man. My father big chief, he make Wagalexa Conka him son. Make him my brother. Give him Indian name Wagalexa Conka. All Indians call that name for him.

“Pretty soon show stop, all them Indians go home by reservation. long time we don't see Wagalexa Conka no more. I get big girl, go school little bit. Pretty soon Wagalexa Conka come back, for wants them Indians for work in pictures. My father go, my mother go, all us go. We work long time. I,” she added with naive pride in her comeliness, “awful good looking. I do lots of foreground stuff. Pretty soon hard times come. Indians go home by reservation. I go—I don't like them reservations no more. Too lonesome. I like for work all time in pictures. I come, tell Wagalexa Conka I be Indian girl for pictures. He write letter for agent, write letter for my father. They writes letter for say yes, I stay. I stay and do plenty more foreground stuff.”

“I don't see you do moch foreground work since that white girl come,” Ramon observed, hitting what he instinctively knew was a tender point.

Had he seen her face, he must have been satisfied that the chance shot struck home. But in the shadow hate blazed unseen from her eyes. She did not speak, and so he went back to his first charge.

“All this don't tell me moch,” he complained. “Yoh lov' him, maybe? That's what I ask.”

“Wagalexa Conka my brother, my father, my friend,” she replied calmly, and let him interpret it as he would.

“He treats yoh like a dog. He crazee 'bout that Jean. He gives her all smiles, all what yoh call foreground stuff. I know—I got eyes. Me, it makes me mad for see how he treat yoh—and yoh so trying hard always to Please. He got no heart for yoh—me, I see that.” He moved a step closer, hesitating, wanting yet not quite daring to touch her. “Me, I lov' yoh, little Annie,” he murmured. “Yoh lov' me little bit, eh? Jus' little bit! Jus' for say, 'Ramon, I go weeth yoh, I be yoh woman—'”

Annie-Many-Ponies widened the distance between them. “Why you not say wife?” she queried suspiciously.

“Woman, wife, sweetheart—all same,” he assured her with his voice like a caress. “All words mean I lov' yoh jus' same. Now yoh say yoh lov' me, say yoh go weeth me, I be one happy man. I go back on camp and my heart she's singing lov' song. My girl weeth eyes that shine so bright, she lov' me moch as I lov' her. That what my heart she sing. Yoh not be so cruel like stone—yoh say, 'Ramon, I lov' yoh.' Jus' like that! So easy to say!”

“Not easy,” she denied, moved to save her freedom yet a while longer. “I say them words, then I—then I not be same girl like now. Maybe much troubles come. Maybe much happy—I dunno. Lots time I see plenty trouble come for girl that say them words for man. Some time plenty happy—I think trouble comes most many times. I think Wagalexa Conka he be awful mad. I not like for hims be mad.”

“Now you make ME mad—Ramon what loves yoh! Yoh like for Ramon be mad, perhaps? Always yoh 'fraid Luck Lindsay this, 'fraid Luck that other. Me, I gets damn' sick hear that talk all time. Bimeby he marree som' girl,