Ridgwell Cullum - The Watchers of the Plains - A Tale of the Western Prairies

Those six years brought another change; a change in the life of the wood-cutter of White River. He still lived in his log hut, but he had taken to himself a wife, the beautiful orphaned daughter of Big Wolf, and sister of the reigning chief, Little Black Fox. Whatever may have been Nevil Steyne’s position before, he was completely ostracized by his fellows now, that is by all but the folk at White River Farm. Men no longer suggested that he had “taken the blanket”; they openly asserted it.

The reason of Nevil Steyne’s toleration by the White River Farm people was curious. It was for Rosebud’s sake; Rosebud and Wanaha, the wife of the renegade wood-cutter. The latter was different from the rest of her race. She was almost civilized, a woman of strong, honest character in spite of her upbringing. And between Rosebud and this squaw a strong friendship had sprung up. Kindly Rube and his wife could not find it in their hearts to interfere, and even Seth made no attempt to check it. He looked on and wondered without approval; and wonder with him quickly turned into keen observation.

And it is with this strange friendship that we have to deal now.

Inside the log hut on the White River, Wanaha was standing before a small iron cook-stove preparing her husband’s food. It was the strangest sight imaginable to see her cooking in European fashion. Yet she did it in no uncertain manner. She learned it all because she loved her white husband, just as she learned to speak English, and to dress after the manner of white women. She went further. With the assistance of the missionary and Rosebud she learned to read and sew, and to care for a house. And all this labor of a great love brought her the crowning glory of legitimate wifehood with a renegade white man, and the care of a dingy home that no white girl would have faced. But she was happy. Happy beyond all her wildest dreams in the smoke-begrimed tepee of her father.

Nevil Steyne had just returned from Beacon Crossing, whither he had gone to sell a load of cord-wood, and to ask for mail at the post-office. Strange as it may seem, this man still received letters from England. But to-day he had returned with only a packet of newspapers.

He entered the hut without notice or greeting for Wanaha, who, in true Indian fashion, waited by the cook-stove for her lord to speak first.

He passed over to the bedstead which occupied the far end of the room, and sat himself down to a perusal of his papers. He was undoubtedly preoccupied and not intentionally unkind to the woman.

Wanaha went steadily on with her work. For her this was quite as it should be. He would speak presently. She was satisfied.

Presently the man flung his papers aside, and the woman’s deep eyes met his as he looked across at her.

“Well, Wana,” he said, “I’ve sold the wood and got orders for six more cords. Business is booming.”

The man spoke in English. Yet he spoke Wanaha’s tongue as fluently as she did herself. Here again the curious submissive nature of the woman was exampled. He must speak his own tongue. It was not right that he should be forced to use hers.

“I am much happy,” she said simply. Then her woman’s thought rose superior to greater issues. “You will eat?” she went on.

“Yes, Wana. I’m hungry – very.”

“So.” The woman’s eyes smiled into his, and she eagerly set the food on a table made of packing cases.

Steyne began at once. He was thoughtful while he ate. But after a while he looked up, and there was a peculiar gleam in his blue eyes as they rested on the warm, rich features of his willing slave.

“Pretty poor sort of place – this,” he said. “It’s not good enough for you, my Wana.”

The woman had seated herself on a low stool near the table. It was one of her few remaining savage instincts she would not give up. It was not fitting that she should eat with him.

“How would you like a house, a big house, like – White River Farm?” he went on, as though he were thinking aloud. “And hundreds, thousands, of steers and cows? And buggies to ride in? And farm machinery? And – and plenty of fine clothes to wear, like – like Rosebud?”

The woman shook her head and indicated her humble belongings.

“This – very good. Very much good. See, you are here. I want you.”

The man flushed and laughed a little awkwardly. But he was well pleased.

“Oh, we’re happy enough. You and I, my Wana. But – we’ll see.”

Wanaha made no comment; and when his meat was finished she set a dish of buckwheat cakes and syrup before him.

He devoured them hungrily, and the woman’s eyes grew soft with delight at his evident pleasure.

At last his thoughtfulness passed, and he put an abrupt question.

“Where’s your brother, now?”

“Little Black Fox is by his tepee. He goes hunting with another sun. Yes?”

“I must go and see him this afternoon.”

Steyne pushed his plate away, and proceeded to fill his pipe.

“Yes?”

The expressive eyes of the woman had changed again. His announcement seemed to give her little pleasure.

“Yes, I have things to pow-wow with him.”

“Ah. Rosebud? Always Rosebud?”

The man laughed.

“My Wana does not like Little Black Fox to think of Rosebud, eh?”

Wanaha was silent for a while. Then she spoke in a low tone.

“Little Black Fox is not wise. He is very fierce. No, I love my brother, but Rosebud must not be his squaw. I love Rosebud, too.”

The blue eyes of the man suddenly became very hard.

“Big Wolf captured Rosebud, and would have kept her for your brother. Therefore she is his by right of war. Indian war. This Seth kills your father. He says so. He takes Rosebud. Is it for him to marry her? Your brother does not think so.”

Wanaha’s face was troubled. “It was in war. You said yourself. My brother could not hold her from the white man. Then his right is gone. Besides – ”

“Besides – ?”

“A chief may not marry a white girl.”

“You married a white man.”

“It is different.”

There was silence for some time while Wanaha cleared away the plates. Presently, as she was bending over the cook-stove, she spoke again. And she kept her face turned from her husband while she spoke.

“You want Rosebud for my brother. Why?”

“I?” Nevil laughed uneasily. Wanaha had a way of putting things very directly. “I don’t care either way.”

“Yet you pow-wow with him? You say ’yes’ when he talks of Rosebud?”

It was the man’s turn to look away, and by doing so he hid a deep cunning in his eyes.

“Oh, that’s because Little Black Fox is not an easy man. He is unreasonable. It is no use arguing with him. Besides, they will see he never gets Rosebud.” He nodded in the direction of White River Farm.

“I have said he is very fierce. He has many braves. One never knows. My brother longs for the war-path. He would kill Seth. For Seth killed our father. One never knows. It is better you say to him, ‘Rosebud is white. The braves want no white squaw.’”

But the man had had enough of the discussion, and began to whistle. It was hard to understand how he had captured the loyal heart of this dusky princess. He was neither good-looking nor of a taking manner. His appearance was dirty, unkempt. His fair hair, very thin and getting gray at the crown, was long and uncombed, and his moustache was ragged and grossly stained. Yet she loved him with a devotion which had made her willing to renounce her people for him if necessary, and this means far more in a savage than it does amongst the white races.

Steyne put on his greasy slouch hat and swung out of the house. Wanaha knew that what she had said was right, Nevil Steyne encouraged Little Black Fox. She wondered, and was apprehensive. Nevertheless, she went on with her work. The royal blood of her race was strong in her. She had much of the stoicism which is, perhaps, the most pronounced feature of her people. It was no good saying more than she had said. If she saw necessity she would do, and not talk.