THE GREAT WHITE QUEEN

Hal Haines’ best driving team was lathered with foam and the buckboard swung through the gate on two wheels as Bill Cabot drove back to the Double Cross Ranch.

The young cowboy whom Haines had ordered to carry the news of disaster to Mrs. Haines, seeing the buckboard and only Cabot driving, knew instantly that something had gone wrong.

“What is it, Will?” she called, running down to the gate. “Didn’t she come? Has anything happened to Hal?”

“She was held up and carried off, Mrs. Haines.”

“I know; I know. You played the joke; but what happened?” She looked at the foaming horses. “What made you drive home like this?” she demanded.

“She wasn’t carried off by us, Mrs. Haines. Some other crowd got ahead of us some crowd that meant what they was doing. The Boss and the boys has got the trail by this time, I guess. The Boss said I should come and tell you.”

For a moment Mrs. Haines looked at him in doubt.

“Is this another joke, Will?” she asked. “There hasn’t been a hold-up in this section for ten years.”

“I guess the jokin’ is all knocked out’ve all of us,” answered Bill, turning shamefacedly away. “No, ma’am, this is the truth and and I wish the Boss had took some one else’s horse instid of mine.”

“Never mind. They’ll have all the men in Montana out to find that girl, if this isn’t a hoax,” cried Mrs. Haines in a voice that choked. “Go tell the other boys to get ready. The Sheriff will want them, if Hal doesn’t.”

She sped back to the house and with a trembling hand rang the bell of the old-fashioned telephone that furnished a new blessing to the ranches.

A moment later Curt Sikes, the telegraph operator at Rockvale, almost fell from his chair as he took the following message over the wire at Mrs. Haines’s dictation:

Harry Marvin,

Fifth Avenue, New York:

Pauline kidnapped. Come at once.

Mary Haines.

“What what’s it mean, Mrs. Haines?” he gasped into the transmitter. “It ain’t the young lady that Hal Just took off the express, is it?”

“Yes, that’s who it is, Curt. Cabot and the boys are coming into town as fast as they can ride; but you call Sheriff Hill and get as many men as you can-in case we need them. You’ll hurry, won’t you, Curt?”

“Yes, ma’am; and I’ll get your message right on the wire. They’ll put it ahead all along the line.”

If Curt’s speed in getting the telegram away was inspired partly by burning need of telling the news to Rockvale that did not reflect on Curt. He flashed after the New York message a terse call up and down the line to “Find the Sheriff,” and then bolted out to the platform. His shout was heard not only at the little hotel across the street from the station, but at the city limits of Rockvale a good mile away. Rockvale answered the shout as a clan answering the beacozes flare. When Curt Sikes shouted it meant news.

His messages along the line had little effect. He had spent the morning flaunting the news to fellow operators and rival communities that the Express had stopped at Rockvale. They had only half believed that, and now this added flourish was too much. Even Sheriff Hill, whom the message overtook at Gatesburg, fifteen miles south, laughed when he read it, and started for Rockvale only because he was going there anyway to get Case Egan.

“There ain’t much doubt which is now our leadin’ city Butte or Rockvale,” he remarked as he swung to his saddle and set off with two deputies.

He found something more than overdone home town pride in Rockvale, however. The narrow streets were filled with men, women and curious, wide-mouthed children. Horses, packed for long riding, with rifles bolstered to the saddles, were tied all along the rails of both the main hotel and the station. Curt Sikes was the center of a changing but ever interested group, but two of the Haines posse who had just come in without any report of capture, but with all the vivid news of the hold-up were now the main objects of attention.

Briefly they told the story of the pursuit. With Haines leading they had struck a trail that took them to the river. They had waded the river and found no trail on the other side. Knowing the bandits had taken to the middle of the stream, Haines had divided his party. He sent two men down stream, one on each side and he and the three others rode up stream, two on each side.

After long rough riding Haines had found a trail coming out of the water. All four had followed it a long way. There were three bandits making the trail, but the three stopped and each took a different direction, one straight up into the hills, one straight down into the valley, and the other off here towards town. Haines and one man had started on the trail to the hills. The other two the two talking now had each taken one of the other trails, but had lost them. They thought Haines would lose his, too. It had been a clean, up-to-date expert piece of work this kidnapping. The getaway had been a work of art, just as the hold-up had been a wonder-piece of stage setting.

“You saw all the gang that held you up?” asked the Sheriff.

“We wasn’t held up tha’d a been a little too rich, I guess,” said one of the cowboys. “It was Boss Haines an’ the girl that was stopped.”

“Well, then, I mean did Haines see the gang? Were any of them Indians?”

“Injuns? No. The Boss thinks some of ’em were cattle-crooks from the Case Egan outfit. I guess they ain’t no Montana Injuns that’d start anythin’ like that.”

“You guess a lot more than you know,” said the Sheriff quietly. “I may be calling on any of you boys for some fast work against old Red Snake any of these days.”

“What’s the trouble, Sheriff?”

“Oh, just one of their devils brewing bad medicine again up at Shi-wah-ki village. Red Snake always was a little bit crazy talking about the thieving white man that stole his country and looking for a chance to get the rest of his people killed off.”

“I heard that down at Hallick’s last week,” drawled a man in the crowd. “The Sioux is only waitin’ for the Great White Queen to come out o’ the heart o’ the airth an’ lead ’em on the warpath. They got a surprisin’ plenty o’ arms, too, for reservation Injuns. Know that, Sheriff?”

The Sheriff nodded slowly. “I wish Haines would get in,” he said. “I’d like to have a talk with him before we start. But it’s getting late.”

The dull thudding of tired horses hoofs from the other side of the hill below town came, to him as an answer. Presently Haines and his companion joined, silently, the eager crowd at the station.

The owner of the Double Cross seemed to have aged ten years since he had driven away with Pauline from that same station platform only a few hours before. He would have given all the acres of the Double Cross for just a word about Pauline; he would have given his life to know that she was alive.

“There’s nothing for it, Sheriff, but to rake the whole country,” he said wearily. “They’ve hidden her somewheres, if they haven’t killed her. And if they’ve killed her, mind, it’s me you’re to hang for it.”

The Sheriff laid a strong hand on his old friend’s shoulder. “I can get the state militia out to look for that girl, Hal,” he said. “By the way, is there anything anything queer about her?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Why, only that her folks have been writing to the Governor at Helena. Sikes just gave me this from Governor Casson himself. Who is this Raymond Owen? Who’s been wiring to the Governor?”

“That’s her guardian, I think. H’m,” mused Haines as he read the message, “that is queer. I wish they’d have wired me that yesterday.”

The Sheriff folded the telegram and putting it back in his pocket, stepped up on a box near the hotel door.

“I want to call for a hundred volunteer citizens to go hunt this girl,” he announced.

A minute later, all that was left of Rockvale was the buildings and the women, children and old men who stood watching a cloud of dust blotting the sunset glow and listening to the retreating clatter of a flying cavalcade.

Sikes kept the office open late. At 7 o’clock he telephoned to Mrs. Haines at the Double Cross:

“What does he say?” she cried.

“Just one word Comin’,” said Curt in an aggrieved voice. “He could’ve sent ten words fer the same price,” he grumbled.

Red Snake was one of the younger chiefs of the Sioux. He was too young to have had a share in the bloody last stand of his race in their Montana wilderness; but he was old enough to have watched the dwindling of spirit and power among them for twenty years.

And every day of watching kindled new hate in the breast of the Indian. In him the spirit of his fathers had left the old unquenchable belief in the Day of Restoration, when, by some supernatural intervention, the Indians would return to their lands, the lands revert to their primeval state, and civilization be lost in the obliterating wilderness.

The officers of the Agency had had trouble with Red Snake on several occasions. Twice he had started out at the head of war parties and had been caught just in time to prevent bloodshed among the isolated settlers. But of late he had been docile and peaceful. The new disturbances the occasional shooting of a cowboy and the petty stealing of cattle dated from the beginning of the sway of a new medicine man in Red Snake’s principal village of Shi-wah-ki.

His name was of many syllables in the native language, but he was known as Big Smoke. He was a young Indian who had spent some years among the whites in the Southwest, had made a pretense at getting an education, but had reverted violently to the life and faith of his fathers. Big smoke had predicted to Red Snake the coming of the Great White Queen, who would empower the arms of the red man to overthrow the whites and would make him again master of his rightful lands.

Red Snake, squatted on a blanket beside his teepee, listened with immobile features but with a thrilled heart. He summoned a council of the chiefs, secretly, and the medicine man addressed his message to them also.

Thereafter the Indians of Shi-wah-ki were restive. Their growing spirit of rebellion manifested itself in foolish little offenses against the white men. These were punished with the white man’s customary sternness and this increased the rancor of the Indians. It increased, too, their eagerness for the fulfillment of the strange prophecy of the coming of the White Queen.

On the very day when the white man’s village of Rockvale was in a hubbub of excitement because of the kidnapping of Pauline, the village of Shi-wah-ki was tumultuous with a different fervor.

Into the circle of the assembled chiefs, rimmed with awed faces of squaws and papooses, had danced the weird figure of Big Smoke. He had been called upon by Red Snake to announce what further of the White Queen his medicine had revealed.

Big Smoke wore the head of a wolf with cow’s horns set over the ears. His lithe red body was covered with a long bear skin. His legs were bare to the tops of his gaily beaded moccasins.

He circled the silent group with fantastic gyrations and stopped finally in the center. Lifting his hands, he addressed the tribe. First, in glowing rhetoric, he pictured the ancient glory of the Sioux their wealth in lands, their prowess in the hunt, their triumph over all other red men. He told of their long and brave struggle with the white man, who by the intervention of wicked gods had been enabled to conquer them. But the time of vengeance and retribution had come after long years. The Indian was to return to his own.

“The Great Spirit is sending us a leader,” said Rig Smoke. “The Great Spirit has spoken to me and said: ’Lo, I will send a White Queen with golden hair. She shall come from the heart of the Earth, and she shall lead your warriors against the oppressor.”

This was the third time Big Smoke had said this. That was what made it most impressive to the listeners. Big Smoke had staked not only his reputation as a medicine man, but, also his life, upon this wonderful prediction, which had aroused his people as they had not been aroused in fifty years. For it was the law of the ancient code that fulfillment must follow immediately the third announcement of the miracle. If fulfillment failed there remained only the Great Death Stone in the valley. No prophet of the tribe had ever won in the race with the Death Stone.

And so the chiefs sat in respectful silence and the young braves arose eager for the war dance when Big Smoke finished speaking.

The dance, beginning slowly, waxed wilder; the tom-toms beat more vibrantly, until the whole village was encircled by the painted and bonneted tribesmen. The red glare of daylight fires illuminated the wild faces. The women cowered with their children beside the teepees. In the midst of the tumult, the medicine man stood with hands stretched upward calling on the Great Spirit to send the White Queen.

When the dance had subsided, the Council resumed its deliberations.

It was arranged that there should be a hunt that afternoon and the foxes or coyotes should be driven as near as possible to the settlements. This would be a means of reconnoitering and it would make the whites think the Indians were engaged in peaceful pursuits.

Pauline, after her first startled cry, stood spellbound by the two glowing eyes that shone from the far end of the cave.

There was no light now save for the eyes. The rift in the roof from which the mysterious glow had come seemed to have been closed suddenly. The pitch darkness made the eyes doubly terrible, and just perceptibly they moved and flashed which showed they were living eyes.

Pauline longed to scream, but could not. Behind those fiery points imagination could picture all manner of horrible shapes. Was the creature about to spring upon her?

The eyes vanished as suddenly as they had appeared.

The low rustling sound came again; then the utter silence.

Pauline, freed of the uncanny gaze, was able to think and act. If that animal could find its way into her prison house, there must be another entrance to the cave.

It was plain that the animal had been crouching on the slant rock above the ledge. Pauline began again to grope around the wall. She could touch the top of the ledge and now in several places she found small crevices in the wall by which she tried to climb.

Time and again she fell back. Her soft hands were torn by the jagged rock; her dress was in shreds; her golden hair fell down upon her shoulders. She might have been some preternatural dweller of the place.

At last her foot held firm in a crevice three feet above the floor. Clutching the ledge-top, she groped for another step and found it. In a moment she was on the ledge.

She sank there, covering her face with her hands. The eyes had blazed again scarcely three feet away. She felt the breath of hot nostrils, the rough hair of a beast, as the thing sprang. She felt that the end had come, but she still clung to the ledge.

As she uncovered her eyes, slowly, she was astonished to see that the faint light had returned. It came, as she had thought, over a concealed shelf of stone above the rocky incline.

The eyes had vanished. The cave was still.

She began to scale the incline. Her hands and feet caught nubs and slits of the surface and a little higher she felt the cool dampness of earth and grasped the root of a tree. As she drew herself up, she looked over the shelf and saw, at one end of it, the open day.

She crawled a little way upon the shelf then stopped. She hardly dared to go on. What if the opening, large enough to admit the light, were too small for her to pass through? What if the light had been only a lure to torture her? What if she must return into the darkness with that thing unknown, the thing with the blazing eyes!

She crept on with her eyes shut. A stronger glow of light upon the closed lids told her she had reached the end of the shelving. The next moment would tell her if she had reached freedom or renewed captivity. She looked up.

Three of Red Snake’s young warriors had gained most of the plaudits of the village during the afternoon of the hunt. They rode together and not only did they bring in many foxes and coyotes but much news of the white people. They had met armed men throughout all the mountain country, riding up and down the river. The armed men had greeted them fairly and had asked them for information of other white men who had stolen a girl and carried her away. The white men were thus fighting among themselves. It was a propitious time for the coining of the new Queen.

These three young men, about five o’clock in the afternoon, had just started the drive of a coyote towards the level country when the quarry doubled suddenly and turned into the hills.

With shouts and shots, the Indians pursued it, but their horses were no match for it on the devious wooded paths, and grunting their disgust they saw it dive into a burrow in a rocky hollow of the cliff.

They dismounted and stood about the mouth of the burrow grumbling and “cursing their luck” in an ancient tongue. At last two of them mounted and started to ride away, and their companion followed, slowly, leading his horse.

A sound made him turn his head. With a cry of mingled fear and joy, of awe and triumph, he threw himself prostrate before the mouth of the burrow.

The other Indians dashed back. They literally fell from their horses to the feet of the wonderful being who had risen from the heart of the earth the promised goddess who would lead them against the oppressors. In the poor, disheveled person of Pauline, coming from her prison cave, they saw their great White Queen.