CHAPTER XX

Towards noon the next day, Bud sought Jim to ask further hospitality. The horses were still in bad condition, he explained, and he would esteem it an invaluable service if he would allow them to remain another night on the ranch. Jim readily acquiesced. Now that he had taken the final step to sever himself from the ranch, there were many details to be personally directed and settled. Bill and he were often in conference, and the sale could be accomplished within a few days. While Bill worked, he watched Bud and Clarke. Of his suspicion that they were trying to take some unfair advantage, he did not speak. Only his ferret-like glances constantly followed them. And his instinctive distrust was further aroused by a visit from Tabywana.

As he and Jim sat before the house, with a list that Jim was explaining to Bill, Baco, the half-breed who worked about the place, suddenly called in greeting to Tabywana. With his bonnet of gorgeous feathers trailing down his back, his body draped in a blanket, and in his hand the peace-pipe, the Chief entered. "How!" he answered, as he passed Baco. Both Bill and Jim arose.

"Why, hello Chief! Where'd you blow in from?" Bill called.

Again Tabywana answered, "How!"

Jim advanced. "How!" he said. "The peace chief never comes except to do us a favor. Baco, ask him what we can do for him."

As Tabywana pointed to his pipe he spoke to Baco. "He says, 'Let us sit down and smoke,'" interpreted Baco.

"Certainly," Jim answered. His years of living among the Indians had accustomed him to their ceremonies, and the four men crossed their legs and seated themselves on the ground, forming a half-circle. Tabywana began filling and lighting his pipe.

"Baco," Jim commanded, "tell Tabywana that we are always glad to meet him and see him face to face. He is our friend."

Baco quickly translated the message. Tabywana began passing the pipe from Jim to Bill. As Bill puffed at it he said to Jim, "Say, when the old Chief gets as formal as this it means business."

The men, although eager to begin the proposed conversation, did nothing to urge the Indian to declare himself. Both courteously awaited the Chief's information, although both chafed at this delay in their work. When the pipe had been returned to Tabywana he deliberately extinguished the flame, and, holding the pipe under his blanket, began monotonously to speak in his own tongue.

Jim and Bill both tried to follow the words, but their knowledge of the language was exceedingly limited, so Baco translated for them. "He says a stranger has been asking for you in the settlement."

"What kind of a stranger?" Jim asked, his mind turning at once to the sale that was about to be effected. The Indian agent again interpreted the Chief's reply. "One who jumps up and down in his saddle."

Bill smiled as Jim answered: "Oh, an Englishman. What's his business?"

"The Chief says he does not know, but be on your guard."

Bill and Jim exchanged glances. Surely it was not for this that Tabywana had paid this formal visit. But Jim, who knew the wary, slow methods of the Indians, and who felt that something of more importance was coming, looked straight at Tabywana, as he asked, "Is that all?"

Tabywana understood more of the language of his conquerors than he admitted, and quickly answered the question through Baco. "No, something else—very important." Then Tabywana himself added, "Bud Hardy is here."

At these words Bill, who had been listening listlessly, turned sharply to watch the Indian's face. In the crafty, restrained expression he could read the effort at control that the Chief was exercising as he emitted the sentences Baco translated for him to Jim. "That is bad—very bad. Trouble will follow. He says Hardy has been talking and drinking a great deal, and has begun to talk about the death of Cash Hawkins, and Hardy will, he is afraid, soon arrest some one."

Jim did not answer. Tabywana moved a little so that he could watch Jim. His face wore an expression of great curiosity as to how his words would be received by Jim. The Chief had never known the exact truth concerning the killing of Cash Hawkins, but he had often guessed that Nat-u-ritch and Jim did. Jim did not answer. Bill spoke to him as Baco, having performed his duty, sank back and began playing with some straws.

"Jim, the old Chief is trying to tell you that Hardy has been bragging that he was going to arrest the fellow that killed Cash Hawkins." Jim gave no sign that the news in the least disturbed him.

"Tell the old Chief it's the fire-water that's talking."

Bill sank deep into a reverie. So Bud was up to some devilment—but what? Then he heard the words:

"The Chief says that Hardy is no friend of yours," and Jim's quick reply, "Tell the Chief I didn't kill Cash Hawkins, so I'm not afraid of arrest." Jim smiled reassuringly at the Chief, who constantly watched him. After all, what could Bud do to Jim? "He's a blow-hard, anyway," Bill muttered.

Jim was about to rise and end the interview when, looking cautiously about him, Tabywana began speaking in a lower tone. Baco translated without pause the thoughts that were troubling the Indian. "The Chief thinks that Hardy thinks that maybe Nat-u-ritch killed Cash Hawkins."

Jim only let slip the word "Nat-u-ritch," but his eyes quickly sought the Indian's, and in them he saw there was fear for the woman. To Bill this seemed nonsense. There had never been an atom of suspicion attached to Nat-u-ritch, so he lightly dismissed the idea with a laugh as he said, "Bud must have been unusual drunk." Bill had never understood the affair. He now began to feel the old suspicion creeping back. Had the boss, in self-defence, done the deed? If so, he must keep his watch all the closer on Bud and his men to see that they left the ranch as quickly as possible.

Jim quietly and calmly gave this answer to the Chief:

"So Bud thinks Nat-u-ritch killed Cash. Why, there isn't a scrap of evidence pointing towards Nat-u-ritch. Ask him what makes Bud think so." This time Jim listened intently for the answer.

"He says he doesn't know. But that Bud Hardy is bad medicine, and he wants you to make Bud Hardy move on to the next ranch."

Bill grunted his approval at this.

"That is impossible. The Chief knows that we cannot refuse shelter to the white man."

Bill this time upheld Jim's attitude in maintaining the laws of the place as he added, "Even though he is a bad man."

Tabywana looked from one to the other. There was a piteous look of baffled hope on his face. In his heart he was wishing that they would not take his words of wisdom so lightly, but it was difficult to explain more to them. Despairingly he offered further advice, and Baco repeated it for him, but Jim answered:

"The Chief knows that the rights of hospitality are sacred. Besides, I do not anticipate any trouble."

He rose to his feet. He would be extremely wary of Bud Hardy, but he felt no great concern. The affair had passed for five years, and it was simply some drunken bravado on the Sheriff's part that had frightened the old Chief. He laid his hands on Tabywana's shoulders. For Nat-u-ritch's father he had a tender regard, and the generous tolerance he had for, and the defence he constantly made of, the red man's rights, caused Tabywana to lay aside all cunning in his dealings with Jim, and to completely surrender his affections to him and the tiny child.

"Baco, tell Tabywana that no harm shall come to Nat-u-ritch while I live, and say to the Chief he is a good friend and I thank him for coming, and I would like him to accept this tobacco."

The eternal child in the Indian answered the last words, as Jim handed him the gayly embroidered pouch, with a quick smile and nod of appreciation. He was about to protest further, however, when Shorty interrupted them as he came running in. "A stranger out here wants to see the boss."

Ah, this was about the ranch, no doubt, so Jim said, "All right, Shorty, bring him to me."

"All right, boss."

"Bill, show Tabywana on his way," Jim directed, as the Indian seemed loath to leave him. "Adios amigo," he called to Tabywana, as Bill gently pushed him away. Baco followed him.

"I beg your pardon. I am looking for Mr. Carston."

Bill amusedly surveyed the new-comer as he answered, "There's Mr. Carston," and as he disappeared behind the house he muttered to himself, with a backward glance at the visitor, "Looks as though he blew off a comic paper."