The Manchester Journal. (Manchester, Okla.), Vol. 24, No. 27, Ed. 1 Friday, December 1, 1916 Page: 2 of 8
This newspaper is part of the collection entitled: Oklahoma Digital Newspaper Program and was provided to The Gateway to Oklahoma History by the Oklahoma Historical Society.
Extracted Text
The following text was automatically extracted from the image on this page using optical character recognition software:
THE MANCHESTER JOURNAL, MANCHESTER, OKLAHOMA
A Modem Indian Reservation
Story by Robert Ames Bennet
9=
t t
J wN this serial you are given a {
* I picture of present-day Anier- *
t ican Indians on government t
J reservations. The author depicts, *
i too, the manner in which the *
* original Americans have been J
t exploited in the past by unscru- t
{ pulous men with strong political J
1 Influence. On the other hand, t
J assuming that you have a taste J
t for wholesome romance, you will *
2 enjoy the powerful love element 2
J in “The Quarterbreed.” And *
2 Mr. Bennet’s portrayal of the 2
* principal characters is as much *
t a study as an entertainment, t
J We feel sure our readers cun J
i look forward with pleasure to t
J the perusal of each Installment J
* of the story. *
J THE EDITOR. J
t t
CHAPTER I.
Under Fire.
In Its spring freshness the usual
dreary brown of the Montana range
was tempered with a pleasant green.
But the midday sun was blisteringly
hot, and the rider turned his eyes to
the snowy crests of the Little Paw
mountains. The nearest of the rugged,
pine-clad spurs were now only four or
five miles away. He had almost reached
the reservation. Wolf river marked
the boundary. The rangy stride of his
thoroughbred mare was as easy and
unfaltering as when she had borne
him away from the half-dozen shacks
of the nearest “town" on the railroad,
fifty miles back over the open range.
But as they began to top the rise, he
drew her down to her rapid walk, and
took out his fleldglasses.
Hardly had he focused the powerful
little binoculars when from across the
coulee, a short distance downstream,
came the crack of a high-power rifle.
A moment later the shot was followed
by three deeper reports from up-
stream. The first shot was smokeless.
Not so the others. The bluish smoke
puffs of their charges of black powder
directed the gaze of the rider to the
dozen or more swarthy, half-naked In-
dians crouching near the top of the
coulee bank, across from the nearby
butte. All were warily peering down
the coulee.
The road ran obliquely across the
narrow valley to a side gulley that
gashed the far bank a hundred yards
or so downstream. Back in the shelter
of this gulley four or five ponies stood
grouped before a buckboard. Above
them a man was crouched under the
edge of the bank. Another man lay
behind a small bush, just outside the
entrance of the gulley. A woman in
civilized dress was coming around from
the rear of the buckboard. The erect
figure of the rider tensed with quick
decision. He wheeled his mare out of
the road, to cut down the sharp slope
directly towards the Indians. His
voice rang across the coulee with the
clearness of a bugle call: "Ho, there!
Cease firing!”
At his command, the Indians twisted
about to glare at him in a half panic.
Three or four started to slink away.
“Ho, There! Cease Firing 1"
But one swung bis rifle around and
fired. The bullet grazed the rider’s
coat collar. He flung up his right hand,
palm outward. The reply to the peace
sign was a second bullet, that cut the
crown of his campaign hat.
Two bullets were enough to change
the tactics of the rider. At a word
from him and a touch of the rein, his
mare swerved and plunged obliquely
down the side of the coulee. The In-
dians burst into exultant yells, and
several opened fire on the fugitive as
the mare leaped down to the coulee
and dashed across the bottom towurd
the gulley.
Urged on by voice and spurless heel,
the mare sprinted over the sandy level
with the rush of a racehorse on the
home stretch. Coming to the narrowed
stream, she covered it in a single tre-
mendous leap, and dashed on, un-
checked, up into the gulley, safe out of
taacb nf thoae whirring leaden hornets.
As they swept past the low bush
at the entrance of the gulley, the rider
looked down at the man behind it. He
saw a blond, florid young fellow, whose
blue eyes and small red-lipped mouth
were ugly with hate. A glimpse, and
he was past the outlier.
The woman, crouched Just beyond,
under the edge of the bank, was blaz-
ing away toward the Indians with an
automatic revolver. An instant later he
pulled up his mare alongside the buck-
board and looked up with cool alert-
ness at the third member of the party,
under the brink of the bank. The man
ceased firing and twisted his thickset
body half about so that he could stare
down at the newcomer.
The fusillade of the Indians hnd
ceased the Instant their view of the
fugitive was cut off. Yet, a^ter a sin-
gle hard look, the man on the bank
turned away to thrust his rifle up over
the edge nnd shoot. The rider wheeled
his mare and rode back past the skit-
tish ponies. The woman had crept in
from the entrance of the gulley to
where she could stand upright without
exposing herself to the fire of the
Indians.
She came up the slope with an easy,
springing step that told of youthful
buoyancy. From under the hem of her
neat gingham dress peeped the toes of
small, blue-beaded moccasins. Having |
reloaded her pistol, she raised her
head to look up at the rider. He was
lifting his hand to touch his hat with j
perfunctory courtesy. Then he saw j
her face—calm, proud, vividly beauti-1
ful.
He removed his hat, with a sudden
change in his manner that brought a
gleam into the girl’s blue-black eyes.
A trifle disconcerted by the girl's
cool scrutiny, he brusquely demanded:
“What is the trouble here?”
She looked from his cavalry puttees
to his army saddle and the butt of his
rifle. “I guess you needn’t worry about
your scalp,” she assured him, her rich
contralto voice as soft as it was sweet-
ly mocking. “You came near getting a
hair brand, I see. But you’re safe
enough now if you keep close.”
The raillery brought a slight flush In-
to his sallow cheeks. Yet his gaze did
not flinch before her look of disdain.
He asked another question: “Have
they taken the agency?”
“No. We saw this bunch up the
bank. Reggie cut loose at them before
Pere could stop him.”
“‘Pere?’ Ah—your father. The
other man fired at them first, yon say?”
“Can you blame him? He was along
when the agent was shot down, last
week. You may have heard of the
murder.”
“Yes. Still It was wrong for him to
Invite an attack, with a woman in his
party.”
“Oh, Pm only a quarterbreed, you
know,” replied the girl with ironical
lightness. “Besides, Reggie thought
the party was trying to head us off.
Don’t worry. Charlie Redbear crawled
up the road half an hour ugo. The
chances are we can hold out until he
fetches the police.” A rifle 6hot punc-
tuated the remark.
The rider looked over the coulee
bank across at the jagged crest of the
butte. “If they slip over there," he
said, “this position will become unten-
able. The butte is the key to the situ-
ation.”
He looked at the girl, between con-
cern and swiftly growing admiration of
her remarkable beauty. Her eyes were
like blue-black diamonds. An almost
Imperceptible film of old-gold enriched
the cream and rose of her cheeks. Her
Jet-black hair was of French fineness.
The curve of her rather large mouth
was perfect.
But the red lips were again parting
in a disdainful smile. She replied with-
out seeking to conceal her scorn: “If
you're afraid they’ll take the butte,
you might get away by bolting down
the couiee. We’ll do what we can to
draw their fire.”
“You will?” he said. “Thank yon for
your suggestion. I believe I’ll follow
it. Kindly step aside.”
She stood motionless, her eyes glit-
tering with cold contempt of his cow-
ardice. Unchecked by the look, he
leaned forward in the saddle. The
mare leaped away like a startled deer.
Once clear of the gulley she swerved
sharply and raced away down the cou-
lee. The flight was so unexpected, so
daring and so swift that the fugitive
had been borne a good fifty yards down
along tbe foot of the near slope before
the Indians opened fire on him.
The girl had crept forward and
crouched in the entrance of the gulley
to peer after him.
“The coward 1” she cried. “The cow-
ard ! I hope they get him 1”
But before one of the many bullets
could find the leaping, receding mark,
mare and rider shot out of sight behind
a clump of willows. At once tbe firing
ceased.
The blond young man under the bush
glanced around at the girl and called
jeeringiy: “I say, Marie, how’s that
for a bobtail visit? Took him for a
gentleman.”
“Gentleman? That’s the word," she
mocked. "Conduct becoming an officer
and
“Officer?” he repeated. “You don’t
mean to say—”
“Yes,” she asserted. “He’s an army
officer. I could see it sticking out ail
over him.”
The man stared at her in blank
amazement, but suddenly bethought
himself to roll over and send a bullet
pinging up the coulee.
The girl continued to peer down the
river bottom. After several moments
mare and rider dashed Into view, rac-
ing directly across the coulee. Though
the Indians at once opened fire, the
mare had skimmed over the level and
up into a gulley In the far bank before
they could get the range.
Hopeful that one or more of the
enemy might expose themselves during
the excitement, the young man behind
“The Coward, the Coward! I Hope
They Get Him.”
the bush hnd not looked around. As
the firing ceased, he called scoffingly:
“How about the strategic retreat? Does
General Fablus make his getaway with-
out casualties?”
“Le bon Dieu be praised! He has
escaped,” the girl mocked in turn. “We
are saved. In a week or ten days he
will return to the rescue with three
troops of cavalry.”
"If those sneaking coyotes have sent
a delegation around to climb the butte
from the upside, we’ll get ours before
Charlie can come back with the po-
lice,” grumbled the young man.
“Yes. Our military expert saw that
at once. He said this position would
become untenable.”
“So he ran, leaving a woman in the
lurch—the skunk 1"
“Well, he has gone. You’d better he
thinking how to get us out of the hole
you’ve got us into,” suggested the girl.
“All I did was t« knock up the dust
In front of them. The way they came
back at me proves they really were
scheming to get us.”
“Much you know about It,” scoffed
the girl. “Just because some of the
tribe are feeling ugly is no sign that—”
“How about the murder of Nogen?”
“Well, how? You and Charlie both
say there was only the one buck who
did the shooting. No; If this bunch
had been planning to get us, they’d
have been out of sight under the edge
of the bank or over on the butte when
we first came along.”
“Have It your own way—only toss
me a bottle of beer, that's a good girl.
I’m dry as a fish.”
Recklessly he sat up and looked at
her, his small mouth curving in a smile I
under the neat mustache. A bullet
whizzed close over his head.
The girl did not wait for him to reach
her. Satisfied ns to his safety, she
went up the gulley to the buckboard
and drew a canteen from the box under
the seat Her father glanced down
and saw what she was doing. His face
was powdered with dust. He spat and
beckoned to her.
“Good! Bring It up. Bullet hit the
edge of the bank.”
The girl climbed nimbly up the gul-
ley side with the canteen. Her father
spat again, took a deep drink, and said :
"Better git the ponies round behind the
buckboard. Unless Charlie gits back
soon, we may have to leave the ore and
make a break for the agency.”
“All right, Pere,” cheerfully respond-
ed the girl. "There haven’t any of
them been hit so far, I guess. They
may be willing to let us off with a big
scare.”
“I’ll give them a scare and something
more when the police come," declared
the young man, who had taken a new
position in the opening of the gulley.
“No, you won't," reraonstruted the
girl as she started down to him with
the canteen. “When old Ti-owa-konza
sent in word that he’d call it quits over
the shooting of Nogen’s killer, he meant
it. But this time you fired the first
shot, and if you kill one of them, it will
mean a blood feud, if not an uprising.”
The young man snapped his fingers.
“I don’t give that much for the whole
pack of coyotes!”
“Don’t forget the mine, Mr. Van,”
protested the older rnan.
“Yes, nnd how about me?" asked the
girl as s’le held out the canteen.
“That settles it,” he replied. “To
please you. I’ll—what do you say?—
I’ll call It quits.” Shaking a gush of
water out over the spout, he lifted the
canteen in gallant salute and carried it
to his lips.
“Better hurry with them ponies, Ma-
rie,” called her father.
She did not wait for the canteen, but
walked swiftly up the gulley to the
restive ponies. As she led the two
saddle horses around to thd rear of
the buckboard, the young man called
up to her: “Shorten my stirrups. That
pinto Is the best runner in the hunch.”
“Can you make it bareback?” she
asked.
“He can hold on to the harness,”
said her father. “Tie the tugs so they
won’t drag.”
“Yes, I guess I can hold on. I’ll try
the calico mare.”
■ “Any sign on the butte?” she In-
quired, her supple gloved fingers deftly
freeing the harnessed ponies from the
buckboard.
“Nothing yet,” answered the young
man. "I'm expecting a bullet soon.”
“This ain’t no joke, Mr. Van,” com-
plained the other man. He glowered at
the butte. Suddenly his trained eyes
caught sight of an object moving up
the steep slope of a crag. He clapped
his rifle to his shoulder, sighted it,
paused—and lowered the weapon, with
an astonished oath.
“Pere!” cried the girl. “What is
It?’’
"Wait!’’ he replied. “If It is—by Gar,
If It is! Git ready. Mr. Van. Only
don't shoot unless they rush us.”
The report of a rifle came down from
the butte crest. The young man low-
ered his rifle and peered over the
edge of the gulley. At the same moment
a whirl of yelling horsemen swept
down the coulee bank opposite the
butte, and went flying away up the val-
ley in a wild race for the nearest grove
of cottonwoods.
From the butte several shots cracked
In rapid succession. The fugitive In-
dians yelled at their ponies in a frenzy
of urgency, and dug their heels into
the flanks of the straining beasts at
every jump. The rifleman on the butte
was firing towards them, not towards
the party in the gulley.
“Hold on, Marie 1” said her father.
Jumping down the bank to her. “We’ll
hitch up again, and cross over to meet
him.”
“Who?” asked the girl.
She had been too intent on her task
to see what was happening.
“The man who ran away,” he an-
swered. “The joke’s on you Mr. Van.”
“How?"
Her father grinned ns he bent to re-
fasten a tug. "You took him for a quit-
ter. He hud the nerve to run their fire
ag'in—and you thought he was heading
back for the railroad."
The girl flushed. “He’s not the man
on the butte?"
“Yep. Jumped the whole bunch, first
shot. We better hustle. It’ll look good
for us to cross over to meet him.”
“Marie says he’s an army officer,”
ndded the young man. “It will be ns
well to get the ore off the reservation.
There’s no telling what he has come
for.”
CHAPTER II.
The Acting Agent.
Within a few minutes the party hnd
neared the top of the ridge. The
thoroughbred mare came trotting up
from the hollow on the other side. At
sight of them her rider brought her to
a stand. The older man spurred his
pony up the round of the summit. “By
Gar, that wasn’t no bad play you made,
partner,” he called. “Taking the butte
guve you the drop on ’em."
The man whose strategy had routed
the Indluns did not reply. The girl
looked up at him with confident ex-
pectancy In her sparkling eyes. He did
not move. The expression of his harsh
features was severe, but there was a
flush under the tropical tan on his
cheeks.
She hesitated, her rich color deepen-
ing. Then her pique gave way to a
more generous impulse. She drew the
gauntlet glove from her right ha id.
Under his cold gaze her eyes again
hardened with offended pride, nnd
again they softened and glowed with
frank approbation.
“Can you forgive me?” she asked.
He bowed formally. "If you think
there is anything to he forgiven."
“You know there Is. I wish to apolo
gize.”
She stood up In the buckbourd and
held out her hand to him. It was very
white and shapely. He bowed over It
with grave courtesy, as he took It in
his nervous clasp.
"You have no need to apologize.
Miss-"
“Dupont—Marie Dupont.”
“None whatever. Miss Dupont,” he
went on. "I should have explained my
Intentions.”
“Why didn’t you make for the butte
first thing, instead of crossing the cou-
lee?” broke in the blond young man.
“I did not wish to shoot until I un-
derstood the cause of the trouble. There
was also the chance that they would
cease firing when I rode towurds them."
“That was nervy of you,” remurkedj
the girl's fnther—"that nnd making
tiie second run when they’d come so
near gittiug you the first time.”
"You are Jacques Dupont, the Indian
trader?”
"That’s me—only they make it ‘Jake’
this side of Ottawa. Marie guessed
you’re an army officer.”
Captain Floyd Hardy, United States
cavalry,” stated the newcomer as he
raised his glasses.
The blond young man straightened
out of his insolently careless pose, und
spoke in the tone of a gentleman:
“Pleased to meet you, Captain Hnrdy.
You were in command of the Philip-
pine constabulary force that sup-
pressed the recent insurrection In the
Sulu islands. Y'ou received favorable
mention from congress. I am Reginald
Vandervyn of the Vandervyns of Stat-
en Isiund. Senator Clemmer is my
uncle.”
The captain responded to the intro-
duction with a curt bow.
“See anything of the p’leece, Cop?”
asked Dupont.
“Yes. They should be here In a few
minutes.”
”1 see them,” said the girl. "They’re
coming down the slope this side of the
Sioux Creek divide.”
"They’re slow,” growled Vandervyn.
“I’ll ride back nnd head them ’cross
country. They have good horses. They
shall run out every buck In the bunch.”
He spun his pony about to sprint
down the road into the coulee. Hardy
uttered a stern order: “Halt!”
Angered at the command and still
more at the Impulse that compelled
him to obey it, Vandervyn twisted
about in his saddle to face the officer
with a challenging stare.
“Keep that talk for your inferiors,”
he said. “I am acting agent of this
reservation. What I say goes. I’ll have
those bucks trailed till every one of
them is in the guardhouse or feeding
the crows.’’
“You are mistaken, Mr. Vandervyn,”
replied Hardy, and he drew an official
envelope from an Inside pocket. “You
are only the chief clerk on this reser-
vation. I have been detailed to serve
ns acting agent.”
“You?” cried Vandervyn. “Why, it
was all fixed for me to be appointed
agent. My uncle wired me that my
name woi^d go through for the promo-
tion without a hitch. So you pulled
the wires to cut me out?”
‘‘I pulled no wires, Mr. Vandervyn,”
Hardy coldly met the accusation. “On
my return from tbe islands, last month,
I asked for a detail to active service
in the open, preferably here in the
northwest, on account of my health.”
“Do you mean to sny you did not
ask for this place In particular?”
“No. The detail was given me be-
cause of the killing of the late agent
and the reported restlessness of the
tribe.”
“You’ll find these ugly bucks differ-
ent from Mores.”
“Perhaps,” said Hardy. He looked
at the two big, lumpy sacks that were
lashed on the buckboard. “You had
started for the railroad?”
“Pere and Mr. Van wished to ship
out the ore,” explained the girl.
“Ore?” Inquired Hardy.
“Well, yes, it’s a sort of ore,” ad-
mitted Dupont. “You see. me and—”
“I’ll make It clear to Captain Hardy
in two words, Jake,” broke in Van-
dervyn. He looked at the new agent}
with a frank, direct guze. “You see,
captain, some of the Indians have been
getting ore, hack in the mountains.
Jake trades them goods for it. The
barter has been a good thing for them,
and so far, I believe, Jake has lost
nothing.”
Dupont narrowed his shrewd gray
eyes ns if calculating. “Well, no, that’s
no lie, Cap. Take it in the long run. I
ain’t lost nothing. It might figure out
I’ve broke even or mebbe some better.”
Vandervyn winked at Hnrdy. “When
an Indian trader admits he may have
done some better than to have come
out even, we can guess what that
means.”
"Non d’un chien !” grumbled Dupont. <
"Ain’t the risk to count?”
“It has been an unnecessary risk for
you to keep your daughter on the res-
ervation after the killing of Mr. No-
gen," reproved Hardy. “I presume she
is now going away, not to return until
the trouble hns pussed.”
“You are quite mistaken, Captain
Hardy,” said the girl. “I am goffig for
the drive and to send off a mail order, j
We can rely on the police. Anyway,
none of the tribe would hurt me.”
Dupont scratched his head and mut-
tered: "Well, mebbe so. You can’t al-
ways tell what they’ll do."
"Why. Pere,” exclaimed Marie, “you
know there’s not the slightest danger
to me."
“Well, mebbe not—to you," he ac-
quiesced.
“Yet it will be advisable for you to
remain away until I liuve the situation
well in hand," said Hardy.
The girl’s eyes flashed at the slight
suggestion of dictation. “I’ll do as I
please, thank you,” she rejoined.
“In this Instance you may," agreed
Hardy, “since your father admits that
you are in no danger. Otherwise I
would order you to remain away."
“Fou’d dare to order me?”
“Certainly. You should know the
scope of the agent’s authority. It in-
cludes the right to order off the reser-
vation anyone not a member of the
tribe.”
The girl smiled mockingly. "You for-
get I told you I am a quarterbreed.”
“Marie!” remonstrated Vandervyn.
"Mind your own business!” she
flashed back nt him. “I am not
ashamed that I’m a member of the
tribe, and I don’t care how soon he
knows it, even if he Is an officer of
your little American army."
She turned upon Hardy, flushed, de-
fiant, haughty. "My mother was the
grunddnughter of Sitting Bull. What
have you to say to that, Mr. West
Pointer?"
“Nothing, Miss Dupont, unless—" he
paused, smiled and continued—“unless
\ it Is to remark thut I ain glad the po-
i lice are so near."
The girl’s eyes flashed with anger.
With a swift movement she bent over
, and snatched her driving-whip from
its socket on the dashboard and stood
poised, the whip upraised to strike.
Dupont’s heavy jowl dropped. Van-
dervyn swung his rifle around, his
large blue eyes glinting with eagerness.
Hardy faced the girl with no change in
his smile. Had his steady gaze wavered
for an instant, she would have stashed
him across the face.
“You—you !” she whispered. “Twit
me with the treacherous killing of my
great-grandfather, would you?”
“Treacherous? How is that?” he
asked.
“He was murdered—by the police 1"
she cried. “You know it.”
“I beg your pardon,” he replied. ’T
had not the slightest idea of alluding
to what to you must be a painful oc-
currence. But, since you have referred
to it, I wish to say that you are misin-
formed. Sitting Bull wns shot while
resisting arrest. The police were act-
ing under orders. The man who shot
the chief had first been shot by one of
the chief's men."
The scarlet that flamed in the girl’s
cheeks deepened to crimson. Her gaze
wavered. Instead of striking Hardy,
the whip lashed down across the backs
of the team. The young broncos
plunged and jumped forward; they
whirled the buckboard down the slope
away from the river.
The girl’s companions jerked their
ponies nbout to gallop ufter her. Hardy
spoke to them in peremptory com-
mand: “Wait! Dnpont, I shall ask
you to bring my baggage from the rail-
road. Here come the police. I shall
detail four of their number to go with
you as escort.”
“We don't need no escort,” said Du-
pont. "Do we, Mr. Van?"
“They will go In place of Mr. Van-
dervyn,” explained Hardy. "I must
ask him to accompany me to the
agency."
The young man looked the new agent
up nnd down with an insolent smile on
his handsome, boyish face. “What if I
do not choose to go back?"
"It would put me to the necessity of
finding a new chief clerk,” countered
Hardy.
The other evidently had expected an
arbitrary order. He hit his lip. It was
Hardy Uttered a Stern Order: “Halt!”
plain that he was puzzled over the
adroitly worded reply. Was It a threat,
or merely a statement due to misap-
prehension?
“If you wish to resign," ndded the
captain, "may I request you to tele-
graph for your successor to be imme-
diately appointed and ordered here?"
“I'd resign quick enough if I could,"
said Vandervyn. "You’re the lust man
I'd let order me around if I could help
It."
Hardy turned to the stolid-faced
truder.
"Please remember my baggage. You
bad better ride on after your daugh-
ter. The escort will soon follow."
0
J In the next installment Cap-
t tain Hardy discovers conditions
J which lead him to believe there
« is a conspiracy on foot. Can you
2 guess the nature of it?
t
*%%%%%«%»%%«. » % « % i m m ,
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
t
*
*
*
i
*
*
*
t
e
Upcoming Pages
Here’s what’s next.
Search Inside
This issue can be searched. Note: Results may vary based on the legibility of text within the document.
Tools / Downloads
Get a copy of this page or view the extracted text.
Citing and Sharing
Basic information for referencing this web page. We also provide extended guidance on usage rights, references, copying or embedding.
Reference the current page of this Newspaper.
Wood, E. A. The Manchester Journal. (Manchester, Okla.), Vol. 24, No. 27, Ed. 1 Friday, December 1, 1916, newspaper, December 1, 1916; (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc497544/m1/2/: accessed April 25, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.