The last rays of the sun had faded on the western horizon when the two supplicants drew near the firelit teepee. Cogewea raised a finger to her lips for silence. For a moment they stood before she stooped to the low curtained entrance. The aged occupant welcomed her grandchild in Indian silence, but when her gaze met the grey one of the hated Shoyahpee, her own kindled and a frown knit her brow. This did not escape Cogewea, who, pointing across the fire to the familiar buffalo robe, addressed Densmore:

“Signs are unfavorable. Be seated and have patience. It means a lot of humoring to accomplish our object.”

She smiled in an attempt at cheerfulness, despite the manifest displeasure of the Stemteemä. Her heart was too full of confiding love to note the latent gleam of contempt which lit the face of her companion. Seating herself by the side of the grandmother, Cogewea took the wrinkled hand in her own warm clasp and remained in silence for a time. When she spoke, it was in their native tongue, and there was a slight tremor in her voice.

“Many snows have left with the Stemteemä their wisdom, and her mind, like the mountain water is clear. Once young, she will understand, for my thoughts are those of youth. I have come to tell you the news⁠—to ask your permission. The Shoyahpee here has asked me to be his in marriage by the priest. I am telling you that you may bless me with the Great Indian Spirit.”

The grandmother did not answer. A strange light came into the piercing eyes as she gazed unperturbed at the fire, sending its sparks up the open smoke-flue. The frail hand slipped from the stronger grasp; the furrowed face was set and stern, as she slowly turned to the despised pale face. Covertly she reread the sordid character which others seemed not to understand. And as she remained in seeming stoic indifference, Cogewea made another appeal:

“Oh! my Stemteemä! I love him so! Can you not tell me that it is well? I know that you do not like the Shoyahpee, but it is your own Cogewea who pleads!”

The voice of the aged woman was vibrant with maternal solicitude as she spoke:

“My Cogewea thinks too well of the pale faced man to know her own mind. Her judgment is sick. I am afraid to say that it is good.”

“Strong love brings happiness in marriage, filling all the home with joy,” urged the girl. “We would not yet go to the priest’s for some time; for several sundowns. I have studied my own mind. Why should you be afraid?”

“There are voices in the night and I have heard! Your white father went away; he cared not for his children. It is a debt to your dead mother that I guard you while life remains in me. It is for your own benefit that I do not want you to marry this Shoyahpee. I can feel⁠—I know he means wrong by you. He has blinded your eyes and you can not see that his heart is bad. I can not bear that in time he will grow tired of you and cast you aside for some pale faced squaw as the many have done in the past. Your fate would be that of my princess aunt! A spirit weeps when a budding flower is crushed.”

Save for the scarce audible purr of the low blazing fire, the ensuing stillness was overburdening. When Cogewea again pressed her suit, it was but half-heartedly:

“I know that the Stemteemä’s judgment is always good, but I cannot think the Shoyahpee bad. If I only knew! Oh! why is there evil in the world?”

The reply of the Stemteemä was earnest and pathetically appealing:

“Remember the sorrow of my poor friend, Green-blanket Feet! No! my child! Anything else. I would willingly give my remaining snows, if it would add to your happiness; but to consent to this marriage which will bring heart aches and ruin to you, I can not! I am afraid to see a bright star within the lodge of the night-sun.”52

The girl shrank back into the shadows to hide her tears of disappointment. The ancient woman rose to her feet, the light of prophesy on her brow. With arms uplifted as if to ward off an impending blow, she continued:

“I have consulted the spirits and I have seen in a dream that the morning of the sunlit trail my Cogewea would choose, is short and shadowy. But its evening reaches far into the wintry night of desolation, where the vision is vague. I behold the flowers withered by a midsummer frost and the grasses scorched as by fire. The song of the wood-bird trills on my ear with sadness and the murmur of the waters are fraught with grief. The young doe, torn by the blood appeased cougar, flees helpless and forlorn. O my grandchild! Heed the warning of the Stemteemä and avoid the Shoyahpee as you would the coiled rattlesnake.”

The venerable squaw sank to her robes, showing no visible perturbation. Cogewea sat rigid, seemingly oblivious of her surroundings. Several moments elapsed before the stillness was broken. It was Densmore who spoke:

“Well! what did she say?”

“Just as I thought,” answered the girl listlessly. “The Stemteemä has had a vision which troubles her. She has refused.”

“Refused!” he exclaimed in a tone of marked surprise and ill-concealed chagrin. “In‑deed! And why has she refused?”

“You are a Shoyahpee! She has no confidence in the white man. Her ‘no’ is final. It is useless to⁠—”

“Cogewea!” broke in the suitor abruptly. “If I could only convince you that I mean right by you. Why listen to the idle prattle of a childish and ignorant old squaw?”

“Go! forked tongued Shoyahpee! A trapper of women! Go! go! go!”

The arm of the old grandmother was outstretched, pointing sternly to the blanketed doorway. A wave of anger and fierce resentment came to the baffled man as he gained his feet. For an instant he glared at the determined woman, so scornfully indicating the exit. Silently he left the teepee, humiliated; but more determined than ever in his designs.

“The accursed she-savage!” he muttered as he gained the outer air, grinding his teeth in impotent rage. “To order me from her beggar’s hovel, as if I were a dog! The root eating old squaw! Looking down on the white man who has ever made a plaything of her race! Bear witness! ye everlasting hills! I will get even with this proud nest of mixed vipers, if it takes half a life time! Beware! Mother Buzzard!” he hissed, shaking a clenched hand at the shadowy lodge. “I will yet pluck your dear fledgling and return it to you so soiled that your own foul wing will refuse it shelter! You have yet to learn that the master courts not favor of his slaves!”

Snarling, and coyote-like, he slunk into the blackness of the night.

“Stemteemä!” pleaded Cogewea. “You have crushed my heart. Can you not change your mind? Can you not like him just a little bit for my sake?”

“The wind changes its course and the hunter must regulate his steps accordingly. The star which guides the night traveler over a strange trail must ever remain unmoved. The mind of the Stemteemä is formed!”

“Oh! you cannot think the Shoyahpee so bad!”

“I hate him as a snake! He crawls in the grass with poison fangs! He lurks by the bubbling spring to strike with blight the heart of the confiding Indian maiden! He hides in the darkness to catch her unaware! He is a trapper of women! The eagle loves the fawn because its flesh is tender! His plumage may be beautiful, but beware of the rending talons and beak! If you marry in your own class, the mixed blood, I will gladly bless you with the Great Indian Spirit. I will divide with you my money which I am to receive from the Big White Chief for the forests belonging to my ancestors. I will give you horses and cattle. But if you take this Shoyahpee, I will forget that I ever had a grandchild.”

Stemteemä smoothed the little brown hand, but it lay limp and lifeless within her own. During the rest of her stay, Cogewea showed none of her old-time spirit of gaiety. Tears filled her eyes and suppressed sobs heaved her breast. The truly tender hearted grandmother was grieved and tried to comfort her, but she was firm in her determination to oppose the hated Shoyahpee of the “luring voice.” Her devoted love for her favorite grandchild forbade any compromise. Death would be preferable to a marriage with such a man.

With hardly a word of parting to the Stemteemä, Cogewea lifted the door flap and went out into the cool night air. Her heart seemed lead. She knew that the grandmother meant right in her opposition, but she could not overcome the dreadful thought of parting with the pleasing Easterner. She halted outside the teepee and lifted her face to the eastern sky, as though in prayer, or appeal. The moon was just peeping over the Rockies.

“Oh! the same old moon that has shone over my happiness now seems to laugh at my sorrow! It must ever light different trails for the Indian and the Shoyahpee! Fate has dealt me a blow, such as I never thought could come!”

Her reverie was interrupted by Densmore coming from the shadows. They turned toward the house and went out of ear shot of the teepee.

“Cogewea! you are not going to let a little thing like that interfere with our marriage, are you?”

“Oh! I do not know!” she answered dazedly. “Don’t you think it best that we try forget the past and start a new life of other interests? I believe it would be better for both of us.”

“Now look here! You make things just miserable by thinking it wrong for the whites and Indians to intermarry. You must remember that you are only part Indian, and what is the difference so long as we love each other what the third party thinks?”

“Yes! that may be true but I have family ties to consider. The word of my Stemteemä has been law to me all my life. I have coaxed her into letting me do things against her wishes, but I never deliberately disobeyed her; and now I have not the heart to do this without her full consent.”

“Do not be foolish! Do not get that into your little head, poor child!” He attempted to embrace her but she held him off. “I am sure that everything will come out all right, if only we get married. What can your people do else than compromise and permit things to go just as all others have done? A daughter elopes, comes home in tears and asks forgiveness. The old man usually goes into a rage, while the dear mamma comes to the rescue with the Bible, reads the admonitory verse of ‘go and sin no more,’ and the commendatory about ‘forgiving thy neighbor,’ and lo! everything is smoothed over like icing on a cake. Your grandmother will forget her objections and maybe make you a handsome wedding present when she sees how happy you are with me. She means right, the good old soul; and I will have her loving me fit to kill before many days, after once I am really in the family.”

Cogewea remained silent, evidently debating within herself the proper course to pursue. Noting this indication of progress, the arch conspirator continued:

“The Stemteemä is naturally solicitous about your future welfare and I admire her for the stand she takes. But her deep anxiety prevents her from seeing the true conditions. You should remember, too, that your grandmother is very old and incapable of understanding modern ideas and the changing conditions as can a younger person whose mind is not burdened with a century of snows. After all, is it not the inalienable right, as recognized in all reason, for everyone to choose their own path in life? In pursuing this prerogative, you are not reflecting on the wisdom of the well meaning grandmother, nor are you wholly casting her aside. Even the profoundest of philosophers are sometimes mistaken, and why may she not be, especially when swayed by such strong racial antipathy, even though admitting that such may be well founded? What do you say? Let’s elope! Go tomorrow⁠—or tonight⁠—if we can effect arrangements. What is your answer?”

Swayed by a surge of conflicting emotions, this girl of a “branded” sphere, exclaimed pathetically:

“Could it⁠—will everything come out all right⁠—do you think? Will Stemteemä forgive me⁠—take me back again⁠—do you think?”

“Why of course! little sweetheart! You are only nervous tonight. Our grandmother will forgive both of us and will be glad to do so when she hears that you are Mrs. Alfred Densmore instead of⁠—”

“Oh! will she? Will she really do that? Do you honestly think it right to elope⁠—to sneak away and be married?”

“Sure it is right, and we have Scriptures as well as examples throughout all nature for such course. Do not hesitate! I love you and I want to protect you from the cold, uncharitable criticisms of this ungenerous world. I can not do this as we now are. Let’s go get married in any way that you wish.”

Cogewea’s words came hot and fervid, as she spoke without her old self-confidence and balance of mind:

“Perhaps there are times when one should possess the courage of self-assertion, but should it be to the exclusions of all admonitions? If so, then the quicker it is over the better! But I can ill endure the suspense⁠—this haunting dread of my Stemteemä’s lasting disapproval. Oh! if I only knew! My Indian Spirit tells me that I am stepping wrong; that I am leaving the trail marked for me by inevitable decree! But my white blood calls to see the world⁠—to do⁠—to live⁠—I⁠—I⁠—Oh; God of my ancestors!” she cried, with face lifted to the star-emblazoned Heaven. “Keep and comfort my dear Stemteemä should I linger away!”

Then turning to the anxious Easterner, she said simply:

“When shall we go?”

The wily plotter could have shouted his triumph. But suppressing his emotion, he affected to ponder on the problem involved in her interrogation. His reply was abstractedly:

“I must again tell you that I have only a few dollars immediately available and nothing adequate to our probable needs in view of any prolonged stay abroad. Under the circumstances, would you consider using your money as talked of the other day? I will return it with double the amount. You will,” he added in a low, ingratiating laugh, “have me under the domestic whip, in that you advanced the first family loan.”

He drew her to him and essayed to implant a kiss on the enticing lips, but she shrank away. Cogewea was again wavering. Perhaps she should resist this man? There still broke on her ear the snapping of the ill-omened rock at the sweat house; and the Stemteemä’s vision of the young doe was ever passing before her eyes. But not for long was she undecided. The blood of youth is warm and love is blindly confiding. Her answer came low and cautious, as if fearful of lurking danger.

“Yes! I have the money but it is in the bank. We can not go tonight! We will wait till tomorrow.”

Densmore secretly rejoiced that the friendly shadows were conducive to concealment of his exultation. His sordid dream of wealth was materializing. Of all the innumerable schemes which he had “put over”⁠—this had been the “easiest.” A light marriage ceremony⁠—acquirement of property title⁠—accidental drowning while pleasure boating⁠—fatal shooting accident while hunting⁠—sudden heart failure⁠—or safer still⁠—the divorce court. In mad ecstacy he again unsuccessfully attempted to kiss. Oh! the ways of the Shoyahpee!

Glancing upward, Cogewea started visibly. The moon appeared to frown his disapproval. At the gate Densmore turned back while the girl hurried into the house. She felt amazement at her own action.

Down at the bunkhouse Jim, with his ever quick eye, marked the gleam of satisfaction which suffused the face of the tenderfoot as he came into the light of the solitary lamp which always burned until the last of the boys had turned in. Densmore was whistling a lively air, and the foreman, perhaps glad of the excuse, called sharply:

“Hey! there feller! stop that dam’ noise! Prowlin’ aroun’ half the night and comin’ home a whistlin’ ain’t no joke for tired boys who want their needed sleep. You savey them there words?”

Although in the midst of a stanza, the Easterner very discreetly ceased his warbling. He vouchsafed no reply, but disrobing, blew out the lamp and slid into the bunk. Gloatingly he lay, planning the trip for the next day with the breed girl. With supreme elation he contemplated the discomfiture of his haughty, copper-skinned rival; when he should learn of the success of the hated tenderfoot.