Read Ebook: The Brand: A Tale of the Flathead Reservation by Broderick Therese

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Bess Frontispiece

Sunset on Flathead Lake 211

--TIN SCHREINER.

THE BRAND

BESS FLETCHER'S FIRST WESTERN ACQUAINTANCE

For two days the westbound train had hurried over the prairies as if it understood the heart of the girl and strove to gratify her impatience for a glimpse of the mountains. She sat at the car window and gazed fascinated at the scenes which were so new and strange that she forgot the coach with its tired people--forgot even her brother, who sat with his book, bored and indifferent to the flying panorama.

Her soul left the plush-covered seats and suit-cases to follow the wild creatures that moved in the gorges or climbed the wonderful mountain slopes. She did not hear the repeated "I'm going for a smoke, Bess." Her soul was without, her eyes following a mysterious, half-hidden form.

"It's a deer! Oh, Jim, it's a deer!" she exclaimed excitedly, turning to her brother for corroboration. But the flashing brown eyes looked into the face of a stranger.

"Oh, I beg pardon," she breathed, her cheek flushing. "My brother sat there only a moment ago, and I thought I was addressing him."

The stranger smiled. "Then I infer that you are Miss Fletcher. I just now saw Mr. Fletcher going into the smoking room. Two years ago I had the pleasure of making his acquaintance when he was in the Flathead country."

While he was speaking, she noted what a large man he was, how deliberately he spoke and in what an unusually musical voice. She saw the flush of health and strength in his face, contrasting so greatly to her brother's pale, emaciated countenance. She wondered what color his eyes were, but as he looked at her with fleeting glances she could not tell. The thought flashed through her mind that he would be very handsome if only he would open his eyes frankly. In fact, so preoccupied was she reading the young man that she was scarcely aware of what he was saying to her. Just then she saw James coming.

"Well, well, Mr. Davis! I'm glad to meet you once more." Fletcher reached forth his hand in friendly recognition.

"Permit me to introduce my sister, whom I am taking to the Flathead with me."

With a nod the stranger explained how he had already had the pleasure of speaking with Miss Fletcher.

"You are not looking like the hale and hearty cowboy whom I saw two years ago riding over the range on the reservation," he continued. "It must be the return to civilization did not agree with you."

"I was very well until a few months ago," said Fletcher, "but the worry and strain of settling my father's affairs used me up generally, and I am now going West to recuperate. I love the Western life, with its sunshine, its out-of-doors, its fresh air and vast breathing space. I wouldn't exchange the three summers on the range for all my life in the city."

"Do you know, Mr. Davis, I have become so fascinated with tales of the cattle country that I feel almost as enthusiastic as my brother," said Bess, brushing the stray lock of fluffy brown hair out of her eye. "Do you think," she continued, "that I shall love the West as he does?"

"I hope so," said Davis, with a swift glance.

"I already know what a cayuse is, and also a lariat, though I am not so sure as regards a teepee; still, if I remember correctly, it is something good to eat."

Simultaneously both gentlemen burst forth in hearty laughter, and when Davis could speak he said: "I am afraid, Miss Fletcher, your appetite will be gone when you see or even smell one."

Bess wrinkled her brow in perplexity. "Oh," she said, "James has told me so many tales of the Indians and cowboys and all, that I scarcely know what to believe. Nevertheless, it won't be long now before I shall have solved a few of the mysteries at least."

Davis began carefully to roll a cigarette, shaping it daintily with his thumb and index fingers; then poising it carefully between his lips, he sought a match in his vest pocket and excused himself, hoping to meet them both very often during the summer. Bess watched him as he slowly sauntered toward the end of the car with a look of inquiry.

"I think I would like him better if he would look directly at one. Who is he, James? A cattleman or cowboy, or what is it you called them--oh, yes, squaw man?"

"You'll have to guess again, Bess. He is Dave Davis, the Indian agent of the Flathead Reservation. He is probably on his way to the sub-agency at Ronan."

She gave a little sigh in answer, and asked how long it would be before the train reached Selish.

"I fear you are nearly worn out, James. You had better lie down and rest. It is now four o'clock, and at five you say we will reach the end of our train journey. It's been rather long and tedious. How far away New York begins to feel, doesn't it? Oh, I wonder if I shall really like it away out here in the West?"

James quietly settled down for a nap, and Bess went on with her mental soliloquy. The West! What had she not dreamed of the West! Its wonderful mountains, so great and bold, rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, verdant with the towering pines, and again, white and softened by the crown of winter. In fancy she had seen their rugged sides caressed by crystal streams, and had stooped to drink where deer had splashed. Then forth stretched the plain, far into the blue horizon. On she dreamed, till the porter warned her it was nearly time for them to leave the train. Hurriedly awakening her brother, he hastily gathered together their numerous grips and boxes. So busily engaged were her hands that she had to blow the persistent wisp of hair out of her eyes.

"For pity's sake, Bess, can't you pin that bunch of hair up?"

"It won't stay up, James. I get so annoyed at the old forelock that sometimes I feel like pulling it out," and all unconsciously she repeated the motion, at which they both laughed.

"Here we are, dearie, at last. I wonder if anyone will meet us. Come, let the porter help you off with a few of those bird cages."

As they stepped from the train she felt to everything which came within her range of observation like a huge interrogation point. She glanced hurriedly about, hoping to see Henry West, and wondering if she would know him. Just then she saw Mr. Davis lifting his hat to her, both in recognition and farewell, as he walked to a man holding a beautiful saddle horse. The Indian agent glanced back at the tall, graceful girl, with her pretty traveling dress and hat of brown. She could not know that he noted with what an air she walked, head and shoulders erect, chin up aggressively, nor that he thought:

"Gad! but she is great! And what a treat after three years of Indians. I shall certainly see you often, Miss Fletcher."

"Do you see him anywhere, James?" Bess was all animation.

"West? No, sister. We better hurry over here where there is the best little hotel you ever saw or heard tell of; so immaculately clean, and excellent food--plain, but cooked to the queen's taste. That is, if it's run by the same party who used to be here. My mouth still waters in recollection of some of the good trout and muffins which I have had at Mrs. Strong's."

Nestled closely to the hillside was the hotel, and as Bess was greeted by a sweet-faced girl and her mother she wondered if all Western hospitality were as cordial.

James had ordered their trunks brought over, and soon Bess came from her room fresh and clean and rested, dressed in a becoming tan-colored riding suit of corduroy.

It was early May. In the mountains the evenings were still cold, and a blazing fire crackled as they sat down to dinner. It seemed to Bess that she never was so hungry in all her life. Biscuits never tasted so good before. She saw, with gratification, that James ate as he had not in weeks.

"Did you ever feel, James, that you could eat everything in sight? That's just the way I feel now, but I'll try to leave enough for you, dear."

This brother and sister were all the world to each other. The mother died while Bess was still young, and most of her life had been spent in the convent school. During her summer vacation she was often with her father and brother in New York. The past year and a half, since the death of their father, Bess and James had been together constantly. He had hoped to carry on his father's law business, but a severe illness necessitated his leaving the city, and so he gladly accepted the offer of Henry West to come to his ranch and assume the foremanship.

James and Henry West had been in school at Harvard together, and later both began the study of law. The close association of years caused the insoluble bond of friendship between them.

Colin West, the father of Henry, was a Scotchman, of education, tact and good judgment; a man respected by everyone with whom he came in contact. Fate or fortune had placed him in the West while still a young man. His wife was half Indian blood, and yet one of the most refined and intellectual of women. Her son was proving himself an able manager of the vast herds of cattle and buffalo which Colin West had accumulated, and since his death four years ago Henry had had the entire management of the ranch.

Here James spent three long, delightful summers. Here he learned to ride and "rope" like any of the cowboys on the range. It was always with reluctance that he left, after the fall round-up, to take up his studies again. How glad he was to return now, in hopes of soon regaining his health and strength. He had hesitated in bringing his sister into this new life, and yet he could not leave her alone in New York.

She was wild with delight when he asked her to come, for ever since she had listened to his never-ending, interesting tales of the West had she hoped that she, too, might come to know its lure. She loved out-of-door life, and the few months of her vacation in the city were usually spent riding, so that she had become a very good horsewoman, and, best of all, had grown to strong and perfect womanhood. She was girlish, and her twenty years rested lightly on her shoulders. Her optimistic and sunshiny disposition won for her the love and admiration of all her friends, and even strangers smiled at her happy face. As most of her life had been spent at school among sweet-faced nuns, she had grown up uncontaminated by the world, pure-minded and whole-souled. Her faith was implicit, and never yet had she had a rude awakening to the fact that all were not true nor good, nor even sincere.

Several times she had considered seriously becoming a nun herself, but her love of nature, of out-of-doors, of friends, of her father and brother, of the world generally, made her pause. Then, too, she knew her bright and merry nature could never endure the strict confines of the cloister and the shadow of the somber black robes. "No, I cannot, for I am not good enough," was always her mental decision. And now that her father was dead and she and James were alone, she had put the thought from her mind entirely.

The nuns realized what her work would be, for her talents in music and painting were extraordinary; and she also had that gift, which few possess, of making a success of anything she undertook. Failure was not in her vocabulary, and she never used the word, either mentally or audibly.

"Why in the world, Bess, have you put on your riding togs?"

"We can't start for the ranch tonight. It is at least thirty-five miles, and besides you can never ride so far, even though Henry West should bring saddle horses. The stage leaves here for Polson early in the morning, and we will, in all probability, meet him there. Still, he wired he would meet us here at Selish. It is early yet, and he may come soon."

With a little impatient gesture of putting back the hair from her forehead, and with her eyes sparkling, half defiantly and half in fun, Bess said: "My dear, solicitous brother, let me tell you a few things right now. I am here in the great West where you have told me there is perfect and untrammeled freedom. Don't begin using a lot of don'ts and can'ts, for I am going to ride--'and ever to ride', when and where and with whom my fancy dictates; I am going to talk with anyone who interests me, be he white or full-blood Indian. I am going to--Oh, what am I not going to do!--even shock my dear, old brother, half to death, every day--you dear"--She jumped from her seat at the table and after flinging her arms around his neck, she was out of the room, her merry laugh ringing in his ears, before he had time to remonstrate.

THE GOLDEN GLIMPSE

Bess had donned her fluffy brown tam-o-shanter and stood on the veranda. Shadows of evening were silently gathering in the valley, and yet she could see that beyond the hill the sun still shone. "That hill looks rather high," she said briskly, "but I do so long to see what lies beyond it. I think I'll go up the road and take a glimpse before the sun sets. Brother won't miss me and I'll only be gone a minute."

As she walked she stooped to pick some shining butter-cups, and to thrust in her hair waxen leaves of the Oregon grape, with its bright yellow clusters of blossoms. So interested was she in each new leaf and stone that the crest of the long, winding road had been reached before she was aware. Lifting her eyes she caught her breath, and unconsciously lifted her hands in silent adoration of the glorious panorama spread out before her, her first real look at the "golden West."

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