Chapter 9

Hate

A day or two after Christmas, O'Dwyer, a lonely sentinel on his midnight beat, strode with measured step, alert, on duty. Outside the town, Robert Burroughs skulked toward the lodge, while Me-Casto followed covertly.

An hour afterward O'Dwyer heard moccasined feet approaching the stockade gate. Challenging quickly, his "Halt, who goes there?" was answered by Me-Casto. As that Indian had done some scouting for the Police, the postern gate was unlocked, after some delay, and Me-Casto admitted to the Colonel's presence.

When Me-Casto left the fort, Danvers, lying deep in sleep, with others of his troop, felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Don't speak," whispered the orderly sergeant, who roused them. "Get up and dress for special duty. Report at stables at once, armed."

The men knew what was before them. They had been so roused before, when it was expedient to have some party leave the fort with secrecy, and it was not long before the chill water of the ford splashed them as they rode away from the sleeping town and garrison.

Almost before the sound of carefully led horses had died away, Toe String Joe was dressing, and soon was making his way through a secret opening in the stockade where he had sawed off a log near the ground and hung it with wooden pins to each adjoining post in such a manner that it would easily swing.

As he lay on his cot of woven willows, he had watched, with narrowed eyelids, his comrades leave the troop room. Now he must report to his chief. The fort was soon behind him. Arriving at Burroughs' store, he passed to the rear and tapped on the small pane of glass doing duty as a window. He tapped again, again; then turned, cursing, to find Burroughs at his elbow.

"What's up?" Burroughs interrupted Joe's blasphemy.

"A party went out from the fort."

"M-m-m! Who was at the fort before you turned in?"

"Nobody."

"Who was ordered out?"

Joe told him. "Danvers was one," he concluded.

"Always that black-haired Englishman! I hate him!"

"What yeh goin' to do? Ain't them goods comin' this week? Somebody's blabbed. Me-Casto's been watchin' yeh mighty clost, lately. Perhaps it was him."

"Perhaps," concurred the trader, looking at the disloyal trooper thoughtfully. "We kin only hope fer the best. Wild Cat Bill is bringin' it in, an' Scar Faced Charlie is drivin'. 'F they git a chance to _cache_ the stuff they will. Maybe," he concluded hopefully, "the detachment won't run across 'em, an' they'll fool the Police, with their little pill boxes stuck on three hairs."

Meantime the mounted detail, with Me-Casto as scout, galloped past the lodge fires of the outlying Indians and pressed their way through a falling sleet with not a sound but the muffled thud of the horses' hoofs and the moan of the wind.

The stars dimmed; the east lightened. In the early morning the troopers came to a small trading-post, where they saw a group of men awaiting their arrival.

"I thought it was you, Danvers, the minute I piped yeh off!" Wild Cat Bill stepped forward as he spoke, and shook hands with the young trooper as cordially as if they were old friends. Bill breathed as though he had been running, but went on immediately:

"We've come up here to see what the chances were fer wolfin' this winter. Here's Charlie, yeh see. What yeh out fer? Horse thieves?"

Philip did not answer, as the officer in charge, singularly lacking in perspicacity, took it upon himself.

"We are looking for smugglers," he frowned. "You haven't seen any loaded outfits headed this way from Fort Benton, have you?"

"Nope!" Bill promptly answered. "We've been here two days, and nobody passed here--has they, Charlie?" The freighter confirmed Bill's assertion and the troopers were then ordered to stable their horses for an hour.

"How is your sister, Charlie?" Danvers asked at his earliest opportunity. He was sorry to see the freighter, feeling something was amiss.

"She's in the East, at boarding-school," answered Charlie. "I couldn't do by her as I should," he went on. "Fort Benton's no place to bring up Winnie."

"Remember me to her when you write," said Danvers, walking his horse away as Charlie passed inside the trading-post.

"What are yeh thinkin'?" whispered one of the detail in the dark of the stables as the horses were being fed.

"Not much of anything," Danvers whispered back.

"Yes, yeh are. Yeh know they's _cached_ whiskey somewhere around."

Coming from the stables, Danvers passed the conspicuously empty wagons belonging to the Americans. He noticed that the pile of refuse near by was not covered with snow, although the stables had not been cleaned. Walking nearer, he detected a strong odor of whiskey rising from the wagon boxes. He remembered the sweat on the men's foreheads. Getting a stable fork he struck sharply into the compost. Something clinked. A quick throwing of the litter uncovered a case, such as was commonly used to convey liquor.

As it was his duty, Danvers walked to the captain and saluted.

"I've found a _cache_ of whiskey, sir," he answered, respectfully.

The captain investigated. Then he opened the door of the shack and surprised the Americans eating breakfast.

When placed under arrest, they seemed stunned, submitting without demur.

"I bet Danvers found that _cache_!" muttered Bill. "He's too foxy fer me!"

On the return trip to Fort Macleod, Me-Casto began to fear that the men would attempt to prove that the whiskey was not Burroughs'. He knew what he had heard in the lodges; but what would his word be, as against these defiant men? He pondered for many miles, then thought of another way to bring disgrace on Burroughs. He would yet have Pine Coulee, himself! Riding close to the wagon where the morose Charlie sat, Me-Casto craftily engaged in conversation.

"_Kitzi-nan-nappi-ekki?_" (your whiskey?) he asked. The Blackfeet would make no effort to learn English, although they understood a little; but most white men had a fair knowledge of the Indian dialects.

"No," answered Charlie.

"_Nee-a-poos?_" (Burroughs?)

"No."

"Whose?" was the next question in Blackfoot.

"I don't know."

"You'll get six months in the guard-room if they get you."

"I s'pose so," was the reluctant admission. The prospect was not pleasing.

"Then Burroughs have Pine Coulee all time!"

"What'd you mean?" thundered Charlie, effectually interested.

"Burroughs give Pine Coulee a new dress--new beads--new blanket," was the candid reply.

The teamster was stricken dumb. He made no comment on the gossip, but when it came his turn to be examined before Colonel Macleod, he swore that Burroughs was the owner of the seized liquor and that he had been employed to drive these men North. In every way he could, he offset the perjured testimony of Bill, who posed as the victim of circumstantial evidence.

The commandant-magistrate was puzzled. Me-Casto had testified that he had heard Burroughs in one of the lodges, arranging for the _caching_ of expected whiskey, in one of the cut banks of the river. The teamster corroborated the Indian. Wild Cat Bill and Burroughs swore that neither owned the confiscated liquor. Colonel Macleod knew nothing of Charlie or Bill; but he considered the standing of Burroughs, also the unreliability of most Indians' testimony, and finally acquitted Burroughs unconditionally, while declaring Bill and Charlie guilty of smuggling, and he sentenced them accordingly. Burroughs promptly furnished the money for the payment of Bill's fine, and Latimer, believing Charlie's tale, loaned him money to escape the guard-room.

* * * * *

Great was the rejoicing in Burroughs' post that night. Long after midnight Bill waited for a moment with his chief.

"I done the best I could, Bob," he said dejectedly, when they were at last alone. "'F Phil Danvers hadn't been along I'd 'a' made it."

"I'll get even with him," growled Burroughs.

"The Police mos' caught us red-handed," explained Bill. "We hadn't more'n got the pitchforks back in the stable when they rode up."

"Say no more about it, Bill," suggested Bob. The smuggler looked comforted.

"Danvers is all right," mused Bill, while his friend prepared a drink.

"Is that so?" queried Bob with unpleasant emphasis.

"You're as cocky as a rooster," expostulated the other. "Phil Danvers has swore to do his duty--an' he does it. The most of us is on the make up here, an' the Police've got their traitors, as you know. Danvers is sort of unusual, that's all."

"He ain't my style!" was the retort.

"No," was the dry comment, "I shouldn't presume he was." But the sarcasm was lost on his hearer.

"What was eatin' Scar Faced Charlie, anyway?"

"He's squiffy." Bill had heard the conversation between Me-Casto and Charlie on the trail, but was in no mind to retail it.

"I'm goin' out," said Burroughs, presently, and at this broad hint Bill rose.

"I'm in yer debt," he began awkwardly.

"That's all right." The trader knew and Bill knew that the paid fine was another cord to bind him. "An' now we'll make a pile o' money 'f we're careful. Joe's inside the fort an' you an' me are outside, an' the Injuns are always dry--see? This deal's goin' to be pretty hard on me, what with the government confiscatin' all them nine hundred gallons of whiskey; but we've got more comin', an' we'll have to mix it a little thinner, that's all."

Burroughs went toward the Indian lodges and soon discovered Charlie also sneaking thither.

No superfluous words were spoken. "What'd yeh do it fer?" The angry trader whirled, the teamster facing him.

"You let Pine Coulee alone!" mumbled Charlie, far gone in liquor.

"That's it, eh?" commented the enlightened Burroughs, turning away contemptuously. "Like hell I will!"

Not long after Arthur Latimer answered a recent letter from the doctor in Fort Benton. He gave a vivid account of recent events and of a dinner that had been given at the military post on Christmas day to which he had been invited.

_"After the dinner," he continued, "the boys sang for an hour or more. They have good voices, and it was worth a long journey to hear them sing 'The Wearing of the Green.'_

_"Colonel Macleod seemed to enjoy the music immensely, and (I don't see how he happened to think of it) he called Danvers up and asked him if he knew anything from 'Il Trovatore.' Phil saluted and said that he had heard it in London. Thereupon the colonel asked him if he could sing any of the airs. Phil hesitated, but the commanding officer's request is tantamount to a command, and after a moment he began the 'Miserere.' The men were still as death. Probably they had never heard it before. You, of course, remember that superb tenor solo--the haunting misery, the despair! And what do you think? When he got to the duet I took Leonora's part. Phil gave a little start, but kept on singing, and we carried the duet through. My! but the men nearly tore us to shreds. O'Dwyer fairly lifted Phil off his feet, at this triumph of his hero, for he has taken a great liking to our silent Englishman. The colonel thanked us with delightful appreciation and soon after went out--more quiet than ever. I reckon he was homesick. We all were--a bit. Sweethearts and wives seemed very far away that night._

_"You speak of Scar Faced Charlie's avowed intention of abandoning his freighting. He'll probably never come up here again. He recently sent me some cash I'd loaned him, and he intimated as much. Before he left here he returned his squaw, Pine Coulee, to her father; then Burroughs bought her for a bunch of ponies._

_"Me-Casto couldn't compete--poor devil. He, like all Indians, had gambled away his small stock of ponies early in the fall--as Burroughs well knew."_

"Come on, Arthur," called Danvers, cheerily, as he stuck his head into the room. "There's a dance on at Bob's trading-post."

"All right." Latimer hurriedly put away his writing and soon they ran along the trail to the rendezvous.

"Look, there is Me-Casto!" exclaimed Philip.

"Where?"

"Skulking in the shadows back of Bob's place."

"Bob better look out," said Arthur, as they pushed open the store door. "Me-Casto is not here for any good."

The candle-lighted room was well filled with traders, troopers, trappers and squaws. No buck ever participated in a white man's dance, but several stood by the door and looked on. Every one was in high spirits, and when the fiddler, a French 'breed, struck up, stamping his moccasined feet to keep time, each man secured a squaw and took his place. A brazen-lunged 'breed shouted, "Alleman' lef'! Swing yer partners!" and the couples swung giddily around.

Danvers joined in with right good-will. Occasionally he danced; more often he sat on the long trade counter and kept time to the emphatic music by beating his spurs heavily against the boards behind his feet. Latimer and O'Dwyer danced joyously; but Burroughs, apparently uneasy, as the evening wore on, kept a watchful eye on the outer door. Philip noticed, too, that Pine Coulee was less phlegmatic than usual, although she danced faithfully at the command of her lord and master.

Presently Me-Casto came in and stood by the door. With blanket muffling the lower part of his face, he looked piercingly at Pine Coulee--at Robert Burroughs. The trader caught Me-Casto's eye, and, ostentatiously clasping Pine Coulee's hand as he swung her in the dance, he smiled full in the Blackfoot's face, purposely flaunting his ownership of the squaw. Me-Casto turned and left the room.

"'On wid the dance, let j'y be unconfined!'" yelled O'Dwyer, as he combined an Irish jig and a Red River reel. He had not noticed Me-Casto, but Latimer and Danvers exchanged glances. Just then Pine Coulee looked wistfully toward the opening door. Burroughs, ever watchful, caught a glimpse of Me-Casto as his lips gave an almost imperceptible signal to Pine Coulee. The trader's anger was quick; his discretion slight. He struck the girl flat on the cheek.

"Take that!" he said savagely. "I'll teach yeh to hanker after that lousy buck!"

The words and the blow were simultaneous. So was the leap of the indignant Danvers.

"You coward!" he cried, "to strike a woman!" He took the trader by the nape of the neck and shook him soundly.

Before Burroughs could close with the trooper there came three rifle shots. Each time a singing bullet whizzed by a dodging form. Only one of the shots took effect. Pine Coulee sank to the floor, blood flowing from her bosom.

Screams, oaths and shouts mingled as Danvers raised the squaw. Latimer assisted him in placing her on a counter, while Burroughs, certain of the would-be murderer, ran outside for the assailant, the crowd following. A head pushed past the half-opened side door.

"Didn't I kill Burroughs?" The question was in Blackfoot.

"You shot Pine Coulee!" replied Danvers, sternly. In an instant renewed shouting indicated that the men had tracked the Indian. A moment later the sound of fleeing hoofs told that Me-Casto had made a get-away. The trot of other horses followed, but soon the eternal silence of the prairie reigned alone.

By the time Burroughs returned to the store Pine Coulee had revived.

As the trader was dragging the squaw to his near-by house, he paused on the threshold.

"Phil Danvers," he said, moistening his dry lips as his rage increased, "as true as they's a God above I'll pay yeh back for interferin' to-night. I've hated yeh from the first time I set eyes on yeh! 'F I live I'll make yeh feel what hate'll do! Yeh're too good fer the Whoop Up Country, an' I've got a long score to settle with yeh! 'F ever white women come to this country an' yeh git a sweetheart I'll do my best to separate yeh! 'F yeh've got a sister I'll have her! I'll--I'll--God! But I hate yeh!"