"Some day it will all be explained to you," Miss Scovill had said, "but for the present you are simply to learn all you can and continue to be just as nice as you have been. And meantime rest assured that somebody is vitally interested in your welfare and happiness."
The illuminating1 letter came a few days after graduation. The girls had all gone home and school was closed. Helen was alone in the Scovill home. Miss Scovill had gone away for a few days, on business.
The letter bore a postmark with a strange, Indian-sounding name: "White Lodge2." It was in a man's handwriting—evidently a man who had written much. The signature, which was first to be glanced at by the girl, read: "From your affectionate stepfather, Willis Morgan." The letter was as follows:
No doubt you will be surprised at getting this letter from one whose existence you have not suspected. I had thought to let you remain in darkness concerning me. For years I have been pleased to pay your expenses in school—glad in the thought that you were getting the best care and education that could be purchased. But my affairs have taken a bad turn. I am, to put it vulgarly, cramped3 financially. Moreover, the loneliness in my heart has become fairly overmastering. I can steel myself against it no longer. I want you with me in my declining years. I cannot leave here. I have become greatly attached to this part of the country, and have no doubt that you will be, also. Sylvan4 scenes, with a dash of human savagery5 in the foreground, form the best relief for a too-extended assimilation of books. It has been like balm to me, and will prove so to you.
Briefly6, I want you to come, and at once. A check to cover expenses is enclosed. Your school years are ended, and a life of quiet, amid scenes of aboriginal7 romance, awaits you here. Selfishly, perhaps, I appeal to your gratitude8, if the prospect9 I have held out does not prove enticing10 of itself. If what I have done for you in all these years entitles me to any return, I ask you not to delay the payment. By coming now, you can wipe the slate11 clean of any indebtedness.
Then followed directions about reaching the ranch12—the Greek Letter Ranch, the writer called it—and a final appeal to her sense of gratitude.
When Helen finished reading the letter, her heart was suffused13 with pity for this lonely man who had come thus strangely and unexpectedly into her life. Her good impulses had always prompted her strongly. Miss Scovill was away, so Helen left her a note of explanation, telling everything in detail. "I know, dear foster mother," wrote the girl, "that you are going to rejoice with me, now that I have found my stepfather. I'll be looking forward to the time when you can visit us at the Greek Letter Ranch."
Making ready for the journey took only a short time. In a few hours Helen was on her way, little knowing that Miss Scovill, on her return, was frantically14 sending out telegrams which indicated anything but a peaceful acceptance of conditions. One of these telegrams, sent to an address which Helen would not have recognized, read:
Helen enjoyed her trip through California and then eastward16 through the Northwest country to the end of the spur which pointed17 toward the reservation. From the railroad's end she went to White Lodge by stage. From White Lodge she was told she had better take a private conveyance18 to her destination. She hired a rig of a livery-stable keeper, who said he could not possibly take her beyond the Indian agency.
"Mebbe some one there'll take you the rest of the way," said the liveryman; and, accepting his hopeful view of the situation, the girl consented to go on in such indefinite fashion.
Thus it happened that a slender, white-clad young woman, with a suitcase at her feet, stood on the agency office porch, undergoing the steady scrutiny19 of four or five blanketed Indian matrons when Walter Lowell came back from lunch. In a few words Helen had explained matters, and Lowell picked up her suitcase, and, after ascertaining20 that she had had no lunch, escorted her up the street to the dining-hall.
"We have a little lunch club of employees, and guests often sit in with us," said the agent cordially. "After you eat, and have rested up a bit, I'll see that you are driven over to the—to the Greek Letter Ranch."
As a matter of fact, Lowell had to think several times before he could get the Greek Letter Ranch placed in his mind. He had fallen into the habit—in common with others in the neighborhood—of calling it Mystery Ranch. Also Willis Morgan's name was mentioned so seldom that the agent's mental gymnastics were long sustained and almost painfully apparent before he had matters righted.
"Rogers," said Lowell to his chief clerk, on getting back to the agency office, "how many years has Willis Morgan been in this part of the country?"
"Willis Morgan," echoed Rogers, scratching his head. "Oh, I know now! You mean the 'squaw professor.' He hasn't been called Morgan since he married that squaw who died five years go. There was talk that he used to be a college professor, which is right, I guess, from the number of books he reads. But when he married an Indian folks just called him the 'squaw prof.' He's been out here twelve or fifteen years, I guess. Let's see—he got those Indian lands through his wife when Jones was agent. He must have moved off the reservation when Arbuckle was agent, just before you came on."
"Did he always use a Greek letter brand on his cattle?"
"Always. He never ran many cattle. I guess he hasn't got any at all now. But what he did have he always insisted on having branded with that pitchfork brand, as the cowpunchers call it."
"I know—it's the letter Psi."
"Well, Si, or whatever other nickname it is, even the toughest-hearted old cowmen used to kick on having to put such a big brand on critters. That big pitchfork on flanks or shoulders must have spoiled many a hide for Morgan, but he always insisted on having it slapped on."
"Have the Indians always got along with him pretty well?"
"Yes, because they're afraid of him and leave him alone. It ain't physical fear, but something deeper, like being afraid of a snake, I guess. You see he knows so damn much, he's uncanny. It's the power of mind over matter. Seems funny to think of him having the biggest Indians buffaloed, but he's done it, and he's buffaloed the white folks, too. He gave it out that he wanted to be let alone, and, by jimminy, he's been let alone! I'll bet there aren't four people in the county who have seen his face in as many years."
"Did he have any children?"
"No. His wife was a pretty little Indian woman. He just married her to show his defiance21 of society, I guess. Anyway, he must have killed her by inches. If he had the other Indians scared, you can imagine how he must have terrorized her. Yet I'll bet he never raised his voice above an ordinary conversational22 tone."
Lowell frowned as he looked out across the agency street.
"Why, what's come up about Morgan?" asked Rogers.
"Oh, not such a lot," replied the agent. "It's only that there's a girl here—his stepdaughter, it seems—and she's going to make her home with him."
"Good Lord!" ejaculated the chief clerk.
"She's over at the club table now having lunch," went on Lowell. "I'm going to drive her over to the ranch. She seems to think this stepfather of hers is all kinds of a nice fellow, and I can't tell her that she'd better take her little suitcase and go right back where she came from. Besides, who knows that she may be right and we've been misjudging Morgan all these years?"
"Well, if Willis Morgan's been misjudged, then I'm really an angel all ready to sprout23 wings," observed the clerk. "But maybe he's braced24 up, or, if he hasn't, this stepdaughter has tackled the job of reforming him. If she does it, it'll be the supreme25 test of what woman can do along that line."
"What business have bachelors such as you and I to be talking about any reformations wrought26 by woman?" asked Lowell smilingly.
"Not much," agreed Rogers. "Outside of the school-teachers and other agency employees I haven't seen a dozen white women since I went to Denver three years ago. And you—why, you haven't been away from here except on one trip to Washington in the last four years."
Each man looked out of the window, absorbed in his own dreams. Lowell had forsaken27 an active career to take up the routine of an Indian agent's life. After leaving college he had done some newspaper work, which he abandoned because a position as land investigator28 for a corporation with oil interests in view had given him a chance to travel in the West. There had been a chance journey across an Indian reservation, with a sojourn29 at an agency. Lowell had decided30 that his work had been spread before him. By persistent31 personal effort and the use of some political influence, he secured an appointment as Indian agent. The monetary32 reward was small, but he had not regretted his choice. Only there were memories such as this girl brought to him—memories of college days when there were certain other girls in white dresses, and when there was music far removed from weird33 Indian chants, and the thud-thud of moccasins was not always in his ears....
Lowell rose hastily.
"They must be through eating over there," he said. "But I positively34 hate to start the trip that will land the girl at that ranch."
The agent drove his car over to the dining-hall. When Helen came out, the agency blacksmith was carrying her suitcase, and the matron, Mrs. Ryers, had her arm about the girl's waist, for friends are quickly made in the West's lonely places. School-teachers and other agency employees chorused good-bye as the automobile35 was driven away.
The girl was flushed with pleasure, and there were tears in her eyes.
"I don't blame you for liking36 to live on an Indian reservation," she said, "amid such cordial people."
"Well, it isn't so bad, though, of course, we're in a backwater here," said Lowell. "An Indian reservation gives you a queer feeling that way. The tides of civilization are racing37 all around, but here the progress is painfully slow."
"Tell me more about it, please," pleaded the girl. "This lovely place—surely the Indians like it."
"Some of them do, perhaps," said Lowell. "But they haven't been trained to this sort of thing. A lodge out there on the prairie, with game to be hunted and horses to be ridden—that would suit the most advanced of them better than settled life anywhere. But, of course, all that is impossible, and the thing is to reconcile them to the inevitable38 things they have to face. And even reconciling white people to the inevitable is no easy job."
"No, it's harder, really, than teaching these poor Indians, I suppose," agreed the girl. "But don't you find lots to recompense you?"
Lowell stole a look at her, and then he slowed the car's pace considerably39. There was no use hurrying to the ranch with such a charming companion aboard. The fresh June breeze had loosened a strand40 or two of her brown hair. The bright, strong sunshine merely emphasized the youthful perfection of her complexion41. She had walked with a certain buoyancy of carriage which Lowell ascribed to athletics42. Her eyes were brown, and rather serious of expression, but her smile was quick and natural—the sort of a smile that brings one in return, so Lowell concluded in his fragmentary process of cataloguing. Her youth was the splendid thing about her to-day. To-morrow her strong, resourceful womanhood might be still more splendid. Lowell surrendered himself completely to the enjoyment43 of the drive, and likewise he slowed down the car another notch44.
"Of course, just getting out of school, I haven't learned so much about the inevitableness of life," said the girl, harking back to Lowell's remark concerning the Indians, "but I'm beginning to sense the responsibilities now. I've just learned that it was my stepfather who kept me in that delightful45 school so many years, and now it's time for repayment46."
"Repayment seems to be exacted for everything in life," said Lowell automatically, though he was too much astonished at the girl's remark to tell whether his reply had been intelligible47. Was it possible the "squaw professor" had been misjudged all these years, and was living a life of sacrifice in order that this girl might have every opportunity? Lowell had not recovered from the astounding48 idea before they reached Talpers's place. He stopped the automobile in front of the store, and the trader came out.
"Mr. Talpers, meet Miss Ervin, daughter of our neighbor, Mr. Morgan," said the agent. "Miss Ervin will probably be coming over here after her mail, and you might as well meet her now."
Talpers bobbed his head, but not enough to break the stare he had bent49 upon the girl, who flushed under his scrutiny. As a matter of fact, the trader had been too taken aback at the thought of a woman—and a young and pretty woman—being related to the owner of Mystery Ranch to do more than mumble50 a greeting. Then the vividness of the girl's beauty had slowly worked upon him, rendering51 his speechlessness absolute.
"I don't like Mr. Talpers as well as I do some of your Indians," said the girl, as they rolled away from the store, leaving the trader on the platform, still staring.
"Well, I don't mind confiding52 in you, as I've confided53 in Bill himself, that Mr. Talpers is something over ninety per cent undesirable54. He is one of the thorns that grow expressly for the purpose of sticking in the side of Uncle Sam. He's cunning and dangerous, and constantly lowers the reservation morale55, but he's over the line and I can't do a thing with him unless I get him red-handed. But he's postmaster and the only trader near here, and you'll have to know him, so I thought I'd bring out the Talpers exhibit early."
Helen laughed, and forgot her momentary56 displeasure as the insistent57 appeal of the landscape crowded everything else from her mind. The white road lay like a carelessly flung thread on the billowing plateau land. The air was crisp with the magic of the upper altitudes. Gray clumps58 of sagebrush stood forth59 like little islands in the sea of grass. A winding60 line of willows61 told where a small stream lay hidden. The shadows of late afternoon were filling distant hollows with purple. Remote mountains broke the horizon in a serrated line. Prairie flowers scented62 the snow-cooled breeze.
They paused on the top of a hill, where, a few days later, a tragedy was to be enacted63. The agent said nothing, letting the panorama64 tell its own story.
"Oh, it's almost overwhelming," said Helen finally, with a sigh. "Sometimes it all seems so intimate, and personally friendly, and then those meadow-larks stop singing for a moment, and the sun brings out the bigness of everything—and you feel afraid, or at least I do."
Lowell smiled understandingly.
"It works on strong men the same way," he said. "That's why there are no Indian tramps, I guess. No Indian ever went 'on his own' in this big country. The tribes people always clung together. The white trappers came and tried life alone, but lots of them went queer as a penalty. The cowpunchers flocked together and got along all right, but many a sheep-herder who has tried it alone has had to be taken in charge by his folks. Human companionship out in all those big spaces is just as necessary as bacon, flour, and salt."
The girl sighed wistfully.
"Of course, I've had lots of companionship at school," she said. "Is there any one besides my stepfather on his ranch? There must be, I imagine."
"There's a Chinese cook, I believe—Wong," replied Lowell. "But you are going to find lots to interest you. Besides, if you will let me—"
"Yes, I'll let you drive over real often," laughed the girl, as Lowell hesitated. "I'll be delighted, and I know father will be, also."
Lowell wanted to turn the car around and head it away from the hated ranch which was now so close at hand. His heart sank, and he became silent as they dropped into the valley and approached the watercourse, near which Willis Morgan's cabin stood.
"Here's the place," he said briefly, as he turned into a travesty66 of a front yard and halted beside a small cabin, built of logs and containing not more than three or four rooms.
The girl looked at Lowell in surprise. Something in the grim set of his jaw67 told her the truth. Pride came instantly to her rescue, and in a steady voice she made some comment on the quaintness68 of the surroundings.
There was no welcome—not even the barking of a dog. Lowell took the suitcase from the car, and, with the girl standing65 at his side, knocked at the heavy pine door, which opened slowly. An Oriental face peered forth. In the background Lowell could see the shadowy figure of Willis Morgan. The man's pale face and gray hair looked blurred69 in the half-light of the cabin. He did not step to the door, but his voice came, cold and cutting.
"Bring in the suitcase, Wong," said Morgan. "Welcome to this humble70 abode71, stepdaughter o' mine. I had hardly dared hope you would take such a plunge72 into the primitive73."
The girl was trying to voice her gratitude to Lowell when Morgan's hand was thrust forth and grasped hers and fairly pulled her into the doorway74. The door closed, and Lowell turned back to his automobile, with anger and pity struggling within him for adequate expression.
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1
illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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sylvan
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| adj.森林的 | |
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savagery
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| n.野性 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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aboriginal
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| adj.（指动植物）土生的，原产地的，土著的 | |
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8
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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enticing
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| adj.迷人的；诱人的 | |
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slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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suffused
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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ascertaining
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的现在分词 ) | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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sprout
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| n.芽，萌芽；vt.使发芽，摘去芽；vi.长芽，抽条 | |
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24
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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investigator
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| n.研究者，调查者，审查者 | |
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sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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monetary
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| adj.货币的，钱的；通货的；金融的；财政的 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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42
athletics
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| n.运动，体育，田径运动 | |
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43
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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notch
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| n.(V字形)槽口，缺口，等级 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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46
repayment
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| n.偿还，偿还款；报酬 | |
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47
intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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48
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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50
mumble
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| n./v.喃喃而语，咕哝 | |
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51
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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52
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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53
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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54
undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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55
morale
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| n.道德准则，士气，斗志 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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58
clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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66
travesty
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| n.歪曲，嘲弄，滑稽化 | |
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67
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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68
quaintness
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| n.离奇有趣，古怪的事物 | |
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69
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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70
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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71
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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72
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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73
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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