That Girl Montana

  Produced by Roger Frank and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  THAT GIRL MONTANA

  BY

  MARAH ELLIS RYAN

  AUTHOR OF

  TOLD IN THE HILLS, THE BONDWOMAN,A FLOWER OF FRANCE, Etc.

  NEW YORK

  GROSSET & DUNLAP

  PUBLISHERS

  Made in the United States of America

  Copyright, 1901, by Rand. McNally & Company.

  THAT GIRL MONTANA.

  PROLOGUE.

  "That girl the murderer of a man--of Lee Holly! That pretty little girl?Bosh! I don't believe it."

  "I did not say she killed him; I said she was suspected. And even thoughshe was cleared, the death of that renegade adds one more to the mysteriesof our new West. But I think the mere suspicion that she did it entitlesher to a medal, or an ovation of some sort."

  The speakers were two men in complete hunting costume. That they werestrangers in the Northwest was evidenced by the very lively interest theytook in each bit of local color in landscape or native humanity. Of thelatter, there was a most picturesque variety. There were the Northern redmen in their bright blankets, and women, too, with their beadwork andtanned skins for sale. A good market-place for these was this spot wherethe Kootenai River is touched by the iron road that drives from the lakesto the Pacific. The road runs along our Northern boundary so close that itis called the "Great Northern," and verily the land it touches is great inits wildness and its beauty.

  The two men, with their trophies of elk-horn and beaver paws, with theirscarred outfit and a general air of elation gained from a successful"outing," tramped down to the little station after a last lingering viewtoward far hunting grounds. While waiting for the train bound eastward,they employed their time in dickering with the Indian moccasin-makers, ofwhom they bought arrows and gaily painted bows of ash, with which to deckthe wall of some far-away city home.

  While thus engaged, a little fleet of canoes was sighted skimming down theriver from that greater wilderness of the North, penetrated at that timeonly by the prospector, or a chance hunter; for the wealth of gold inthose high valleys had not yet been more than hinted at, and the hint hadnot reached the ears of the world.

  Even the Indians were aroused from their lethargy, and watched with keencuriosity the approaching canoes. When from the largest there steppedforth a young girl--a rather remarkable-looking young girl--there was aname spoken by a tall Indian boatman, who stood near the two strangers.The Indians nodded their heads, and the name was passed from one to theother--the name 'Tana--a soft, musical name as they pronounced it. One ofthe strangers, hearing it, turned quickly to a white ranchman, who had aferry at that turn of the river, and asked if that was the young girl whohad helped locate the new gold find at the Twin Springs.

  "Likely," agreed the ranchman. "Word came that she was to cut the diggingsand go to school a spell. A Mr. Haydon, who represents a company that's towork the mine, sent down word that a special party was to go East over theroad from here to-day; so I guess she's one of the specials. She came neargoing on a special to the New Jerusalem, she did, not many days ago. Ireckon you folks heard how Lee Holly--toughest man in the length of theColumbia--was wiped off the living earth by her last week."

  "We heard she was cleared of it," assented the stranger.

  "Yes, so she was, so she was--cleared by an alibi, sworn to by DanOverton. You don't know Dan, I suppose? Squarest man you ever met! And hedon't have to scratch gravel any more, either, for he has a third interestin that Twin Spring find, and it pans out big. They say the girl sold hershare for two hundred thousand. She doesn't look top-heavy over it,either."

  And she did not. She walked between two men--one a short, rather pompouselderly man, who bore a slight resemblance to her, and whom she treatedrather coolly.

  "Of course I am not tired," she said, in a strong, musical voice. "I havebeen brought all the way on cushions, so how could I be? Why, I have gonealone in a canoe on a longer trail than we floated over, and I think Iwill again some day. Max, there is one thing I want in this world, andwant bad; that is, to get Mr. Haydon out on a trip where we can't eatuntil we kill and cook our dinner. He doesn't know anything about realcomfort; he wants too many cushions."

  The man she called Max bent his head and whispered something to her, atwhich her face flushed just a little and a tiny wrinkle crept between herstraight, beautiful brows.

  "I told you not to say pretty things that way, just because you thinkgirls like to hear them. I don't. Maybe I will when I get civilized; butMr. Haydon thinks that is a long ways ahead, doesn't he?" The wrinkle wasgone--vanished in a quizzical smile, as she looked up into the veryhandsome face of the young fellow.

  "So do I," he acknowledged. "I have a strong desire, especially when yousnub me, to be the man to take you on a lone trail like that. I will, too,some day."

  "Maybe you will," she agreed. "But I feel sorry for you beforehand."

  She seemed a tantalizing specimen of girlhood, as she stood there, aslight, brown slip of a thing, dressed in a plain flannel suit, the colorof her golden-brown short curls. In her brown cloth hat the wings of aredbird gleamed--the feathers and her lips having all there was of brightcolor about her; for her face was singularly colorless for so young agirl. The creamy skin suggested a pale-tinted blossom, but not a fragileone; and the eyes--full eyes of wine-brown--looked out with frank daringon the world.

  But for all the daring brightness of her glances, it was not a joyousface, such as one would wish a girl of seventeen to possess. A littlecynical curve of the red mouth, a little contemptuous glance from thosebrown eyes, showed one that she took her measurements of individuals by agauge of her own, and that she had not that guileless trust in humannature that is supposed to belong to young womanhood. The full expressionindicated an independence that seemed a breath caught from the wild beautyof those Northern hills.

  Her gaze rested lightly on the two strangers and their trophies of thechase, on the careless ferryman, and the few stragglers from the ranch andthe cabins. These last had gathered there to view the train and its peopleas they passed, for the ties on which the iron rails rested were still ofgreen wood, and the iron engines of transportation were recent additionsto those lands of the far North, and were yet a novelty.

  Over the faces of the white men her eyes passed carelessly. She did notseem much interested in civilized men, even though decked in finer raimentthan was usual in that locality; and, after a cool glance at them all, shewalked directly past them and spoke to the tall Indian who had firstuttered her name to the others.

  His face brightened when she addressed him; but their words were low, asare ever the words of an Indian in converse, low and softly modulated; andthe girl did not laugh in the face of the native as she had when thehandsome young white man had spoken to her in softened tones.

  The two sportsmen gave quickened attention to her as they perceived shewas addressing the Indian in his own language. Many gestures of her slimbrown hands aided her speech, and as he watched her face, one of thesportsmen uttered the impulsive exclamation at the beginning of thisstory. It seemed past belief that she could have committed the deed withwhich her name had been connected, and of which the Kootenai valley hadheard a great deal during the week just passed. That it had become the onetopic of general interest in the community was due partly to thepersonality of the girl, and partly to the fact that the murdered man hadbeen one of the most notorious in all that wild land extending north andwest into British Columbia.

  Looking at the frank face of the girl and hearing her musical, decidedtones, the man had a reasonable warrant for deciding that she was notguilty.

  "She is one of the most strongly interesting girls of her age I ha
ve everseen," he decided. "Girls of that age generally lack character. She doesnot; it impresses itself on a man though she never speak a word to him.Wish she'd favor me with as much of her attention as she gives thathulking redskin."

  "It's a 'case,' isn't it?" asked his friend. "You'll be wanting to use heras a centerpiece for your next novel; but you can't make an orthodoxheroine of her, for there must have been some reason for the suspicionthat she helped him 'over the range,' as they say out here. There musthave been something socially and morally wrong about the fact that he wasfound dead in her cabin. No, Harvey; you'd better write up the inert,inoffensive red man on his native heath, and let this remarkable younglady enjoy her thousands in modest content--if the ghosts let her."

  "Nonsense!" said the other man, with a sort of impatience. "You jump tooquickly to the conclusion that there must be wrong where there issuspicion. But you have put an idea into my mind as to the story. If I canever learn the whole history of this affair, I will make use of it, andI'm not afraid of finding my pretty girl in the wrong, either."

  "I knew from the moment we heard who she was that your impressionablenature would fall a victim, but you can't write a story of her alone; youwill want your hero and one or two other people. I suppose, now, that veryhandsome young fellow with the fastidious get-up will about suit you forthe hero. He does look rather lover-like when he addresses your girl withthe history. Will you pair them off?"

  "I will let you know a year from now," returned the man called Harvey."But just now I am going to pay my respects to the very well-fed lookingelderly gentleman. He seems to be the chaperon of the party. I haveacquired a taste for trailing things during our thirty days hunt inthese hills, and I'm going to trail this trio, with the expectation ofbagging a romance."

  His friend watched him approach the elder gentleman, and was obviouslydoubtful of the reception he would get, for the portly, prosperous-lookingindividual did not seem to have been educated in that generous Westernatmosphere, where a man is a brother if he acts square and speaks fair.Conservatism was stamped in the deep corners of his small mouth, on theclean-shaven lips, and the correctly cut side-whiskers that added width tohis fat face.

  But the journalist proper, the world over, is ever a bit of a diplomat. Hehas won victories over so many conservative things, and is daunted by few.When Harvey found himself confronted by a monocle through which he wascoolly surveyed, it did not disturb him in the least (beyond making itdifficult to retain a grave demeanor at the lively interest shown by theIndians in that fashionable toy).

  "Yes, sir--yes, sir; I am T. J. Haydon, of Philadelphia," acknowledged heof the glass disc, "but I don't know you, sir."

  "I shall be pleased to remedy that if you will allow me," returned theother, suavely, producing a card which he offered for examination. "Youare, no doubt, acquainted with the syndicate I represent, even if my nametells you nothing. I have been hunting here with a friend for a month, andintend writing up the resources of this district. I have a letter ofintroduction to your partner, Mr. Seldon, but did not follow the river sofar as to reach your works, though I've heard a good deal about them, andimagine them interesting."

  "Yes, indeed; very interesting--very interesting from a sportsman's ormineralogist's point of view," agreed the older man, as he twirled thecard in a disturbed, uncertain way. "Do you travel East, Mr.--Mr. Harvey?Yes? Well, let me introduce Mr. Seldon's nephew--he's a New Yorker--MaxLyster. Wait a minute and I'll get him away from those beastly Indians. Inever can understand the attraction they have for the average tourist."

  But when he reached Lyster he said not a word of the despised reds; he hadother matters more important.

  "Here, Max! A most annoying thing has happened," he said, hurriedly."Those two men are newspaper fellows, and one is going East on our train.Worse still--the one knows people I know. Gad! I'd rather lose a thousanddollars than meet them now! And you must come over and get acquainted.They've been here a month, and are to write accounts of the life andcountry. That means they have been here long enough to hear all about'Tana and that Holly. Do you understand? You'll have to treat themwell,--the best possible--pull wires even if it costs money, and fix it sothat a record of this does not get into the Eastern papers. And, above andbeyond everything else, so long as we are in this depraved corner of thecountry, you must keep them from noticing that girl Montana."

  The young man looked across at the girl, and smiled doubtfully.

  "I'm willing to undertake any possible thing for you," he said; "but, mydear sir, to keep people from noticing 'Tana is one of the things beyondmy power. And if she gives notice to all the men who will notice her, I'vean idea jealousy will turn my hair gray early. But come on and introduceyour man, and don't get in a fever over the meeting. I am so fortunateas to know more of the journalistic fraternity than you, and I happen tobe aware that they are generally gentlemen. Therefore, you'd better notdrop any hints to them of monetary advantages in exchange for silenceunless you want to be beautifully roasted by a process only possible inprinter's ink."

  The older man uttered an exclamation of impatience, as he led his youngcompanion over to the sportsmen, who had joined each other again; and ashe effected the introduction, his mind was sorely upset by dread of thetwo gentlemanly strangers and 'Tana.

  'Tana was most shamelessly continuing her confidences with the tallIndian, despite the fact that she knew it was a decided annoyance to herprincipal escort. Altogether the evening was a trying one to Mr. T. J.Haydon.

  The sun had passed far to the west, and the shadows were growing longerunder the hills there by the river. Clear, red glints fell across the coolripples of the water, and slight chill breaths drifted down the ravinesand told that the death of summer was approaching.

  Some sense of the beauty of the dying October day seemed to touch thegirl, for she walked a little apart and picked a spray of scarlet mapleleaves and looked from them to the hills and the beautiful valley, wherethe red and the yellow were beginning to crowd out the greens. Yes, thesummer was dying--dying! Other summers would come in their turn, but nonequite the same. The girl showed all the feeling of its loss in her face.In her eyes the quick tears came, as she looked at the mountains. Thesummer was dying; it was autumn's colors she held in her hand, and sheshivered, though she stood in the sunshine.

  As she turned toward the group again, she met the eyes of the stranger towhom Max was talking. He seemed to have been watching her with a greatdeal of interest, and her hand was raised to her eyes, lest a trace oftears should prove food for curiosity.

  "It was to one of Akkomi's relations I was talking," she remarked to Mr.Haydon, when he questioned her. "His little grandson is sick, and I wouldlike to send him something. I haven't money enough in my pocket, and wishyou would get me some."

  After taking some money out of his purse for her, he eyed the tall savagewith disfavor.

  "He'll buy bad whisky with it," he grumbled.

  "No, he will not," contradicted the girl. "If a person treats theseIndians square, he can trust them. But if a lie is told them, or a promisebroken--well, they get even by tricking you if they can, and I can't saythat I blame them. But they won't trick me, so don't worry; and I'm assure the things will go to that little fellow safely as though I tookthem."

  She was giving the money and some directions to the Indian, when a wordfrom a squaw drew her attention to the river.

  A canoe had just turned the bend not a quarter of a mile away, and wasskimming the water with the swiftness of a swallow's dart. Only one manwas in it, and he was coming straight for the landing.

  "Some miner rushing down to see the train go by," remarked Mr. Haydon; butthe girl did not answer. Her face grew even more pale, and her handsclasped each other nervously.

  "Yes," said the Indian beside her, and nodded to her assuringly. Then thecolor swept upward over her face as she met his kindly glance, anddrawing herself a little straighter, she walked indifferently away.

  The stolid red man did not look at all snu
bbed; he only pocketed the moneyshe had given him, and looked after her with a slight smile, accented moreby the deepening wrinkles around his black eyes than by any change aboutthe lips.

  Then there was a low rumbling sound borne on the air, and as the muffledwhistle of the unseen train came to them from the wilderness to the west,with one accord the Indians turned their attention to their wares, and thewhite people to their baggage. When the train slowed up Mr. Haydon, barelywaiting for the last revolution of the wheels, energetically hastened theyoung girl up the steps of the car nearest them.

  "What's the hurry?" she asked, with a slight impatience.

  "I think," he replied quickly, "there is but a short stop made at thisstation, and as there are several vacant seats in this car, please occupyone of them until I have seen the conductor. There may be some changesmade as to the compartments engaged for us. Until that is decided, willyou be so kind as to remain in this coach?"

  She nodded rather indifferently, and looked around for Max. He wasgathering up some robes and satchels when the older man joined him.

  "We are not going to make the trip to Chicago in the car with thosefellows if it can be helped, Max," he insisted, fussily; "we'll wait andsee what car they are booked for, and I'll arrange for another. Sorry Idid not get a special, as I first intended."

  "But see here; they are first-class fellows--worth one's while to meet,"protested Max; but the other shook his head.

  "Look after the baggage while I see the conductor. 'Tana is in one of thecars--don't know which. We'll go for her when we get settled. Now, don'targue. Time is too precious."

  And 'Tana! She seated herself rather sulkily, as she was told, and lookedat once toward the river.

  The canoe was landing, and the man jumped to the shore. With quick,determined strides, he came across the land to the train. She tried tofollow him with her eyes, but he crossed to the other side of the track.

  There was rather a boisterous party in the car--two men and two women. Oneof the latter, a flaxen-haired, petite creature, was flitting from oneside of the car to the other, making remarks about the Indians, admiringparticularly one boy's beaded dress, and garnishing her remarks with agood deal of slang.

  "Say, Chub! that boy's suit would be a great 'make-up' for me in that newturn--the jig, you know; new, too. There isn't a song-and-dance on theboards done with Indian make-up. Knock them silly in the East, where theydon't see reds. Now sing out, and tell me if it wouldn't make a hit."

  "Aw, Goldie, give us a rest on shop talk," growled the gentleman calledChub. "If you'd put a little more ginger into the good specialty you have,instead of depending on wardrobe, you'd hit 'em hard enough. It ain'tplans that count, girlie--it's work."

  The "girlie" addressed accepted the criticism with easy indifference, andher fair, dissipated face was only twisted in a grimace, while she heldone hand aloft and jingled the bangles on her bracelets as thoughpoising a tambourine.

  "Better hustle yourself into the smoker again, Chubby dear. It will take ahalf-dozen more cigars to put you in your usual sweet frame of mind. Runalong now. Ta-ta!"

  The other woman seemed to think their remarks very witty, especially whenChub really did arise and make his way toward the smoker. Goldie then wentback to the window, where the Indians were to be seen. The quartet were,to judge by their own frank remarks, a party of variety singers anddancers who had been doing the Pacific circuit, and were now booked forsome Eastern houses, of which they spoke as "solid."

  Some of the passengers had got out and were buying little things from theIndians, as souvenirs of the country. 'Tana saw Mr. Haydon among them, inearnest conversation with the conductor; saw Max, with his hand full ofsatchels, suddenly reach out the other hand with a great deal ofheartiness and meet the man of the canoe.

  He was not so handsome a man as Max, yet would have been noticeableanywhere--tall, olive-skinned, and dark-haired. His dress had not thefashionable cut of the young fellow he spoke to. But he wore his buckskinjacket with a grace that bespoke physical strength and independence; andwhen he pushed his broad-brimmed gray hat back from his face, he showed apair of dark eyes that had a very direct glance. They were serious,contemplative eyes, that to some might look even moody.

  "There is a fellow with a great figure," remarked the other woman of thequartet; "that fellow with the sombrero; built right up from the ground,and looks like a picture; don't he, Charlie?"

  "I can't see him," complained Goldie, "but suppose it's one of theranchmen who live about here." Then she turned and donated a brief surveyto 'Tana. "Do you live in this region?" she asked.

  After a deliberate, contemptuous glance from the questioner's frizzed headto her little feet, 'Tana answered:

  "No; do you?"

  With this curt reply, she turned her shoulder very coolly on the searcherfor information.

  Vexation sent the angry blood up into the little woman's face. She lookedas though about to retort, when a gentleman who had just taken possessionof a compartment, and noted all that had passed, came forward andaddressed our heroine.

  "Until your friends come in, will you not take my seat?" he asked,courteously. "I will gladly make the exchange, or go for Mr. Lyster or Mr.Haydon, if you desire it."

  "Thank you; I will take your seat," she agreed. "It is good of you tooffer it."

  "Say, folks, I'm going outside to take in this free Wild West show,"called the variety actress to her companions. "Come along?"

  But they declined. She had reached the platform alone, when, coming towardthe car, she saw the man of the sombrero, and shrank back with a gasp ofutter dismay.

  "Oh, good Heaven!" she muttered, and all the color and bravado were gonefrom her face, as she shrank back out of his range of vision and almostinto the arms of the man Harvey, who had given the other girl his seat.

  "What's up?" he asked, bluntly.

  She only gave a muttered, unintelligible reply, pushed past him to her ownseat, where her feather-laden hat was donned with astonishing rapidity, agreat cloak was thrown around her, and she sank into a corner, a huddledmass of wraps and feathers. Any one could have walked along the aislewithout catching even a glimpse of her flaxen hair.

  'Tana and the stranger exchanged looks of utter wonder at the lightningchange effected before their eyes.

  At that moment a tap-tap sounded on the window beside 'Tana, and, lookingaround, she met the dark eyes of the man with the sombrero gazing kindlyupward at her.

  The people were getting aboard the train again--the time was so short--soshort! and how can one speak through a double glass? The fingers were allunequal to the fastening of the window, and she turned an imploring,flushed face to the helpful stranger.

  "Can you--oh, will you, please?" she asked, breathlessly. "Thank you, I'mvery much obliged."

  Then the window was raised, and her hand thrust out to the man, who wasbareheaded now, and who looked very much as though he held the wealth ofthe world when he clasped only 'Tana's fingers.

  "Oh, it is you, is it?" she asked, with a rather lame attempt at carelessspeech. "I thought you had forgotten to say good-by to me."

  "You knew better," he contradicted. "You knew--you know now it wasn'tbecause I forgot."

  He looked at her moodily from under his dark brows, and noticed the colorflutter over her cheek and throat in an adorable way. She had drawn herhand from him, and it rested on the window--a slim brown hand, with acurious ring on one finger--two tiny snakes whose jeweled heads formed thecentral point of attraction.

  "You said you would not wear that again. If it's a hoodoo, as you thought,why not throw it away?" he asked.

  "Oh--I've changed my mind. I need to wear it so that I will be reminded ofsomething--something important as a hoodoo," she said, with a strange,bitter smile.

  "Give it back to me, 'Tana," he urged. "I will--No--Max will havesomething much prettier for you. And listen, my girl. You are going away;don't ever come back; forget everything here but the money that will beyours for the claim. Do you u
nderstand me? Forget all I said to youwhen--you know. I had no right to say it; I must have been drunk. I--Ilied, anyway."

  "Oh, you lied, did you?" she asked, cynically, and her hands were claspedclosely, so close the ring must have hurt her. He noticed it, and kept hiseyes on her hand as he continued, doggedly:

  "Yes. You see, little girl, I thought I'd own up before you left, so youwouldn't be wasting any good time in being sorry about the folks backhere. It wasn't square for me to trouble you as I did. And--I lied. I camedown to say that."

  "You needn't have troubled yourself," she said, curtly. "But I see you cantell lies. I never would have believed it if I hadn't heard you. But Iguess, after all, I will give you the ring. You might want it to give tosome one else--perhaps your wife."

  The bell was ringing and the wheels began slowly to revolve. She pulledthe circlet from her finger and almost flung it at him.

  "'Tana!" and all of keen appeal was in his voice and his eyes, "littlegirl--good-by!"

  But she turned away her head. Her hand, however, reached out and the sprayof autumn leaves fluttered to his feet where the ring lay.

  Then the rumble of the moving train sounded through the valley, and thegirl turned to find Max, Mr. Haydon and a porter approaching, to conveyher to the car ahead. Mr. Haydon's face was a study of dismay at the sightof Mr. Harvey closing the window and showing evident interest in 'Tana'scomfort.

  "So Dan did get down to see you off, 'Tana?" observed Max, as he led heralong the aisle. "Dear old fellow! how I did try to coax him into comingEast later; but it was of no use. He gave me some flowers for you--wildbeauties. He never seemed to say much, 'Tana, but I've an idea you'llnever have a better friend in your life than that same old Dan."

  Mr. Harvey watched their exit, and smiled a little concerning Mr. Haydon'sevident annoyance. He watched, also, the flaxen-haired bundle in thecorner, and saw the curious, malignant look with which she followed 'Tana,and to his friend he laughed over his triumph in exchanging speech withthe pretty, peculiar girl in brown.

  "And the old party looked terribly fussy over it. In fact, I've aboutsifted out the reason. He imagines me a newspaper reporter on the alertfor sensations. He's afraid his stupidly respectable self may be mentionedin a newspaper article concerning this local tragedy they all talk about.Why, bless his pocket-book! if I ever use pen and ink on that girl'sstory, it will not be for a newspaper article."

  "Then you intend to tell it?" asked his friend. "How will you learn it?"

  "I do not know yet. The 'how' does not matter; I'll tell you on paper someday."

  "And write up that handsome Lyster as the hero?"

  "Perhaps."

  Then a bend of the road brought them again in sight of the river of theKootenais. Here and there the canoes of the Indians were speeding acrossat the ferry. But one canoe alone was moving north; not very swiftly, butalmost as though drifting with the current.

  Using his field-glass, Harvey found it was as he had thought. The occupantof the solitary canoe was the tall man whose dark face had impressed thetheatrical lady so strongly. He was not using the paddle, and his chin wasresting on one clenched hand, while in the other he held something towhich he was giving earnest attention.

  It was a spray of bright-colored leaves, and the watcher dropped his glasswith a guilty feeling.

  "He brings her flowers, and gets in return only dead leaves," Harveythought, grimly. "I didn't hear a word he said to her; but his eyes spokestrongly enough, poor devil! I wonder if she sees him, too."

  And all through the evening, and for many a day, the picture remained inhis mind. Even when he wrote the story that is told in these pages, hecould never find words to express the utter loneliness of that life, as itseemed to drift away past the sun-touched ripples of water into that vast,shadowy wilderness to the north.