The Shagganappi Part 24

But he might as well have ordered a hurricane to stop. With a splendid sweep of strong young arms, the boy whirled the axe in a circle above his shoulders and brought it down cras.h.i.+ng with full force on the idol.

The figure split from top to base, the neck was severed, and the painted wooden head rolled ingloriously to the floor. Then, amid a stony silence, more menacing than any words, the boy stood with squared shoulders and uplifted chin, his fierce beauty more imperial, more majestic, than ever before.

For an instant the black eyes of a hundred Delaware warriors glared at him with hate and bloodshed in their depths. Then, with a furious yell, they turned to their chief for his commands, but old Single-Pine sat with bowed head, his face hidden in his hands, his lips silent. A sullen murmur ran through the throng, but they knew their chief had at last taken the great step into Christianity; and while Wampum yet stood alone and unafraid, his axe in his hand, and the head of the ruined idol at his feet, the entire tribe filed past, and one by one shook hands with the white-haired old missionary, for, as faithful followers of their chief, they, too, must embrace the white man's faith.

It was Fire-Flower who spoke first, touching the boy's hand. Wampum started, as if from a dream.

"Boy," said the old hunter, "I have seen no man so brave."

Wampum shuddered. "My uncle," he said proudly, "I have lived among brave people, but--" here he shuddered again, for he was only a boy, after all. "Oh, how black their eyes were, and how they hated me!"

"They never hated you as much as we love you," returned the old hunter.

The word "love" had never pa.s.sed his lips before, and Wampum knew then that not only had his courageous act brought the blessing of the white man's G.o.d, but it had won for him the priceless friends.h.i.+p of this stalwart old Indian, whose wisdom and whose laughter would be shared with him through all his coming life.

The good missionary said never a word as they drove home through the dark, but as they parted for the night he laid his hand silently, gently, on the proud, dark young head. No word was spoken, but the boy knew that a blessing was not always expressed in language, and that there are some kinds of courage that do not need scalps at one's belt to show that one has fought a good fight.

The King Georgeman

I

"So the little King Georgeman comes to-morrow, eh, Tillic.u.m?" asked the old Lillooet hunter.

"Yes, comes for all summer," replied "Banty" Clark, "and I've got to be polite and show him around, and, I suppose, stay in the ranch house all the hot weather while his nibs togs up in his London clothes, 'don't yer know,' and drinks five-o'clock tea, and does nothing but stare at the toes of his patent leather shoes. Pshaw! What a prospect! Ever see patent leather shoes, Eena?" asked Banty, with some disgust.

"I don't know, me. I think not," replied The Eena.

"You're lucky," went on Banty. "But my cousin's sure to wear them, and they're spoil-sport things, I can tell you! No salmon fis.h.i.+ng, no mountaineering, no hunting while they're around. But, Eena, why do you call my cousin a King Georgeman?"

"It is the Chinook for what you call an Englishman," replied the Indian.

"Why, what a dandy idea!" exclaimed the boy. "I think I shall like my cousin better because of that Chinook term. I can even go the patent leather shoes; I believe I'd almost wear them myself to be called a King Georgeman."

"You'll like your Ow" (Ow is Chinook for young cousin or brother), encouraged The Eena. "King Georgeman all good sport, all same fine fellows, learn Indian ways quick."

"I hope you're right," said Banty, a little doubtfully, for, truth to tell, he had small liking of the idea of a brand-new English cousin on his hands for the summer, a Londoner at that, who knew nothing of even the English country, let alone the wilderness of mountains, canyons, and the endless forests of British Columbia. Poor Banty had been so accustomed to chum about with the old Lillooet hunter whom he had nicknamed "The Eena" (which is the Chinook for "Beaver") that the thought of a perfect outsider breaking into their companions.h.i.+p for all the holidays was little short of misery.

But the next day when Banty drove down to Kamloops to meet the train, and his cousin stepped from the sleeper on to the station platform, things looked worse than threatened misery. The future loomed before him like a tragedy; he almost groaned aloud, for swinging towards him with a loose-jointed English gait was a tall, yellow-haired chap, the size of a man, with a face sea-tanned between a pink and a brown, his long neck encircled with a very high, very stiff collar, his light grey suit pressed as if it had just arrived from the tailor's, and poor Banty's quick eye flew from the smiling pink face to the faultlessly-trousered legs--horrors! The trousers were _long_. (Banty had at least expected a boy of his own size and age.) But, worst of all, below the trousers gleamed immaculate shoes of patent leather!

"I'm glad Eena didn't come," moaned Banty. "If he'd seen _this_, he would have steered clear of the ranch for weeks." Then, bracing himself like a man, he went forward with outstretched hand to greet his unwelcome relative. The English lad blushed like a girl as he met his Canadian cousin, but his handclasp was decidedly masculine as his soft London voice said: "Awfully good of you to come and fetch me, don't you know. I suppose you're my Cousin Bantmore?"

"'Banty,'" was all the stricken boy could reply.

"Oh, good! I like that, 'Banty.' That's a great name!" exclaimed the tall Britisher. "You're lucky! What would you do if you were handicapped with a tag like mine--Constantine--with all the dubs at school calling you 'Tiny' for short, while you stood a good five feet nine in your socks? Isn't it dreadful?"

Instantly Banty found his heart warming towards this big pink cousin, who bore with such st.u.r.dy good humor the affliction of such a terrible name. "It _is_ bad," he a.s.sented, "but it might be doctored. Haven't you got a middle name?"

"It's worse," grinned the victim. "It's St. Ives. I tried it on the second term, and the crowd called me 'Ivy,' and one smartie sent me a piece of blue ribbon to tie my yellow curls with--he wrote _that_ in an insulting note."

"What'd you do?" gasped Banty.

"Licked him in full view of the whole school, and he was a senior; trimmed him till he couldn't see," was the smiling reply.

"Good boy!" almost shouted Banty. "You're the stuff for out West. I'm glad you came."

"I'm glad, too," answered his cousin, "but I'll be 'gladder' if you will tell me where I can get some togs like yours. I declare, but I like that outfit," and he looked enviously at Banty's leather chaps, blue flannel s.h.i.+rt, scarlet silk neckerchief and cowboy hat.

"These duds?" questioned Banty. "Oh, you can get them anywhere. They'd hardly suit you, though." And he measured the stranger with a critical eye.

"Suit or not, I'm going to have them," said "Con"--as his genial father called him. "Let's go right to the shops and get an outfit now."

So Banty tied up the horses, stowed the luggage away in the afterpart of the trap, and led the way to the trader's.

When they started for the ranch, Con had, in addition to his English bags, boxes, shawl-straps and portmanteaus, a most beautiful outfit of typical Western finery, a handsome Mexican saddle, a crop, a quirt, fringed gauntlet gloves, chaps, Stetson hat, silk handkerchief, ties, and three pairs of sporting and riding boots.

"We'll put these patent leathers gently into the river, or on a shelf, until I face the East again," he said, half apologetically. Then with a quick burst of English simplicity, he said: "Oh, Banty, I want to be one of you!"

"And you're going to be one of us," said that st.u.r.dy young Westerner.

"In fact, Con--well, you just _are_ one of us," he added.

The lanky, pink-faced boy grew pinker.

"I know I'm an awful length and all that," he said, "but I'm only sixteen, don't you know!"

Banty grinned. The "Don't you know," which at first horrified him, was, oddly enough, growing to be almost fascinating. Banty would have felt himself an awful owl were he to say it, but it somehow suited the tall, pink boy, and did not sound one particle "dudish," or offensive, and during the ten-mile drive across the Kamloops Hills Banty decided that Con was a first-rate fellow, notwithstanding his abominable clothes and "swagger" English accent. At the ranch house door they were greeted by Banty's parents and a couple of range riders, and Eena, who, Indian-like, never revealed the fact by word or look that he had observed the patent leather shoes, and the wonderful high collar; who, also Indian-like, in spite of these drawbacks, liked the stranger without cause, a peculiar instinct of liking that came when the young King Georgeman shook hands with him, a wholesome British "shake" that engendered confidence.

"You will be tired, Constantine," said Mrs. Clark, with motherly care, "and not accustomed to this extreme heat. Come at once and rest. I have made a great jug of lemonade. Do come in at once."

"If it's all the same to you, aunt, may I have some tea? And do _please_ call me 'Con,'" he replied. No shadow of expression crossed The Eena's face, but when Mrs. Clark had led Con indoors, the Indian turned to Banty and remarked quietly, "You're right some ways; he wants tea, and the sun s.h.i.+nes in his shoes, but he good King Georgeman all same, I know, me."

"Guess you're right, Eena," said Banty. "There's something about him that's fine, just fine and simple and--English." The Indian nodded and he made but one more comment. "He brave," he muttered.

"How do you know that?" asked Banty.

"The--what you name it? I think you call it _nostril_ of his nose long, thin, fine. That shows brave people. When nostril just round and thick like bullet-hole it shows coward."

Banty laughed aloud, but all the same his fingers flew to his own nostrils, and notwithstanding his merriment he was gratified to find fairly long, narrow breathing s.p.a.ces at the edge of his own nose.

"What queer old ideas your people have, Eena," he commented.

"But it's right, even if queer," smiled the Indian. "You see, maybe this summer, Indian's right about that nose."

But Mrs. Clark and Con were now returning, Con having swallowed his tea, and, looking refreshed by it, he settled himself in a porch chair, stretched out his long legs and thoughtfully regarded the toes of his patent leathers. Banty grinned openly, but The Eena gravely shook his head, and, with the tip of his little finger, touched his own fine, narrow nostril. Banty understood, but then he and The Eena always understood each other, and now the boy knew that the old hunter meant to remind him of the best qualities of his English cousin, and to overlook the little oddities that after all did not carry weight when it came to a boy's character.

"King Georgeman, you come with me to-morrow, me fish, or hunt?" asked the Indian, his solemn eyes regarding Con kindly. Banty explained the term "King Georgeman."

"Indeed I will, if you'll have me!" exclaimed Con, excitedly. "I've bought some decent clothes, and will look fitter in them than I do in these togs. Don't I look bally in them?"