Raymond Evelyn
The Sun Maid: A Story of Fort Dearborn

“Well, Kitty girl, you may not have sense, but you’ve got what’s better – that’s gumption. And that’s Chicago, is it?”

“Yes. I hope you like it.”

“I’ve got to, whether or no. I’m in awful trouble, Kitty Briscoe, an’ it’s all your fault.”

“What can you mean?”

“Abel – Abel – ”

“Yes – yes! What is it?”

“Ever sence you run away he’s been pinin’ to run after you. Said the house wasn’t home no more. ’Twasn’t; though I wouldn’t let on to him. We’ve kept gettin’ comfortabler off, an’ I jawed him from mornin’ to night to make him contented. But he wouldn’t listen. Got so he wouldn’t work home if he could help it, but lounged round the neighbors’. Got hankerin’ to go somewheres, an’ keep tavern, like his father afore him. Now, we’ve got burnt out – ”

“Burned out! Oh, Mercy, that is trouble, indeed! Tell me – No, wait. Let us go and get something to eat first; and what were you intending to do with that load of stuff?”

“Ship it East, if I can. I’ve heard there was consid’able that business bein’ done. Or sell it to the Fort folks.”

“I think they’ll be glad of it; they are always needing everything. I’ll go with you there, and your team can be left there, too, till Abel comes.”

“Abel! You don’t think I’d leave him to manage business, do you?”

“I thought you said he was now staying behind to sell out – to ‘manage.’”

“He’s stayin’ to try. There’s a big difference ’twixt tryin’ an’ doin’. He can’t sell, not easy. And some day, when this whim of his is over, we’ll go back an’ settle again, or move farther on. It’s gettin’ ruther crowded where we be for comfort, these days.”

“Crowded? Are there many new neighbors?”

“Lots. Some of ’em ain’t more ’n a mile away, an’ I call that too close for convenience. Don’t like to have folks pokin’ their noses into my very door-yard, so to speak.”

“How will you endure it here, where, according to your ideas, the houses are so very close?”

“I don’t expect to like it. But, pshaw! They be thick, ain’t they? I declare it makes me think of out East, an’ our village; only that wasn’t built on the bottomless pit, like this.”

“This is the Fort. After you’ve finished your business with the officer in charge, we’ll go home and get our dinner.”

The stranger observed with surprise and some pride the great respect with which this girl, who had once been under her own care, was treated by all she met. The few soldiers on duty that morning saluted her with a smile and military precision, while the women hailed her coming with exclamations of:

“Oh, Kitty! You here? I’m so glad; for I wanted to ask you about my work”; or: “Say, Kit! There are a lot of new newspapers, only a week old, that I’ve hidden for you to read first before the others get hold of them.”

One called after her, as they started homeward:

“How are the sick ones to-day?”

“What did she mean?” demanded Mercy.

“Oh, that house on the edge of the village is a sort of hospital and school combined. I am there most of the time, though my real home is with the Littlejohns, just as it has always been; though the Doctor is not rich, as you fancied, in anything save wisdom and goodness.”

“You’re a great scholar now, Kitty, I s’pose – could even do figurin’ an’ writin’ letters.”

“I can do that much without being a ‘scholar.’ I’ve learned all sorts of things that came my way, from civil engineering – enough to survey lots for people – to a little Greek. The surveying was taught me by a man who was in our sick-room, and in gratitude for the care we gave him. It’s very useful here.”

“Can you sing, or play music?”

“I always sang, you know; and I can play the violin to guide the hymns ‘in meeting.’”

“What’s that? A fiddle – to hymns!”

“Yes. Why not, since it’s the only instrument we have?”

“My land! You’ll be dancin’ at worship next!”

“Maybe. There are religious people who dance at their services. But here we are. This is the Doctor’s house, and you’ll meet Wahneenah.”

“Wahneeny! You don’t tell me that good, pious parson is consortin’ with that bad-tempered Indian squaw!”

“Wait, Mercy. You must not speak like that of her, nor think so. She is as my very own mother. She is nobility itself. Everybody acknowledges that. I want there should be peace, even if there can’t be love, between you two. It’s better, isn’t it, to understand things in the beginning?”

“Hmm! You can speak your mind out yet, I see. But that’s all right. I don’t care, child. I don’t care. It does my old eyes good just to look at you; an’, for once, I’ll ’low Abel was right in wantin’ to move out here. I’m lookin’ for him ’fore night, by the way. But hold on! Who’s that out in the back yard, with feathers in his hair, an’ a blue check shirt, grinnin’ like a hyena, an’ a knife stickin’ out his pocket? Wait till I get hold of him, my sake!”

Mercy’s words poured out without breathing-space or stop, and the Sun Maid laughed as she replied:

“Why, that’s only Osceolo. Do you know him?”

“Kitty Briscoe! All the wild horses in Illinois can’t make me believe no different but ’twas him set our barn afire!”

“When? He’s not been away – for some days.”

“Wait till he catches sight of me!”

But when the young Indian did turn around, and saw the pair watching him, he coolly walked toward them, regarding Mercy as if she were an utter stranger, and one whom he was rather pleased to meet.

“Friend of yours, Sun Maid? Glad to see her.”

“Glad to see me, be you? Wait till Abel Smith comes an’ identifies you. Then see which side the laugh’s on, you – you – ”

“Osceolo is my name, ma’am.”

Foreseeing difficulties, the girl guided her guest into the kitchen, where Wahneenah was preparing dinner, and where the Indian woman greeted her old acquaintance with no surprise and, certainly, without any of the effusiveness that, for once, rather marked Mercy’s manner toward her former “hired girl.”

“Well, it’s a real likely house, now, ain’t it? I’d admire to see the minister. It’s years since I saw one. Is he about?”

Kitty answered:

“Yes. He is studying. I rather hate to disturb him; but at dinner you will meet him.”

“Studying! Studying what? Why, I thought he was an old man.”

“He is. So old, I sometimes fear we will not have him with us long.”

“What’s the use learnin’ anything more, then?”

“One can never know too much, I fancy. Just at present he is writing a dictionary of the Indian dialects, so far as he has been able to obtain them.”

“The – Indian – language! He wouldn’t be so silly, now come!”

“He is just so wise. It is a splendid work. I am proud to be his helper, even by just merely copying his papers.”

“Well! You could knock me down with a feather! One thing – I sha’n’t never set under his preachin’. I wouldn’t demean myself. The idee!”

“Mercy, do you remember the red-covered Bible? Have you it still?”

“Course. I wouldn’t let anything happen to that. It was a reward of merit. It’s wrote in the front: ‘To Mercy Balch, for being a Good Girl.’ That was me afore I was married. It’s in my carpet-bag. I mean to have it buried with me. I wouldn’t never sp’ile it by handlin’.”

“I hope you’ll use it now, for it’s so easy to get another. The Doctor will give you one at any time. The Bible Society in the East furnishes all he needs.”

Dinner was promptly ready, and, after it was over, the Sun Maid carried her old friend away with her to the government building, which was not only hospital, but schoolhouse and land-office all in one. Everything here was so new and interesting to Mercy that surprise kept her silent; until, happening to glance through the window, she beheld a rough-looking man approaching on horseback.

“Pshaw! there’s Abel! Wait an’ see him stick where I stuck!” she chuckled. “Well, he sold out sudden, didn’t he? He’d better come in the wagon, but he ’lowed he’d enjoy a ride all by himself. I reckon he’s had it. See him stare and splash! There he goes! See that old nag flounder!”

Kitty sprang up and ran to welcome him, the heartiest of love in her clear tones.

“Why, bless my soul! If I thought it could be, I should say it was my own lost little Kit!”

As he gazed his rugged face grew beautiful in its wondering joy.

“Oh, Abel! That’s the way Chicago receives her new citizens! She plants them so deep in the mud that they can’t get away! But wait. I’ll help you out the same way I did Mercy, and then I’ll get my arms about your neck, you dear old Abel!”

“Help me out? Not much! Not when there’s such a pretty girl a few feet away waitin’ to kiss my homely face!” and, with a spring that was marvellous to see, the woodsman leaped from his horse and landed on the higher sod beside his “Kit.”

“Well, well! To think it! Just to think it once! Well, well, well! How big you are, Kit! My, my, my; and as sweet to look at as a locust tree in bloom, with your white frock, an’ all. I’ve got here at last! I can’t scarce believe it. And, lassie, are you as close-mouthed as you used to be when you made a promise? Then – don’t tell Mercy; but —I done it a-purpose!”

“Did what? Let us get the poor horse out of the mud before we talk.”

“Shucks! He ain’t worth pullin’ out. If he ain’t horse enough to help himself, let him stay there a spell, an’ think it over. He’ll flounder round – ”

“You don’t know our mud, Abel.”

“He’s all right. He’s helpin’ himself. He’s makin’ a genuine effort. A man – or horse – that does that is sure to win. That’s how I put it to myself. After I’d wrastled with the subject up hill an’ down dale, till I couldn’t see nothin’ else in the face of natur’, I done it. Out in the East, where I come from, they’d ’a’ had me up for it; an’ I don’t know but they will here. But I had to, Kit, I had to. I was dead sick an’ starvin’ for a sight of you an’ the boy, an’ mis’able with blamin’ myself that I hadn’t treated you different when I had you, so you wouldn’t have run away. You was a master hand at that business, wasn’t you, girl? I hope you’ve quit now, though.”

“I think so. Here I was born, and here I hope to stay. All my runnings have begun and ended here. But what did you do, Father Abel?”

“Oh, Sis! that name does me good. Promise you’ll never tell, – not till your dyin’ day.”

“I can’t promise that; but I’ll not tell if I can help it.”

“Well, you always had a tender conscience. Yet I can trust your love better ’n ary promise. Well —I – burnt – it!”

“Burned it? Your house? Your home? Yours and Mercy’s? Why – Abel!”

The pioneer squared his mighty shoulders, and faced her as a defiant child might an offended mother.

“Yes, I did. The house, the bed-quilts, the antiquated bedstead, the whole endurin’ business. It was the only way. Year after year she’d keep naggin’ for me to move on further into the wilderness. Me, that was starvin’ for folks, an’ knew she was! It was just plumb lonesomeness made her what she is: a nagger. So, at last – you’ve heard about worms turnin’, hain’t you? I watched, an’ when she’d gone trudgin’ off on a four-mile tramp, pretendin’ somebody’s baby was sick, but really meanin’ she was that druv to hear the sound of another woman’s voice, I took pity on her – an’ myself – an’ set fire to that hateful old heirloom of a bedstead; an’ whilst it was burnin’ I just whipped out the old fiddle, an’ I played – my! how I played! Every time a post fell into the middle, I just danced. ‘So much nearer folks!’ I thought. And the rag-carpet an’ the nineteen-hunderd-million-patch-bedspread – Kit, I’ve set there, day after day, an’ seen Mercy cuttin’ up whole an’ decent rags, an’ sewin’ ’em together again, till I’ve near gone stark mad. Fact. I used to wonder if it wasn’t a sort of craziness possessed her to do that foolishness. Now, it’s all over. She lays the fire to an Indian feller that I’ve spoke fair to, now an’ again, an’ that had been round our way huntin’ not long before. I don’t know where he come from, an’ I never asked him. He never told. Pretended he couldn’t talk Yankee. Don’t know as he could, but he could talk chicken or little pig fast enough. Leastways, I missed such after he’d been there. Well, it wasn’t him. It was – me! I burnt the bedstead, an’ now we’re free folks!”

“But, Abel, why not have brought the bedstead with you, if she loved it so? Why destroy – ”

“Sissy, you don’t know Mercy – not as I do. It was that furniture kept her. So long as she had it, so long as she could kind of boast it over her neighbors, there she’d set. We couldn’t have moved it. She near worried herself into her grave gettin’ it into the wilderness, first off, an’ she ain’t so young now as she was then. She’d ruther lost a leg than had it scratched. I saved that load of feed, an’ the ox team, an’ the old horse. Yes, an’ my fiddle. Mercy’s got money. She had it hid. I’m goin’ to settle here an’ keep tavern, if I can. If not here, then somewheres else. Anywhere where there’s folks. Trees are nice; prairies are nice; a clearin’ of your own is nice; but human natur’ is nicer. Don’t tell Mercy, though, or there’ll be trouble! Now, Kit, where’s Gaspar?”

“Oh, Abel! Only the dear Lord knows!”

CHAPTER XVII.
A DAY OF HAPPENINGS

“Abel! Abel Smith! Here I am. Right here, in our little Kitty’s own house. How’d you get along? Did the man buy?”

“Shucks!” groaned the pioneer, as these words reached him where he stood beside the Sun Maid, eager to hear what she could tell him of the lad Gaspar. “Shucks! I’ve had a right peaceful sort of day, me and old Dobbin, and I’d most forgot it couldn’t last. Say, Kit, you look like a girl could do a’most ary thing she tried to. Just put your shoulder to the wheel, won’t you, and shut the power off Mercy’s tongue. Tell her ’tain’t the fashion for women to talk much or loud, not in big settlements like this. She’s death on the fashion, Mercy is. Why, that last gown of hers, cut out a piece of calico a neighbor brought from the East – you’d ought to see it. She got hold a picture-book, land knows when or where, and copied one the pictures. Waist clean up to her neck, it’s so short, and sleeves big enough to make me a suit of clothes. Fact! Wait till you see it. She’s a sight, I tell you. But so long ’s she thinks it’s a touch beyond, why she’s happy. But don’t let her talk so much. ’Tain’t proper; not in settlements.”

The Sun Maid set her head on one side and regarded her old friend critically; then frankly, if laughingly, remarked:

“Abel, you dear, you can beat Mercy talking, by a great length. It’s funny to hear you blaming her for the very thing you do. But I like it. You can’t guess how I like it, and how it brings back my childish days in the forest. Now come in and get something to eat. Then we can have another talk.”

“I ain’t hungry. I had some doughnuts in my saddle-bags, and I munched them along the road. Say, Kit. Don’t tell Mercy; but I didn’t try to sell. Just put the question once, so to satisfy her when she asked. We hain’t no need. She’s got a lot of money in a buckskin bag tied round her waist. The land’s all right. It’s a good investment. I’ll let it stand. This country is bound to grow. Some day it will be worth a power, and then I’ll sell out, if I’m livin’; and if I ain’t, you can. One of the reasons I came was to fix things up for you. I always meant to make you my legatee. We’ve no kith nor kin nigh enough to worry about, Mercy an’ me; an’ I ’low she’d be agreeable. So we’ll let the land lie. Oh, bosh! There she is, calling again. May as well go in for she won’t stop till we do.”

After all, there was real pleasure in the faces of both husband and wife at their reunion, short though their separation had been, and bitter though their words sounded to a stranger; and, already, there was a personal pride in Mercy’s tones as she exhibited the house over which the Sun Maid presided, and explained the details – supplied by her own imagination – of its purposes.

“But about Gaspar, Mercy. Has she told you anything about him yet? I’m ’lowing to have him help me keep tavern if he’s grown up as capable as he promised when he was a little shaver.”

“No. She hain’t said a word. Fact is, I hain’t asked. We’ve been too busy with other things. Likely he’s round somewheres. Maybe off hunting with them lazy soldiers. Shame, I think. The Government keepin’ ’em just to loaf away their time.”

“Hmm! What on earth else could they do with it? I met a man, coming along, said there’d been a right sharp lot of wolves prowlin’ this winter an’ spring. They’re gettin’ most too neighborly for comfort for the settlers across the prairies, so the military are trying to clear them out. That’s not a bad idee. But don’t it beat all! That little sissy, that used to have to stand on a three-legged stool to turn the stirabout, grown like she has? I never saw a finer woman, never; and her hair’s the same dazzlin’ kind it always was. I ’low I’m proud of her, and no mistake. Hello! What’s yonder? An Indian, on horseback, a-stoppin’ to this place! What’s he after? His face is painted black, too. There’s Sunny Maid going out to talk with him, and Wahneeny, too. Must be somethin’ up.”

“There’s always somethin’ up, where there’s an Indian. I hate ’em, an’ they know it.”

“I guess they do, ma. Wahneeny, for instance, and – Shucks! That long, lanky, copper-face out back there, settin’ flat on the ground, trying to pitch jack-knives with a lot of other boys, white ones; he’s the chap that hung around our place so much – the chicken-stealer. I’m going to speak to him.”

“And I’m going to get him took up, just as soon as the Captain gets back, for setting our house afire. It wouldn’t have happened if I’d been home; but you never could be trusted to look after things.”

Abel thought it time to change the subject, and retreated, while Mercy’s attention became riveted upon the group before the house. The faces of all three were very grave, and Wahneenah, who had come across to nurse a sick child, paid no heed to its fretful calls for her. The Indian horseman tarried but a brief time, then wheeled about and rode westward over the prairie, avoiding the regular road and the mud where the Smiths had suffered such annoyance.

Wahneenah returned to her charge, and the Sun Maid disappeared in the direction of the Fort. Before Mercy could decide whether to follow or not, the girl reappeared, and her old friend viewed her with amazement. She had mounted the Snowbird, which looked no older than when Mercy had watched her gallop away across the prairie, and had slung the famous White Bow upon her saddle horn. About her floating hair she had wound a fillet of white beads and feathers, and fastened the White Necklace of Lahnowenah, the Giver, around her fair throat. She sat her horse as only one trained to the saddle from infancy could have done, and her commanding figure seemed perfect in every outline.

“To the land’s sake! Ain’t she splendid! I never saw such a sight. Never. Never. Abel! Abel! A-b-e-l!!”

“Yes, yes; what? Mercy, Mercy Smith, hold your tongue! Don’t you know folks can’t bawl in a settlement as they do in the backwoods? What ails you? I’m coming as fast as a man in reason can. Hey? Kitty? Well, why didn’t you say so? Where? Out front? My – land! Well, well, well! It ain’t – it can’t be – it is! Well, Kitty girl, you beat the Dutch!”

The young horsewoman rode up to the front door of her house, and paused to let her old friends admire her to their satisfaction. But their admiration aroused neither surprise nor vanity in her simple, straightforward mind. Years before, the old clergyman had said to her, upon their first meeting, that the Lord had been very good to her in giving her a beauty so remarkable and impressive; and under his wise instruction she had accepted the fact as she did all the others of her life. Only she had striven to keep her soul always worthy of the glorious form in which it was housed and to use all her gifts and graces for good. So she stood a while, letting the honest couple inspect and comment, and finally answering Abel’s curiosity, in honest modesty.

“Why am I so dressed up? Because I have a mission to perform, and I need to make myself as beautiful as possible.”

“Kit – ty Bris – coe! I’ve read in my red Bible that ‘favor is deceitful and beauty is vain.’ I’m amazed at you. Livin’ with a minister, too. Well, he can’t preach to me. I’d despise to set under him.”

Abel’s eyes twinkled, but the gravity of the Sun Maid’s face did not lessen. She explained gently, yet with unshaken decision, that her self-adornment was right, and gave her reasons.

“You will remember, dears, that I am a ‘Daughter of the Pottawatomies.’ They believe that I have supernatural gifts, and that I am a spirit living in a human form.”

“And you let ’em, Kit, you let ’em?”

“I couldn’t prevent it if I tried. And I do not try. That idea of theirs is far too powerful a factor for good. Even Wahneenah, who knows better and is to me as a real mother, even she treats me a little more deferentially when I attire myself like this.”

“Put on your war paint, eh?”

“No, indeed: my peace paint,” laughed the girl. “The messenger you saw talking with Wahneenah and me is from an encampment a dozen miles or so to the westward. There are about five hundred Indians in the camp, and they are getting restless. They are always restless, it seems to me,” and she sighed profoundly. “It is such a problem, isn’t it? They think they have right on their side, and the whites think they have; and there is so much that is good, so much that is evil, on both. Well, the red people are planning treachery. The brave you saw is a real friend to the pale-faces, and one of my closest confidants. He came to warn me. His tribe, or the mixed tribes in the camp, are getting ready for an attack upon us, or some other near-by settlement. I must go out and stop it, – find out their grievance and right it if I can. If not – Well, I must make peace. I may be gone for several days, and I may be back before morning. You must make yourselves comfortable somewhere. Ask Doctor Littlejohn. If he is too absorbed in his studies, then talk with One, his eldest son. He is a fine fellow, and knows everything about this village. Good-by.”

“But, child alive! You ain’t going alone, single-handed, to face five hundred bloody Indians! You must be crazy!”

“Oh, no, I’m not. It is all right. I am not afraid. There isn’t an Indian living who would harm a hair of my head, if he knew me; and almost all in Illinois do know me, either by sight or reputation. I am very happy with them and shall have a pleasant visit; that is, after I have dissuaded them from this proposed attack.”

“Kit, you couldn’t do it. ’Tain’t in nature. A young girl, alone, pretty as you are – You sha’n’t do it, – not with my consent; not while I’m alive and can set a horse or handle a gun. No, sirree. If you go, I go, and that’s the long and short of it.”

“No, dear Father Abel; you must not go; indeed you must not. It would ruin everything. It makes me very sad to have these constant broils and ill-feelings coming up between my white-faced and red-faced friends; yet the Lord permits it, and I try to be patient. But I tell you again, and you must believe it, that I am as safe out yonder in that camp of savages as I am here, this minute, with you. I am the Sun Maid, the Unafraid, the Daughter of Peace, the Snowflake. They have as many names for me as I am years old, I fancy. Each name means some noble thing they think they see in my character, and so I try to live up to it. It’s hard work, though, because I’m – well, I’m so quick-tempered and full of faults. But I suppose if God didn’t mean me to do this work, be a sort of peacemaker, He wouldn’t have made me just as I am or put me in just this place. That’s what the Doctor says, and so I do the best I can. After all, it’s a great honor, I think, to be let to serve people in this way, and so – Good-by, good-by!”

The Snowbird sprang forward at a word and, by experience trained to shun the sloughs and mud-holes, skimmed lightly across the prairie and out of sight. The Smiths stood and watched its disappearance, and the erect white figure upon its back, till both became a speck in the distance. Then, completely dumfounded by the incident, Abel sat down near the door-step to reflect upon it, while the more energetic Mercy departed for the Fort, declaring:

“I’ll see what that all means, or I’ll never say another word’s long as I live! The idee! Men– folks calling themselves men– and wearing government breeches, as I suppose they do, letting a girl like that go to destruction without a soul to stop her! But, my land! she was a sight to see, and no mistake!”

Meanwhile that was happening down at the little wharf which set all tongues a-chatter and fascinated all eyes.

“A fleet is coming in! A regular fleet of schooners, from the north and the upper lakes!”

Those who had not gone hunting crowded to the shore, and even the women caught their babies up and followed the men, Abel among the others, roused from his anxious brooding over the Sun Maid’s daring and catching the excitement.

“Shucks! Something must be up down that direction. Beats all. Here I’ve been only part of a day, and more things have gone on than would at our clearing in a month of Sundays. I – I’m all of a fluster to kind of keep my head level an’ my judgment cool. ’Twouldn’t never do to let on to ma how stirred up I be. Dear me! Seems as if I wouldn’t never get there. I do hope they’ll wait till I do.”

After all, it was the quietest and drowsiest of little hamlets, dropped down in the mud beside a great waterway; and the “fleet,” which had roused so much interest, was but a modest one of a half-dozen small schooners, laden with furs and peltries and manned by the smallest of crews.

However, to Abel, and to many another, it was a memorable event; and he made a pause at the Fort, which in itself was an object of great interest to him, to inform Mercy of the spectacle she was losing.

“Come on, ma! It’s a regular show down there. Real sailors and ships – we hain’t seen the like since we left the East and the coast of old Massachusetts.”

“Ships? My heart! I never expected to look upon another. Just to think it!”

The foremost vessel came to shore and was made fast; and there upon its deck stood a tall, dark-bearded man, who appeared what he was – the commander of the fleet; and he gave his orders in a clear, ringing voice that was instantly obeyed. His manner was grave, even melancholy; and his interest in the safe landing seemed greater than in any person among the expectant groups. He had tossed his hat aside and waited bareheaded in the sunshine till all was ready, when he stepped quietly ashore.

Then, indeed, he cast an inquiring glance around, in the possibility, though not probability, of meeting a familiar face. All at once, his dark eyes brightened and his bearing lost its indifference. Pushing his way rapidly through the crowd, he approached Abel and Mercy and extended his hands in greeting.

“Hail, old friends! Well met!”

“Hey? What? Ruther think you’ve got the better of me, stranger,” said the pioneer, awkwardly extending his own hardened palm.

“Probably the years since we met have made a greater change in me than in you. You both look exactly as you did that last day I saw you at the harvesting.”

“Hey? Which? When? I can’t place you, no how. I ain’t acquainted with ary sailor, so far forth as I remember.”

“But Gaspar, Father Abel? Surely, you and Mercy remember Gaspar Keith, whom you sheltered for so many years, and who treated you so badly at the end?”

“Glory! It ain’t! My soul, my soul! Why, Gaspar —Gaspar! If it’s you, I’m an old man. Why, you was only a stripling, and now – ”

“Now, I’m a man, too. That’s all. We all have to grow up and mature. I feel older than you look. And Mercy, the years have certainly used you well. It is good, indeed, to see your faces here, where I looked for strangers only.”

“Them’s us, lad. Them’s us. We’re the strangers in these parts. Just struck Chicago this very day. Got stuck in the mud, and had to be fished out like a couple of clams. And who do you think done the fishing? Though, if you hadn’t spoke that odd way just now, I’d have thought you would have known first off. Who do you suppose?”

“Oh, he’ll never guess. A man is always so slow,” interrupted Mercy, eagerly. “Well, ’twas nobody but our own little Kit! The Sun Maid, and looking more like a child of the sunshine even than when you run off with her so long ago.”

“The – Sun – Maid! Kit-ty, my Kitty?”

Gaspar’s face had paled at the mention of the Sun Maid to such a grayness beneath its brown that Mercy reached her hand to stay him from falling; but at his second question her womanly intuition told her something of the truth.

“Yes, Gaspar, boy. Your Kitty, and ours. We hadn’t seen her till to-day, neither; not since that harvestin’. But the longing got too strong and, when we was burnt out, we came straight for her. Didn’t you know she was here yet? Or didn’t you know she was still alive?”

“No. No, I didn’t. That very next winter after I went away – and that was the next day after we came here together – an Indian passed where I was hunting with my master and told me she had died. He was one we had known at Muck-otey-pokee – the White Pelican. He said a scourge of smallpox had swept the Fort and this settlement and that my little maid had passed out of the world forever. But you tell me —she is alive? After all these years of sorrow for her, she is still alive? I – it is hard to believe it.”

Mercy laid her hand upon the strong shoulder that now trembled in excitement.

“There, there, son; take it quiet. Yes, she’s alive, and the most beautiful woman the good Lord ever made. Never, even in the East, where girls had time to grow good-looking, was there ever anybody like her. I ain’t used to it myself, yet. I can’t realize it. She’s that well growed, and eddicated, and masterful. Why, child, the whole community looks up to her as if she were a sort of queen. I’ve found that out in just the few hours I’ve been here, and from just the few I’ve met. Even Wahneeny – she’s here, too; has been most all the time. The Black Partridge, Indian chief, he that was her brother, that took care of you two children when the massacre was, he didn’t expect she’d ever come again; but still, it appears, just on the chance of it, he rode off up country somewhere, and he happened to strike her trail, and that Osceolo’s – the scamp – that had run off with Kitty’s white horse, and fetched ’em all back. The women in the Fort was tellin’ me the whole story just now. I hain’t got a word out of Wahneeny, yet. She’s as close-mouthed as she ever was; but there’s more to hear than you could hark to in a day’s ride, and – Where you going, Gaspar?”