The streets of Polson bore an air of desertion, as Cogewea wended her way down the board walk in the early morn, nodding to an occasional chance acquaintance. Indecision and anxiety suffused her usually serene face. The girl felt at a loss and the question had come to her often:

“Why did you weaken to the importunities of the Shoyahpee against your better judgment?”

She seemed to accede to his overtures however ridiculous. The shame of the past evening when she agreed to loan him money for the proposed elopement trip, haunted her; but now it appeared too late to recede. She half wished that she had pointedly refused even though it broke her heart.

Thus meditating, Cogewea came opposite the bank as it opened its doors for the day. Crossing the street, she entered and stepping to the side desk, produced from an Indian beaded handbag a cheque book and wrote feverishly. Glancing cautiously around, she handed the slip of paper to the cashier at the cage window. The official scanned it, then read it the second time, before looking up in surprise to ask:

“A thousand dollars? Do you mean to draw all this⁠—all this amount at one time?”

“Yes, that was my intention,” was the courteous reply. “Haven’t I enough on deposit to cover that cheque made payable to myself?”

“Oh, certainly, Miss McDonald; but it was my understanding that since you became of age and this money was placed to your credit by the Indian Agent, you were to draw only small amounts as you might need for immediate wants; and if you contemplated an investment, to advise with the bank. I know that I had such instructions from the Agent. There is that preferred stock of which I told you, still available at a slightly under-par value. Why not take a block and get in on the ground floor? We are only placing these shares among our known friends.”

“The dough is my own and I think that I have the right to do with it as I please!” was the spirited retort. “I happen to know something about your ‘preferred stock’ and⁠—”

“But your own Agent recommended this investment to you in this very office as you doubtless will recall.”

“Yes, I do recall but who recommends the Agent? I know what a time I had getting this money pried loose from the grasp of the Bureau, and I now intend handling it without any assistance from that bunch. I am no longer an ‘incompetent’ and in the present instance I believe that I can determine my own affairs, even to the withdrawal of my entire three thousand from your bank. While I am given control of my money, I shall be glad to consult with your firm should I contemplate any material investment⁠—but not for any ‘preferred stock.’ ”

Without further controversy the cashier counted out the amount of the cheque and handed it to her. With an acknowledgement, Cogewea left the bank with a heavier mind than she dared admit. She hurried to her companionable, though at times erratic cayuse, where left standing unhitched. Wanawish whinnied as she approached, and Bringo came forward to greet her. But for once the girl gave slight notice to her dumb friends.

Cogewea mounted and scaled the steep Polson Hill. There she paused and gazed longingly back at the little town nestling by the shimmering lake. She wondered when she would be permitted to see it again. Her feelings were altogether different from those supposedly of the happy bride-to-be. As if to smother a rising sensibility of her present questionable course, she abruptly turned Wanawish and raced down the sharp slope with reckless speed. She galloped over the smooth prairie until in sight of the Pablo Buffalo Ranch. The pasture and the high corral were alike empty. These recalled to her days passed, when she rode the range a carefree girl, with no “sweet love” weighing her down; when her heart leaped at the sensation of thundering on the flank of the stampeding herd. But now, the vision of the dust-cloud rolling up from the vast expanse, brought only a pang of regret.

Reaching Mud Creek⁠—a misnomer of a truly clear stream⁠—Wanawish showed thirst and Cogewea gave him the rein as he turned from the wooden bridge. While watching the horse take in the cool, mountain water, the girl realized that she, too, was thirsty. Dismounting, she knelt and drank. As she rose, she spied two riders on the lofty ridge overlooking the Buffalo Ranch. Mechanically she felt for her glass, only to find that in her haste it had been left at home. Although the atmosphere was clear, the distance was too great to make out with the naked eye who the horsemen were. They sat their mounts motionless, and facing towards her. As she turned to Wanawish, the thought of the money in her handbag at the saddlebow came to her. Removing her gauntlets and gazing cautiously around that no one was observing, she made a rent in her padded saddle-blanket. Into the opening she shoved the crisp bills and then deftly closed it with a hair pin. Remounting, she swung into a steady lope for Ronan. Before passing from view, she glanced at the ridge where the two riders had been observed. Only one, sentinel like, was to be seen. Both the horse and the rider appeared as immobile as though cast in bronze. Apprehensive of the missing horseman, the girl gave rein to Wanawish and sped furiously over the smooth-packed road.

Ronan was still some distance away when Cogewea came in sight of the tall elevator of the flour mill, with its gray roof and the smoke belching up in a dark column through the clear air. As she drew near, the twelve o’clock whistle, deep and sonorous, bellowed a respite to the toilers, both white and Indian. Some hurried to homes in the little village for their noon-time meals, while others sat by the creek with well filled lunch boxes. A few with more extravagant tastes, repaired to the one hotel, conducted by the same party who controlled the store, post office and livery barn⁠—the “Father of Ronan,” as he was commonly called.

Wanawish sped across the bridge, pressing hard on the bit as he was reined in at the hostelry. Cogewea sprang to the ground and was met by Densmore. Ordering her horse stalled next to his own, he accompanied her to the dining hall. He selected an isolated table and sat so as to command the door. His nervous movements and unusual self-interest, drew the attention of diners and there were low whisperings of:

“Somethin’ doin’ with them there couple!”

The meal over, Cogewea thought that Densmore exhibited unusual haste in mounting and being again off. They galloped through the “Lane”; nor did they slacken pace until near Crow Creek, where they met a train of “freighters” from Ravalli. The high seated wagons were piled with merchandise, and were strung along the road for a considerable distance. Some had trailers and were drawn by six and eight horses. Passing these, the elopers again quickened pace, coming to the big flat. Small lakes, where wild geese and ducks disported, enlivened the scene. The long necks of the birds would momentarily disappear under the surface, as they grouped for food along the shallows. Shacks, the initial domicile of the energetic homesteaders, dotted the landscape. Herds of cattle and bands of horses grazed about the plain; the latter sometimes disturbed by the flying pair. One magnificent stallion, with ears erect, gazed at them and then snorting wildly, kicked heels in the air and chased his protégées in a stampede across the far reaches of the prairie. The proud monarch ever hung in the rear, urging the laggards with stinging teeth-nips, until all were lost to view.

Down the lower road to Post Creek, the two rode at a slower pace. Densmore was far from being a perfect rider, although greatly improved over the stranger who had come to the ranch some months previous. As the wind blew aside his coat, Cogewea noticed for the first time the heavy six-gun holstered at his hip. A sun glint on the polished grip had first caught her eye.

“Why! Alfred!” she exclaimed in surprise. “I did not know that you carried a gun. I thought you were a man who never sported a weapon of any kind.”

“I⁠—I thought we might need it,” he answered in embarrassment, drawing his coat in place. “Can never tell what might happen.”

“That is true! I had never thought of that! I came away so hurriedly that I brought only my little thirty-two in my handbag.”

“Let me see your gun!”

Cogewea handed Densmore her pistol. He examined it minutely and then put it in his own pocket. Cogewea laughed uneasily as she remonstrated:

“What do you mean? You are not a two-gun man, are you?”

“Now little girl,” he returned lightly, “you do not want to carry this thing! It might get you hurt.”

“I will bet that I can handle a gun far better than you can!”

“Don’t be too sure of that, my conceited young lady! I hope that I have not practiced target shooting all summer to no avail.”

“But Alfred! Please give me back my gun! I do not like to be without it, especially at this time. It is hard telling what may happen⁠—and me with all the kale.”

“I will protect you!” he volunteered with a laugh. “And as head of the family, I am really supposed to handle the purse, am I not?”

Seemingly to meet his banter, Cogewea spoke nonchalantly, as the memory of the vanished horseman at the rock, flashed through her mind:

“Let me have both guns! I believe that I will be willing to trade you my handbag for the brace, even though they do not balance properly.”

“That would depend! How much did you bring?”

“Oh! I can buy several such toys and still be a long ways from bankruptcy. Is it a go?”

“Why do you so want both guns?”

“Jim⁠—he might follow us! You can never tell!”

“No danger! He and the boys had gone out for stray horses when I left the ranch. My excuse was that I was going to Ronan and would not be back until late. They think that you are in Polson visiting friends. No body will dream that we have eloped and after we are married, what’s the difference who cries?”

“Well, I do hope that they may not know until it is too late. I’m afraid there would be hell to pay if Jim gets wise before we find a priest.”

“But why should you want both guns in case he did follow?” he questioned suspiciously. “You seem to think more of that savage than you do of me.”

“I want your gun simply to prevent likely trouble, should Jim trail us. He is too manly to ever shoot an unarmed man in any personal altercation. He may be a savage,” she continued spiritedly, “but he has a great big heart and that is a whole lot more than a goodly part of this highly civilized nation can boast. Too many of the so-called white men are afflicted with the worst of black-heart.”

Densmore flushed deeply at this thrust, but he rejoined with an attempt at pleasantry:

“You may still maintain your torture stake if you will, but I prefer holding on to my gun so long as there is such manifest danger of Injuns going on the warpath.”

Though ill at ease, Cogewea accepted the situation without further protest. So deeply engrossed had they been in discussion, that their mounts took advantage and stopped at the creek to allay their thirst. After crossing the stream, Densmore dismounted and drank. Leading his horse, he walked along the road for a short distance, to a stock trail breaking into the brush. Here he paused, proposing that they stop among the trees and let their horses rest for a time. Cogewea, still visioning the horsemen at the rock, demurred; but when her companion pointed out that the west bound train through Ravalli was not due until near seven o’clock and that it would be far better for them to remain in semi-seclusion until near that time than chance detection and possible detention at the station, she reluctantly acquiesced. Accordingly a grassy plot was sought just within the woods, where they drew the saddles and leaving the horses to graze at the end of the trailing ropes, sat down in the shade.

No definite plans had been agreed upon as to their future course, further than boarding the evening train west at Ravalli. Densmore was for going to San Francisco, while Cogewea named a nearer coast city as their immediate destination. Their ideas also differed as to time of return to the ranch. Cogewea was most anxious about the Stemteemä; to get back and make an early peace with her ancient parent was her deepest concern. Densmore, scoffing at this, interposed:

“The Stemteemä should be the least of our worries. Old age, like childhood, is susceptible of petting. I am afraid,” he added with a short laugh, “of being shot up by a disappointed foreman.”

“You have nothing to dread from Jim, once we are united,” assured the girl. “I know him to be a man and he will never place a stumble in our way.”

From this, the conversation drifted again to the topic of destination; disclosing the amount of money which Cogewea had brought. The Easterner expressed surprise that she had ventured to openly draw that amount and carry it alone from Polson. Cogewea assured him that all the cowpunchers were her friends and that there had been nothing to fear.

“Look!” she exclaimed, procuring her saddle blanket and removing the hairpin. “No body would have thought to look there for money, even had they staged a holdup.”

Densmore agreed that the hiding place would most likely have proven effective had he attempted the role of bandit. He soon learned of her balance in the bank, which opened the subject of his deepest interest. He casually asked about her live stock on both ranch and range, and was astounded when informed that aside from the two cayuses they were riding, she had none. Not fully grasping the import of this appalling declaration, he fairly gasped:

“Why! don’t you own most of the stock at the ranch, and all the horses and cattle of the roundup, and those sold? Were they not yours? Are not the boys working for you?”

“Those hoofs all mine⁠—boys working for me? Who has been stuffing you! man?”

“Celluloid Bill and Rodeo Jack told me that you were a rich woman; that you owned practically all the stock on the range and had vast tracts of land.”

“Bill and Rodeo? It was some of their wild pranks! They have lied to you! I am far from being a rich woman. All the stock you saw at the ranch, belongs to my brother-in-law, John Carter. The H-B brand is also his property. The three thousand dollars I recently came in possession of, was inherited. Aside from my eighty acre allotment, which hardly counts for much, this three thousand is all that I have.”

For several moments the Easterner remained speechless, scarce able to realize the full force of this astounding revelation. After all, was his dream of golden wealth to be disenchanted as a mere halo of the rainbow of myth? Surely! the Indian girl was joking, merely testing his fidelity of purpose. His voice was husky when he again spoke:

“Cogewea, you can not mean that I believe all this, can you? This is hardly a time for jesting.”

It was Cogewea’s turn to be puzzled. What was the riddle? Was this polite and polished Shoyapee, after all, a mere adventurer, a gross money hunter? This passed through her mind before she answered rather tersely:

“I am not jesting! You would not want me to deceive you, would you? I do not understand!”

“Then, if you are telling the truth, I have already been woefully deceived and that through you,” was the savage retort. “Those boys never hatched such fabrications of themselves. They were made at your instance and the only puzzle is just why you are now blocking your own game by thus prematurely disclosing facts. Your obtuse intellect, being able to contain but the one idea, has been your undoing. But what else could be expected from a nest of coppery vipers? Brazen blackmail, and I am tempted to turn you over to the proper authorities to be dealt with according to the just laws of our land! You may be thankful that I am letting you off so easy.”

He had risen to his feet and before the astounded girl could divine his action, he had seized her saddle blanket and ripping out the folded bank bills, pocketed them. With stunning effect the truth dawned upon her that she had not only been betrayed, but was also being openly robbed by her professed lover and supposed protector. Enraged and smarting with humiliation at such duplicity, she sprang up, laying a detaining hand on his arm. With an oath he freed himself, dealing her a blinding blow in the face. Grasping her by the shoulders, he shook her viciously as he warned in a low, menacing tone:

“You had as well understand at once that I am standing no foolishness from you! The more quiet you are the better it is going to be for you. I am giving you unwarranted consideration. Many a man would deal with you differently and my ultimate actions are going to be governed by your own. You can always depend on a desperate man doing desperate things and perhaps if the truth was known you would find that I have not been too squeamish on other occasions.”

“But you do not dare take my money like this! liar! thief! robber! blackguard that you are! The law⁠—”

“Is absolutely helpless to help you!” he scoffed. “The law is of the white man’s make, interpreted by the white man, made to talk by the white man’s money. With a comparatively small amount of this which you have so generously bestowed upon me, I can make the law talk! You have no witnesses! It would be my word against yours; a white gentleman’s against an Injun squaw’s. What would you do? Don’t think that I am not going to take advantage of the situation.”

“I will have you arrested at Ravalli!”

“No, I hardly think so! If your horse should happen to have his leg broke⁠—”

“Oh! please Alfred! Take the money and go but do not hurt my Wanawish! I will promise not to attempt following you. I will be only too glad to see you go! Oh! the ways of the Shoyahpee!”

“Your word would be great guarantee!” he snarled mockingly. “I am taking no chance nor am I going to waste further time in any palaver with you. Come on! and see how cleverly I can disable that fine steed of yours.”

With this, he jerked her rudely about and started towards the two horses, still grazing. Cogewea apparently resigned, moved unresistingly. Unaccustomed to the approach of man, Wanawish lifted his head in air, and with forward-pricked ears, emitted a shrill snort of alarm. Cogewea, alert, snatched Densmore’s hat with her one free hand and hurled it at the animal, emitting at the same time a shrill scream. The startled horse whirled and darted into a nearby thicket where he was lost to view. Cogewea laughed aloud.

“You damned ed⁠—!”

Choking with rage, Densmore supplemented the vile epithet with another brutal blow in the face. Dragging the now dazed girl, he secured his own horse, returning with it and his captive to where the saddles were lying. His eyes were those of the murderer, as he again addressed her:

“Now, my fine lady! another screech out of you and I do not promise what might not happen. Your little trick has saved that horse of yours, but there is another way of playing safe. Maybe by the time you rest here a few hours, perhaps a few days, in seclusion, you will have had time to ponder on the absurdity of contending against your betters. You are in my power and I am certainly going to use it effectively.”

“Yes, you have me in your power, but how have you accomplished that boast? Give me back my gun! You may keep your big one but I will not fear you, though I am a woman.”

Craven as he was, Densmore winced at this challenge. All the venom of his perverted nature found vent in his retort:

“Bosh! you squaw! And to think that I was ordered from a smoke-dinged lair of your ‘breed’! I am but half squaring accounts; and when you get back to that dear old grandmother of yours, you can tell her how nice the white man was in his dealings with you. You may then feel like talking, for that tongue of yours is now going to have a rest, if I meet my guess.”

Cogewea loftily disdained reply to this tirade of abuse. Knowing the futility of resistance, she submitted without a word of protest as he securely bound her to a cottonwood, twining the rope about her from neck to foot. An effective gag was made from her own scarf. Completing his task to his own satisfaction, Densmore again addressed her, assuming a mock air of apologetic politeness:

“Goodbye! little sweetheart! O statuette in bronze with a wildwood setting! How superb! and the sun fast sinking to rest. A merry time and pleasant dreams as you hear the coyotes squalling tonight. I tried to give you a good time the past summer, and I feel that I am really entitled to this small pittance which you have so kindly permitted me to appropriate. I hope that you are generous spirited enough to concede that you have had value received. I am placing your toy-gun here in your own pocket, the cartridges considerately extracted of course. Give my regards to that coppery hided lover of yours⁠—should you ever see him⁠—and know that with your opportunity to convey this last message for me, I will be far out of the state and among really civilized folks. After all, Densmore the ‘tenderfoot’ has not fared so badly financially, considering the few months that he has sojourned in the wilds, do you think? Goodbye! goodbye!”

Then hastily saddling his horse, he mounted and turned towards the highway, calling back over his shoulder:

“That you may retain your deep respect for my integrity, you will find this horse, which you have so graciously loaned me, at the livery in Ravalli. Of course this is considerate of me and I know that you will appreciate the courtesy. So long!”

Cogewea, her limbs already aching from the cut of the overdrawn lariat, heard the clatter of pounding hoofs, as the false Shoyahpee fled from the scene of his most hellish duplicity.