The Forged Note Part 66

"It was before the days of the mighty Sitting Bull, and Red Cloud, too; before the days of the cowboy--and even the squaw man. It was in the days of Chief Stinking Eye, who was the bravest--so the Indians say--of all the great Sioux warriors. Stinking Eye and Chief Bettleyon loved one and the same maiden--the daughter of Chief Go-Catch-The-Enemy.

"Go-Catch-The-Enemy was a great chief, and owned all the land in what is called the Bull Creek district now, while Bettleyon lived with the tribe of his father in a part of this country far to the west, in that part which is now called the Cottonwood Creek district.

"This vast tribe of red men lived by hunting princ.i.p.ally; but their women discovered that crops could be grown in this soil, and, with rude plows and hoes, and whatever they had, they dug little patches in the soil along the creek, and in springtime, they planted these patches in maize and beans; so, when the zero weather of winter made the wigwams the most comfortable place, they kept from starving by feeding thereon.

Of course, that was in the day when the buffalo was plentiful, and they had meat; but with cornmeal this was made more delicious. So, in this way, the Sioux Indians came through many cold winters, and went to war again in the early springtime; that is, the men did, while the women repeated the task each year, of planting the patches to Squaw corn or maize.

"How they fought, and bled and died, is a matter not trivial. About this time, there came a man. He rode a pony, and he had on boots--not moccasins--and he wore a hat on his head. He carried a rifle in his hand, and that was the first time _these_ red men had seen such a weapon. Strange, as it was to them, he talked fluently in their tongue, and withal his cleverness, he became a favorite among the many. Before long he was, in reality, chief over all. From the Niobrara across the Keya Paha, including the Ponca, the Mastadon, on to the Whetstone and Landing Creek and to the White River, he ruled. They named him Rain-In-The-Face, and he made them all believe that he was next to the great white father.

"There came a day when he made love to Go-Catch-The-Enemy's daughter, Winnetkha, which was her name, and she was said to have been the most beautiful daughter of the Sioux Indians the _Rosebud_ had ever known.

"This, as you might expect, made enemies of Young Chief Bettleyon and also Chief Stinking Eye. But the white man was shrewd. He thought at night, when all was quiet and the Indians slept. So the mornings were used in carrying out the thoughts of the night before, while the Indians had to think of war.

"So, before any knew, the white man had made Winnetkha his own, and took her to live in a real house, that he had made the Indians build for him, of straight ash logs, with bark peeled off and hewn on the inside, until the white wood glistened like silver.

"That was the beginning of the breeds, and after that, many became crossed and have not stopped until recently; but Bettleyon and Stinking Eye never got over it, and when the pale face was spending his time herding the cattle that were now replacing the buffalo, they intrigued cruelly against him.

"Winnetkha overheard their plan, and informed him when he came from the herd that night, and so he kept watch. They came late, with a band of picked men and loyal followers, and began at once to make war on the big house. All night they fought, but the Indians were shrewd this time, and fought from long range. They shot at the house with arrows that were heated red hot on the point, until at last they set it on fire. This, of course, drove the white man and his squaw out. They managed to escape and reached safety ere they were discovered. But the white man was angry, and he swore to have revenge, so, loading his rifle, he saddled his horse and came down single-handed on the Indians and killed many, and routed the rest.

"He was not bothered any more for years afterward, but the Indian, you know, never forgets, so, one day, when he was grazing his herds near the top of the hill, he looked up to find himself almost hemmed in by the skulking red devils. He rushed to safety behind the rocks at the top, where you see them. Here he fought until his ammunition was exhausted, and he was without defense, with the Indians all about him.

"And it was then that he looked about for other weapons of defense, and discovered a den of rattlers. Then, one at a time, he allowed the Indians to approach him, and as they did and went to look for him, they were struck in the face by a rattler. More than twenty were bitten, so 'tis said, and more than half died from the effects. And then they killed him.

"Old Go-Catch-The-Enemy made war on them afterward and a reign of outlawry began; but to the white man, his son-in-law, he gave a great funeral, and did not bury him on a tree top, where buzzards picked the bones, as had been the custom; but the Indians preferred such a burial rather than that a coyote should dig them up from the earth. He was buried on the top of the little hill to the side, as you see, with stones arranged about him, and so deep in the earth, that the wolves never bothered.

"So, that is the legend of those hills that you see, and they are the land mark. Those who live here will not soon forget it."

They stood on the banks of the Ponca now, and listened to the happy birds that filled the air with music like thousands of little bells. As they stood, arm in arm, they appreciated all that life held in store for them.

Suddenly from the west came a great noise. "Hark!" cried the husband. "A prairie fire? Of course not. The settlers made that impossible long since." He looked anxiously in the direction from whence came the noise.

The sun could not be seen, and everything at once grew dark. "A tornado!" cried Sidney, and, grabbing his wife, he started to fall to the ground, but too late! A sudden wind seemed to pick him up, and a moment later whirled him into the air, while Mildred cried out in agonizing tones:

"Sidney, Sidney, come back, come back; don't leave me!" But on he flew, with the wind raising him higher and higher into the air, while she moaned until she felt her heart would break. Everything was so dark about her that she could not see, and then, suddenly it began to clear.

Darkness was not about her, for overhead burned an electric light. She lay across a bed. She stood up and looked about her.

Her brain throbbed terribly, while she tried to recall where she was, and then slowly it all came back to her. Miss Jones--the visit to the blind tiger--a bottle of coca cola--"Oh, my G.o.d!" she cried in piteous tones. "I'm lost! I'm lost! I'm lost!"

She rushed to the door. It was bolted. She paused a moment as she stood by it. Where had _he_ gone! She had a watch on her wrist; she looked at it. She had not been there long. She recalled looking at it just before drinking the stuff in the gla.s.s. That was exactly an hour before. It was fully a half hour later when she had been brought to this place. But _where_ was the man.

She looked across the room to a chair. Over the back of it lay the overcoat he had worn. Then it became clear to her. He had stepped out a moment to get something perhaps. She walked to the door quickly and tried the k.n.o.b. It was locked and the key was gone. She became frantic as she ran around the room. She tried the window again. Useless.

Besides, when she peeped under the shade, it was too far to the ground.

She stood dumbly for a moment. Presently, mechanically, she walked to a dresser that stood to one side, and peered in the gla.s.s at herself. She recoiled when she saw her face. It was swollen, and her eyes looked strange. She could not believe herself. She looked again. "Yes," she whispered, "this is _I_!" She looked away. The top of the dresser was covered with a newspaper. Mechanically she found herself looking over it. It was not a city paper, she could see, so, somewhat curiously, she turned it over and saw the front page. Her eyes chanced to fall on an article two columns in width. She read a few lines, and then, with a m.u.f.fled cry, she staggered backward, clutching the paper. She sought the chair or the bed--anything, she was too weak to stand now. But, ere she had reached either, she suddenly stood stiffly erect, while the blood seemed to freeze in her veins.

A step sounded in the hallway, and a moment later, a key rattled in the lock. The _man_ was returning.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"_Go Brother! In G.o.d's Name, Go!_"

"I am truly sorry to see the colored people of this town fail in their effort to secure a Y.M.C.A. for their youth," said the secretary of the white Y.M.C.A., as he rested his elbows for a moment upon the cigar case.

"And they won't get it after all," said a young man whose father had given five hundred dollars to the cause. "They certainly need something of the kind. The crime and condition of the colored people of the southern states, give this section a bad name in the eyes of the enlightened world," he commented, lighting a cigarette and sprawling his legs in front of him, when he had taken a seat.

"I regret it more because that fellow, Wilson Jacobs, the secretary, has been a faithful worker, if there ever was one," the secretary said thoughtfully.

"How did they happen to fall down on it? I understand that the white a.s.sociation has subscribed twenty-five thousand dollars?" inquired another.

"So did a Chicago Jew, and likewise seventeen thousand dollars were subscribed from the city and other places, by the white people; but only ten thousand dollars could be raised among the colored people--or rather, only about five thousand. He secured about the same amount from the white people here and in the north."

"I met that fellow down here one day, and say!" exclaimed another, "he impressed me as much as any person I ever met, I want to tell you!"

"How did they ever come out with the effort over at Grantville?"

inquired another.

"They failed," said the secretary, and then added: "The gift from the Jew philanthropist has run for five years, and expires tonight at twelve o'clock." So saying, all eyes sought the clock that hung on the wall above them.

"They have only a few minutes left, according to that," smiled one.

"Say, wouldn't it be a sensation, if that fellow came tearing in here at one minute to twelve," said one, and laughed. The others joined in, but the secretary did not share in the joke, notwithstanding that it was not meant to be depreciating.

"If he should," said the secretary, walking from behind the case, "I am authorized to acknowledge the same, and the colored people would get their a.s.sociation. But, of course, I do not antic.i.p.ate such miracles tonight."

A moment later, they all filed to another part of the building, where hundreds were gathered to watch the old year out and the new in, and where music soon made them forget the subject they had been discussing.

Twenty minutes of the year was left. In five minutes Wilson Jacobs would call his sister, and together they would watch. But the new year would bring no joy to their hearts. It meant that a great struggle would end in failure. He watched the clock by the minute. It was now eleven forty-one. Nineteen minutes left.

Presently he heard a light footfall. He looked up and saw his sister coming toward him. She looked tired and worn; the strain she had been laboring under was plainly evident in her face.

She came straight to him. What was it that made her regard him as she did. Had she seen, in these last minutes, how much it hurt him to have to p.r.o.nounce his great effort a failure. She advanced to where he sat, and impulsively bent over and kissed him. As she raised up, both pairs of eyes saw the clock, and both pair of lips murmured:

"Eighteen minutes left." And then his lips said:

"Yes, sister, eighteen minutes left to raise twenty-five thousand dollars for the Y.M.C.A. for our people." He lowered his head, and sighed long and deeply. She placed her hands about his forehead, and let them slip back over his hair.

"My poor brother, my poor brother!" And then, for the first time she observed a package. With womanly curiosity, she inquired:

"What is this, Wilson?" and pointed toward it. He sat up quickly as though he had been asleep.

"That," he replied, blinking. "Why, I don't know. I declare. I didn't know it was there." He was thoroughly awake now, as well as curious.

"Wonder what it is," she said, curiously.

"I don't know," he breathed, turning the package over. "And you are sure you didn't put it there?"