The Heritage of the Sioux Read online

  CHAPTER II. THE DAUGHTER OF A CHIEF

  In spite of Andy Green's plea for delay until they knew what Luck meantto do, Applehead went on with his energetic preparations for a springroundup of his own. Some perverse spirit seemed to possess him and drivehim out of his easy-going shiftlessness. He offered to hire the HappyFamily by the day, since none of them would promise any permanentservice until they heard from Luck. He put them to work gathering upthe saddle-horses that had been turned loose when Luck's picture wasfinished, and repairing harness and attending to the numberless detailsof reorganizing a ranch long left to slipshod make-shifts.

  The boys of the Flying U argued while they worked, but in spite ofthemselves the lure of the mesa quickened their movements. They weresupposed to wait for Luck before they did anything; an they all knewthat. But, on the other hand, Luck was supposed to keep them informed asto his movements; which he had not done. They did not voice one singledoubt of Lucks loyalty to them, but human nature is more prone tosuspicion than to faith, as every one knows. And Luck had the power andthe incentive to "double-cross" them if he was the kind to do such athing. He was manager for their little free-lance picture company whichdid not even have a name to call itself by. They had produced one bigfeature film, and it was supposed to be a cooperative affair fromstart to finish. If Luck failed to make good, they would all be broketogether. If Luck cleared up the few thousands that had been their hope,why--they would all profit by the success, if Luck--

  I maintain that they showed themselves of pretty good metal, in thatnot even Happy Tack, confirmed pessimist that he was, ever put the leastsuspicion of Luck's honesty into words. They were not the kind todecry a comrade when his back was turned. And they had worked with LuckLindsay and had worked for him. They had slept under the same roofwith him, had shared his worries, his hopes, and his fears. They did notbelieve that Luck had appropriated the proceeds of The Phantom Herdand had deliberately left them there to cool their heels and feel theemptiness of their pockets in New Mexico, while he disported himself inLos Angeles; they did--not believe that--they would have resented theimplication that they harbored any doubt of him. But for all that, asthe days passed and he neither came nor sent them any word, they yieldedmore and more to the determination of Applehead to start out upon hisown business, and they said less and less about Luck's probable plansfor the future.

  And then, just when they were making ready for an early start the nextmorning; just when Applehead had the corral full of horses and hischuckwagon of grub; just when the Happy Family had packed their war-bagswith absolute necessities and were justifying themselves in finalarguments with Andy Green, who refused point-blank to leave the;ranch--then, at the time a dramatist would have chosen for his entrancefor an effective "curtain," here came Luck, smiling and driving a hugeseven-passenger machine crowded to the last folding seat and with thechauffeur riding on the running board where Luck had calmly banished himwhen he skidded on a sharp turn and came near upsetting them.

  Applehead, stowing a coil of new rope in the chuck-wagon, took off hishat and rubbed his shiny, pink pate in dismay. He was, for the moment,a culprit caught in the act of committing a grave misdemeanor if notan actual felony. He dropped the rope and went forward with draggingfeet--ashamed, for the first time in his life, to face a friend.

  Luck gave the wheel a twist, cut a fine curve around the windmill andstopped before the house with as near a flourish as a seven-passengerautomobile loaded from tail-lamp to windshield can possibly approach.

  "There. That's the way I've been used to seeing cars behave," Luckobserved pointedly to the deposed chauffeur as he slammed the door openand climbed out. "You don't have to act like you're a catepillar on arail fence, to play safe. I believe in keeping all four wheels on theground--but I like to see 'em turn once in awhile. You get me?" Hepeeled a five-dollar banknote off a roll the size of his wrist, handedit to the impressed chauffeur and dismissed the transaction with awave of his gloved hand. "You're all right, brother," he tempered hiscriticism, "but I'm some nervous about automobiles."

  "I noticed that myself," drawled a soft, humorous voice from the rear."This is the nearest I ever came to traveling by telegraph."

  Luck grinned, waved his hand in friendly greeting to the Happy Familywho were taking long steps up from the corral, and turned his attentionto the unloading of the machine. "Howdy, folks!--guess yuh thought I'dplumb lost the trail back," he called to them over his shoulder while hedove after suitcases, packages of various sizes and shapes, a box ortwo which the Happy Family recognized as containing "raw stock," and acamera tripod that looked perfectly new.

  From the congested tonneau a tall, slim young woman managed to descendwithout stepping on anything that could not bear being stepped upon. Shegave her skirts a little shake, pushed back a flying strand of hair andturned her back to the machine that she might the better inspect herimmediate surroundings.

  Old Dave Wiswell, the dried little man who never had much to say, peeredat her sharply, hesitated and then came forward with his bony handoutstretched and trembling with eagerness. "Why, my gorry! If it ain'tJean Douglas, my eyes are lyin' to me," he cried.

  "It isn't Jean Douglas--but don't blame your eyes for that," said thegirl, taking his hand and shaking it frankly. "Jean Douglas Avery,thanks to the law that makes a girl trade her name for a husband. Youknow Lite, of course--dad, too."

  "Well, well--my gorry I I should say I do! Howdy, Aleck?" He shook thehand of the old man Jean called dad, and his lips trembled uncertainly,seeking speech that would not hurt a very, very sore spot in the heartof big Aleck Douglas. "I'm shore glad to meet yuh again," he stutteredfinally, and let it go at that "And how are yuh, Lite? Just as long andlanky as ever--marriage shore ain't fattened you up none. My gorry! Ishore never expected to see you folks away down here!"

  "Thought you heard me say when I left that the Great Western had offeredto get me Jean Douglas for leading lady," Luck put in, looking arounddistractedly for a place to deposit his armload of packages. "That'sone thing that kept me--waiting for her to show up. Of course a mannaturally expects a woman to take her own time about starting--"

  "I like that!" Jean drawled. "We broke up housekeeping and wound up aranch and traveled a couple of thousand miles in just a week's time.We--we ALMOST hit the same gait you did from town out here today!"

  Rosemary Green came out then, and Luck turned to greet her and topresent Jean to her, and was pleased when he saw from their eyes thatthey liked each other at first sight. He introduced the Happy Familyand Applehead to her and to her husband, Lite Avery, and her father.He pulled a skinny individual forward and announced that this was PeteLowry, one of the Great Western's crack cameramen; and another chubby,smooth-cheeked young man he presented as Tommy Johnson, scenic artistand stage carpenter. And he added with a smile for the whole bunch,"We're going to produce some real stuff from now on believe me, folks!"

  In the confusion and the mild clamor of the absence-bridging questionsand hasty answers, two persons had no part. Old Applehead, hard-riddenby the uneasy consciousness of his treason to Luck, leaned against aporch post and sucked hard at the stem of an empty pipe. And just beyondthe corner out of sight but well within hearing, Annie-Many-Ponies stoodflattened against the wall and listened with fast-beating pulse for thesound of her name, spoken in the loved voice of Wagalexa Conka. She, thedaughter of a chief and Luck's sister by tribal adoption--would henot miss her: from among those others who welcomed him? Would he notpresently ask: "Where is Annie-Many-Ponies?" She knew just how he wouldturn and search for her with his eyes.

  She knew just how his voice would sound when he asked for her. Then,after a minute--when he had missed her and had asked for her--she wouldcome and stand before him. And he would take her hand and say to thatwhite woman; "This is my Indian sister, Annie-Many-Ponies, who playedthe part of the beautiful Indian girl who died so grandly in The PhantomHerd. This is the girl who plays my character leads." Then the whitegirl, who was to be his leading woman, wou
ld not feel that she was theonly woman in the company who could do good work for Luck.

  Annie-Many-Ponies had worked in pictures since she was fifteen and didonly "atmosphere stuff" in the Indian camps of Luck's arranging. She waswise in the ways of picture jealousies. Already she was jealous of thisslim woman with the dark hair and eyes and the slow smile that alwayscaught one's attention and held it. She waited. She wanted WagalexaConka to call her in that kindly, imperious voice of his--the voice ofthe master. This leading woman would see, then, that here was a girlmore beautiful for whom Luck Lindsay felt the affection of family ties.

  She waited, flattened against the wall, listening to every word thatwas spoken in that buzzing group. She saw the last bundle taken fromthe machine, and she saw Luck's head and shoulders disappear within thetonneau, making sure that it was the last bundle and that nothing hadbeen overlooked. She saw the driver climb in, slam the fore-door shutafter him and bend above the starter. She saw the machine slide out ofthe group and away in a wide circle to regain the trail. She saw thegroup break and start off in various directions as duty or a passinginterest led. But Wagalexa Conka never once seemed to remember that shewas not there. Never once did he speak her name.

  Instead, just as Rosemary was leading the way into the house, this slimyoung woman they called Jean glanced around inquiringly. "I thought youhad a squaw working for you," she said in that soft, humorous voice ofhers. "The one who did the Indian girl in The Phantom Herd. Isn't shehere any more?"

  "Oh, yes!" Luck stopped with one foot on the porch. "Sure! Where isAnnie? Anybody know?"

  "She was around here just before you came," said Rosemary carelessly. "Idon't know where she went."

  "Hid out, I reckon," Luck commented. "Injuns are heap shy of meetingstrangers. She'll show up after a little."

  Annie-Many-Ponies stooped and slid safely past the window that mightbetray her, and then slipped away behind the house. She waited, and shelistened; for though the adobe walls were thick, there were open windowsand her hearing was keen. Within was animated babel and much laughter.But not once again did Annie-Many-Ponies hear her name spoken. Not onceagain did Wagalexa Conka remember her. Save when she, that slim womanwho bad come to play his leads, asked to see her, she had been whollyforgotten. Even then she had been named a squaw. It was as though theyhad been speaking of a horse. They did not count her worthy of a placein their company, they did not miss her voice and her smile.

  "Hid out," Wagalexa Conka had said. Well, she would hide out, then--she,the daughter of a chief of the Sioux; she, whom Wagalexa Conka had beenglad to have in his picture when he was poor and had no money to paywhite leading women. But now he had much money; now he could come in abig automobile, with a slim, white leading woman and a camera man andscenic artist and much money in his pocket; and she--she was justa squaw who had hid out, and who would show up after a while and begrateful if he took her by the hand and said, "How!"

  With so many persons moving eagerly here and there, none but an Indiancould have slipped away from that house and from the ranch without beingseen. But though the place was bald and open to the four winds save fora few detached outbuildings, Annie-Many-Ponies went away upon the mesaand no one saw her go.

  She did not dare go to the corral for her horse. The corral was in plainsight of the house, and the eyes of Wagalexa Conka were keen as theeye of the Sioux, his foster brothers. He would see her there. He wouldcall: "Annie, come here!" and she would go, and would stand submissivebefore him, and would be glad that he noticed her; for she was born ofthe tribe where women obey their masters, and the heritage of centuriesmay not be lightly lain aside like an outgrown garment. She felt thatthis was so; that although her heart might burn with resentment becausehe had forgotten and must be reminded by a strange white woman that the"squaw" was not present, still, if he called her she must go, becauseWagalexa Conka was master there and the master must be obeyed.

  Down the dry wash where Applehead had hunted for baling wire she wentswiftly, with the straight-backed, free stride of the plainswoman whoknows not the muscle-bondage of boned girdle. In moccasins she walked;for a certain pride of race, a certain sense of the picture-value ofbeaded buckskin and bright cloth, held her fast to the gala dress of herpeople, modified and touched here and there with the gay ornamentsof civilization. So much had her work in the silent drama taught her.Bareheaded, her hair in two glossy braids each tied with a big red bow,she strode on and on in the clear sunlight of spring.

  Not until she was more than two miles from the ranch did she showherself upon one of the numberless small ridges which, blended togetherin the distance, give that deceptive look of flatness to the mesa. Eventwo miles away, in that clear air that dwarfs distance so amazingly,Wagalexa Conka might recognize her if he looked at her with sufficientattention. But Wagalexa Conka, she told herself with a flash of herblack eyes, would not look. Wagalexa Conka was too busy looking at thatslim woman he had brought with him.

  That ridge she crossed, and two others. On the last one she stoppedand stood, straight and still, and stared away towards the mountains,shading her eyes with one spread palm. On a distant slope a small herdof cattle fed, scattered and at peace. Nearer, a great hawk circledslowly on widespread wings, his neck craned downward as if hewere watching his own shadow move ghostlike over the grass.Annie-Many-Ponies, turning her eyes disappointedly from the empty mesa,envied the hawk his swift-winged freedom.

  When she looked again toward the far slopes next the mountains, a blackspeck rolled into view, the nucleus of a little dust cloud. Her facebrightened a little; she turned abruptly and sought easy footing downthat ridge, and climbed hurriedly the longer rise beyond. Once or twice,when she was on high ground, she glanced behind her uneasily, as doesone whose mind holds a certain consciousness of wrongdoing. She did notpause, even then, but hurried on toward the dust cloud.

  On the rim of a shallow, saucer-like basin that lay cunningly concealeduntil one stood upon the very edge of it, Annie-Many-Ponies stoppedagain and stood looking out from under her spread palm. Presently thedust cloud moved over the crest of a ridge, and now that it was somuch closer she saw clearly the horseman loping abreast of thedust. Annie-Many-Ponies stood for another moment watching, with thatinscrutable half smile on her lips. She untied the cerise silk kerchiefwhich she wore knotted loosely around her slim neck, waited until thehorseman showed plainly in the distance and then, raising her right handhigh above her head, waved the scarf three times in slow, sweeping halfcircles from right to left. She waited, her eyes fixed expectantly uponthe horseman. Like a startled rabbit he darted to the left, pulled inhis horse, turned and rode for three or four jumps sharply to the right;stopped short for ten seconds and then came straight on, spurring hishorse to a swifter pace.

  Annie-Many-Ponies smiled and went down into the shallow basin and seatedherself upon the wide, adobe curbing of an old well that marked, withthe nearby ruins of an adobe house, the site, of an old habitation oftragic history. She waited with the absolute patience of her race forthe horseman had yet a good two miles to cover. While she waited shesmiled dreamily to herself and with dainty little pats and pulls shewidened the flaring red bows on her hair and retied the cerise scarf inits picturesque, loose knot about her throat. As a final tribute tothat feminine instinct which knows no race she drew from some cunninglydevised hiding place a small, cheap "vanity box," and proceeded verygravely to powder her nose.