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Title: The Brand A Tale of the Flathead Reservation Author: Therese Broderick Release Date: December 30, 2014 [eBook #47817] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRAND*** E-text prepared by Veronika Redfern, Bryan Ness, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries (https://archive.org/details/americana) Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive/American Libraries. See https://archive.org/details/brandtaleofflath00brodrich Book cover THE BRAND NEW BOOKS MARCUS WHITMAN: PATHFINDER AND PATRIOT. Eells Net $2.50 CHRONICLES OF OLDFIELDS. Allen 1.50 PIONEER DAYS ON PUGET SOUND. Denny 2.00 CHAPERONING ADRIENNE THROUGH THE YELLOWSTONE. Harriman 1.00 THE ROAD OF LIFE. Poems. Smith 1.00 LYRICS OF FIR AND FOAM. Coe 1.25 TILLICUM TALES. Seattle Writers’ Club 1.50 LOVE NEVER FAILETH. Powers .50 REMINISCENCES OF SEATTLE. Phelps 1.25 SONGS O’ THE SOUND. Harriman 2.00 SONGS O’ THE OLYMPICS. Harriman 2.00 THE ALICE HARRIMAN COMPANY PUBLISHERS OF FINE BOOKS Denny Building, Seattle, Washington Descriptive Catalog sent upon request Yours Truly, Bess THE BRAND A Tale of the Flathead Reservation By THERESE BRODERICK (Tin Schreiner) HW 1909 THE ALICE HARRIMAN COMPANY SEATTLE, WASHINGTON Copyright, 1909, by THERESE BRODERICK Dramatic Rights Reserved PRINTERS AND BINDERS LOWMAN & HANFORD CO. SEATTLE TABLE OF CONTENTS Chapter I Bess Fletcher’s First Western Acquaintance 11 II The Golden Glimpse 21 III Henry West’s Ideal 28 IV The Hesitating Lariat 38 V The Motley Spectators at Polson 43 VI HW Ranch 46 VII “I Would Have Done More for an Injun” 53 VIII Bess Learns the Real Cause of the Accident 59 IX “Helen” at the St. Ignatius Mission 65 X A Western Tragedy 76 XI The Miracle of Womanhood 87 XII An Indian in the Moonlight 97 XIII A Frantic Herd 105 XIV The First Visit of Dave Davis 117 XV A Journey Up Flathead Lake 130 XVI “Mon Desir” and the Box of Roses 137 XVII Bess Fletcher’s New Gun and Its First Victim 144 XVIII Mauchacho Wins the Race 153 XIX The Strength of a Beaded Belt 166 XX The Camping Trip and “Peter Pan” 181 XXI The Trout Deal 191 XXII A Pseudo Squaw 198 XXIII An Unusual Proposal 206 XXIV Why a Cheek Blanches 213 XXV Berenice Morton’s Arrival 221 XXVI A Wedding Day 235 XXVII “I—am—but—an—Indian” 244 XXVIII A Winter’s Vigil 250 XXIX The Brand HW 255 XXX “When You Can Forget” 268 ILLUSTRATIONS Bess Frontispiece Sunset on Flathead Lake 211 To all who know the Golden West, And those who fain would feel Its charm and mystery, and test Its worth, which is so real; To all who love God’s mountains, His vast expanse of plain, His forests, lakes and fountains, And the secrets they contain— This book is humbly given. —Tin Schreiner. THE BRAND CHAPTER I 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. [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] “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?” Bess looked up with surprise and replied: “Why, James, are we not going horseback to the HW Ranch?” “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 [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] 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. “My dear little sister,” he thought, “I pray there may no harm come to you, and that your frankness may not be misconstrued by those who are ever ready to criticise.” [20] CHAPTER II 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.” It was golden indeed, for the sun had just dipped beyond the purple mountains and the scene was flooded with golden light. Away, away to the North and East and West stretched the vast rolling valley of the Indian Reservation, the Little Bitter Root mountains guarding it on the left and the Mission Range rising modestly on the East. She could see but the faint purple outline of the low hills to the northward. Dotted here and there were soft greens, of irrigated reaches, and trees, showing where the waters flowed and at which the grazing herds quenched their thirst. Bess was filled with awe at the magnificent scene, and reverently clasped her hands and lifted her eyes as she realized the immensity of it. When the Lord of Hosts should upon the last day assemble all the people of the earth together in judgment, what more fitting place could he choose! There he might sit on the crest of yonder mountain, with his host of angels about him, and below in the expanse of sweeping prairie, unmarred by the hand of man, adorned only by the divine touch of bountiful Providence, might convene all,—the good might here find a foretaste of heaven, and the less fortunate could hope for mercy of which they had not dreamed nor even dared to hope. Surely the Creator of all this beauty would condone the faults of poor, frail humanity who had fallen from grace in the hard and bitter struggle of life. So she stood, entranced, in the fading light of day, unheeding the last thrilling notes of meadow lark, or the balsam- laden air wafted to her from the evergreen slopes of the mountains. Closing her eyes in a softly murmured prayer, she stood silent and motionless, and when she again looked upon the scene the grayness of early night had settled over all, softening every outline with indistinctness. Abruptly she turned to hurry back to the hotel, when, in the distance, she heard the clatter of approaching hoofs. A little alarm of fear and loneliness stirred in her breast and she hurried down the road. All the bravado with which she had left her brother had suddenly deserted her, and she could feel the heart-throbs in her throat nearly choking her. She did not even glance up the road, although she heard the hoof-beats ever coming nearer. “What if it should be Indians!” The thought filled her with ever-increasing alarm. On she sped, as rapidly as the gradual descent permitted, then she struck a rock, and ere she could regain her footing she fell on her knees. Scarcely had the damp earth left an imprint on her skirt when she regained her feet, and now glanced behind her. Silhouetted against the evening sky, on the very crest of the hill, she saw, in her momentary glance, a lone horseman leading a second horse. The next instant they had begun slowly to descend the hill. Bess, seeing a huge, flat boulder to the right of the road, stepped out upon it so that she could be distinctly seen, even tho it was now rapidly growing dark. She looked up the road at the approaching trio, her face raised fearlessly and confidently, although her knees were still trembling. As the man passed he courteously lifted his broad sombrero, speaking at the same time in a low, commanding voice to the horse he was leading. “Mauchacho, I am ashamed of you! Did you never see a lady before? You certainly —” But his voice grew indistinct in the distance and Bess did not hear the end of the chiding the dainty animal had received for pricking up his ears and pulling back on the hackamore. “Thank goodness, it was not an Indian after all,” she said aloud, as she hurried down to the hotel. The lone rider had already reached the steps, and she saw James heartily shaking both his hands. She stopped a moment watching the pair standing in the flood of light which poured out of the open doorway. The stranger was tall and straight as an arrow, even though his shoulders had a tired droop. Heavily fringed leather “chapps” covered his trousers, a mackinaw coat, carelessly fastened and a white silk handkerchief knotted loosely about his throat completed his unpretentious costume. She could see that his face looked dark and swarthy, but it was lighted by a smile of greeting, displaying a row of firm, even teeth. “Well, old boy, it seems mighty good to see you once more, and to breathe this air again. I had just started to find my sister, who has strayed off somewhere, when I heard you coming,” Bess heard her brother saying, “and I hope I may find her before someone lariats her for a maverick and sticks his brand on her.” The stranger laughed. “You have not forgotten all your Western jingle, even though you have been gone a year and a half. I saw a young woman up the road a way. Perhaps she is the sister you are searching.” Just then James caught sight of the girl, and hastily summoning her to come forward, introduced her to his old friend and comrade, after scolding her, half seriously, for staying away so long without telling him where she was going. Smiling at her brother, Bess Fletcher turned to look into one of the strongest faces and the most unfathomable eyes she had ever seen. The features were unmistakably Indian, and it was hard to believe that the man was only a quarter- blood, as she knew. The square chin and wide, sensitive mouth, the dilated nostrils and prominent cheek bones stamped the face with character, strength and determination. One could see in the gloomy depths of the eyes a strange intermingling of sympathy, with the truculent gleam which had shone for centuries in the eyes of his ancestors. They [21] [22] [23] [24] [25] impressed one, that he would either be wholly white, or entirely Indian, according to circumstances or environment. As Bess turned to acknowledge the introduction, her hand, half raised, paused as she measured this man. “Mr. West. But—but,” she added hesitatingly, “you do not look one bit as I—” West’s lips parted in a smile as he replied, “Had you expected to see me with a blanket on and a feather in my hair? I hope you are not greatly disappointed.” For a moment she was nonplussed. “Oh, no! But you are different somehow, and if there is any disappointment it is a happy one.” “Thank you, Miss Fletcher,” came in a low and almost inaudible voice. James had been listening with interest. “I guess I had impressed her that you looked more like—” he floundered and ended tactlessly, “well, like me, than an Indian, Henry.” The “breed’s” eyes closed spasmodically and his teeth shut hard before he replied. “Jim, sometimes I feel that I could willingly be skinned alive, if it would make me—like you.” Never before in all their relationship had this outburst of confidence escaped him; yet here in the presence of this beautiful, fair woman, his usual reticence and reserve for the moment left him, and the secret desire of his heart and soul escaped his lips. Angry at his loss of control, he turned and said, “I had entirely forgotten the horses. We came at a pretty swift pace from Polson. I would have reached here before train-time, but Eagle got a stone in his shoe, and I had the devil’s own time getting it out. I must go and attend to their beds and supper.” With this he stepped out into the gloom. Bess had gone into the house and was standing warming herself near the stove before her brother also entered and with a shiver hastened to the fire. “Oh, Jim, isn’t he just splendid!” cried the girl. “I had no idea there were such men as he away out here in the West! No wonder you rave over him and always sing his praises.” “Do you know, Bess, if he were my own brother I could not honor and love him more. At college he was so superior in mind, ability, and morals to the majority of his colleagues, that everyone looked up to him. He was one of them and no gathering was quite complete without Henry West. I never thought of him as an Indian, and anyway—that is his greatest charm. Whatever else he may be, he certainly is a gentleman.” Bess threw her arms impulsively about his neck. Then, “Good night, dearie, I am half jealous of him already. Tell him good-night for me. I want to retire so as to be up for our early start in the morning. I am tired, more tired than I knew. Don’t stay up late. You must be worn out. Brother, I believe I love this new, strange land!” With a kiss she left him and went to her room. Hastily undressing, she was soon ready for bed. Going to the window she put up the shade, and placing her hands between her brow and the window she peered into the night. Her bosom stirred with a tremor of excitement as she whispered, “The West! The mysterious West! And he—Henry West.” She flung the window wide open, and hastily getting into bed was soon asleep. [26] [27]