The Heritage of the Hills Part 24

"You have been greatly honoured," she concluded. "You are the first white man on record who has been adopted by the Showut Poche-dakas without first marrying an Indian girl. And even then they must win out in the fire dance. If they fail, their brides must go away with them, ostracized from their people for ever."

"How many white men have been honoured with members.h.i.+p?" he asked.

"Very few. Old Dad Sloan was over and saw the dance. He always attends fiestas if some one will give him a ride. He said after the dance that he knew of only three white men before you who had won brotherhood, though he had seen a dozen or more try for it."

"Did he mention any names?"

"Yes," she said. "He mentioned Old Man Selden, for one."

"Does he belong to the tribe?" cried Oliver.

"No, he fell down in the fire dance. He had married an Indian woman, and after the dance he took his bride away with him. She died six months afterward--pining for her people, it was supposed."

"And who else did he speak about?"

"You remember the name of Dan Smeed, of course."

"'Outlaw, highwayman, squawman,'" quoted Oliver, trying to imitate the old '49er's quavery tones.

"Yes," she said. "He conquered the fire and was admitted to full brotherhood."

"And got gems for his bridle _conchas_," Oliver added.

Jessamy nodded. "And in some mysterious manner paved the way for you to become adopted thirty years later."

He turned and looked her directly in the eyes. "Was Dan Smeed my father?" he asked abruptly.

Her eyes did not evade his, but a slow flush mounted to her cheeks.

"I think we may safely a.s.sume that that is the case," she told him softly.

Oliver stared at the beaten ground under his feet.

"Outlaw--highwayman--squawman!" he muttered.

Quickly she rose and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Don't! Don't!" she pleaded sympathetically. "Don't think of that! Wait!"

"Wait? Wait for what?"

"Wait till the Showut Poche-dakas have taken you into full confidence.

Wait for my Hummingbird to speak."

Oliver said nothing.

She waited a little, then resumed her seat and said:

"And the next man that Old Dad Sloan mentioned as having tried the fire dance was--guess who?"

"The mysterious Bolivio."

She nodded vigorously, both eyes closed.

"He succeeded?"

"He did."

"And the third man to succeed before me?"

"I forget the name. It is of no consequence so far as our mystery is concerned."

"_Your_ mystery, you mean," he laughed. "I'm beginning to believe you know all about it--all about me, about my father and his young-manhood days."

"Oh, no!" she quickly protested.

"But you know more than I do. And you see fit to make mystery of it to my confusion."

"Silly! I'm doing nothing of the sort. I've positively told you all I can."

"Be careful, now! Can, will, or may?"

"Don't pin me down. You know I'm a feeble dissembler."

"You've told me all you _may_, then," he said with conviction.

"Have it that way if you choose. How about some breakfast?--and then your triumphal entry into the festivities?"

"I hate to show myself--actually."

"Pooh! I'm disappointed in you. Come on--I've ordered breakfast for us in the restaurant booth. Red-hot chili dishes and _bellota_. It should be ready by now."

The Showut Poche-dakas, at least, paid very little attention to Oliver as he limped from the _ramada_ at Jessamy's side. But he was congratulated by white men on every hand, among them Mr. Damon Tamroy, the first friend he had made in the country.

"I wish you could 'a' heard what Old Dad Sloan had to say after the dance," was Tamroy's greeting. "The dance got the old man started, and he opened up a little. Selden wasn't about at the time, and Dad said that once, years ago, Selden married a squaw and made a try at the fire dance. There was two dances that night, Old Dad said. Selden's partner, too, married an Indian girl, and both of 'em danced. Selden's partner won out, and was made a member o' the tribe; but Selden fell down."

"Did you get this partner's name?" asked Oliver.

"Le's see--what was the name Dad said?"

"Smeed?" asked Oliver.

"That's it. Dave Smeed. No--Dan Smeed. This Smeed lived with the tribe afterwards, it seems, but Selden and his girl beat it, accordin' to the rules, and--"

"s.h.!.+" warned Oliver. "Here comes Old Man Selden now."

The old monarch of the hills strode straight up to them, rowels whirring, chaps whistling.

"Howdy, Mr. Drew--howdy!" he boomed. "Howdy, Tamroy." He extended a h.o.r.n.y hand to each.

"Some dance, as they say--some dance," he went on admiringly, and there was almost a smile on his stern features. "The boys was bettin' on how it would come out. The odds was ag'in ye, Mr. Drew. But I told 'em ye'd hold out. I been through the mill myself. Might as well own up, since everybody knows it now--and that I danced to a fare-you-well, but fell down hard. When ye gonta' pull yer freight, Mr. Drew?"