INDIAN TRADING

Much to the disgust of Tommy Sharpe, Kie Wicks was a guest at the Judge’s table that day. Kie was beaming with self-satisfaction. He felt that he had put over a good deal and could afford to be genial.

Kie’s plan was to let the ruffians hold the claim until he could make arrangements to put men to work and dig out the treasure in the tunnel. Kie did not doubt for a moment that the treasure was there. And tonight he intended to investigate and see how much needed to be done. If he could handle it alone, so much the better.

Kit and Bet arrived when the meal was half finished and pretended to be hurt at the teasing that they encountered. They decided to wait until the family was alone before saying anything about the capture of the tunnel. Kie might get ugly and actually harm the old man.

“Saw your playmate, Young Mary, coming up the canyon today,” said Kie, glad of some new excitement for the girls, to take their minds off the professor for a while.

“Oh, is Mary home?” cried Kit happily. “I do want to see her!”

“Yes, Young Mary is here with a dozen other Indians of all sizes and shapes,” grinned Kie. “They sure are a funny looking crowd.”

Kit herself might have made the same remark, but coming from Kie, she resented it.

“Where are they?” exclaimed Bet. “I’ll pay them a visit. Do you think they will make some baskets for me?”

“You can never tell a thing about them. If they need money, they will, but like as not they’ll refuse. This is their vacation, they come up every year to pick mesquite beans and piñón nuts,” Kit informed them.

“Let’s go down right after lunch and see them,” proposed the girls, but Kit hesitated.

“We might frighten them away if we are too anxious,” she said. “Indians are very shy.”

“I’ll say they are,” smiled Tommy. “And about as friendly as a block of ice.”

“Why Tommy Sharpe, how can you say such a thing? There’s Old Mary and Indian Joe, they are the most friendly people in the world. There isn’t anything they wouldn’t do for Mum and Dad and me. And they think you’re a great man!” Kit defended them.

“Old Mary and Joe are altogether different. Indian Joe is just like a white man!” answered Tommy.

“And good as gold!” emphasized Kit.

“The only good Indian is a dead Indian,” Kie Wicks exclaimed dramatically.

Kit flared up, but Bet soothed her.

“Remember we are already even with Kie Wicks,” she whispered.

Kit nodded her head. “Just the same I don’t like to hear Indians talked about like that. It always makes me angry.”

After lunch, much to the joy of Kie Wicks, the girls decided to walk down into the canyon and see the Indians.

Kit ran home first, for she was sure that she would find Young Mary there, and she wanted to see the girl alone. With the other girls she might be shy.

So it was Bet who called the Judge aside, to a safe distance, from Kie Wicks’ eager ears, and told him of the capture of the tunnel.

“And those fellows said that Kie put them up to it and that it is Kie who took the old man. He’s safe, they said, but I’m not so sure about that.”

“I wouldn’t worry about him. Kie Wicks has no reason to harm the professor,” declared Judge Breckenridge. “Now I’ll tell you what we’d better do. You and the girls go along down the trail and visit the Indian camp. That is evidently what Kie wants you to do. I’ll send Tommy over to the tunnel with two men to start the excavation work and maybe by the time we get the professor back, we’ll have something to show him. Who knows, Bet? Sometimes I’m half hopeful, although my common sense tells me there isn’t anything there.”

“Don’t use so much common sense, Judge. It’s lots of fun to dream. I wish Dad were here, he’d love this. He’d have the whole thing worked out, he’d be able to see the Spaniards who buried the treasure and all the rest of it. Dad’s wonderful!”

“He is, Bet. I agree with you, and I wish that he would make us a visit, he half promised, you know.”

“Yes, but in his last letter he said he’d not be able to come,” Bet added with a sigh, for the separation from her father was a trial to the motherless girl.

“All right, now you run along and don’t say anything to the girlsnot yet. Make a lot of fuss about going to see the Indians and pretend you’re crazy about them.”

“I don’t have to pretend that, I am crazy to see them. Oh, I do hope they will like me and want to be friends.”

The Judge laughed at the girl’s enthusiasm.

“They will, Bet, they can’t help themselves, if they are human at all.”

Bet turned away without noticing the delicate compliment that the Judge had paid her. In her heart she was really concerned for fear she might not be able to get on friendly terms with the Indians.

Judge Breckenridge joined Kie Wicks and his party, after giving instructions to Tommy Sharpe, and he followed Kie on what he knew to be a “wild goose chase.” Kie flattered himself that he was being very clever in keeping the searchers away from the old man.

The girls waited impatiently for Kit. “I do wish she would hurry,” fussed Bet. “What’s keeping her?”

“Maybe she found Young Mary there, as she hoped, and as it’s been such a long time since they’ve seen each other, they’ll need to do a lot of talking to make up for lost time.”

But Kit’s meeting with her Indian friend was very different from what the girls pictured.

Even Kit was surprised and a little hurt at the lack of interest in her childhood friend.

The Indian girl was already dressed in the bright silk gown that Kit had brought her. Kit caught the girl in her arms and squeezed her tight. But Young Mary was as rigid as a post. Not by word or sign did she betray the fact that she was glad to see Kit.

But Kit understood. She saw a bright light in Mary’s eyes and was satisfied.

“Why Mary, you’re a beauty in that dress. I want you to come over and meet my friends.”

Mary shook her head. She was already gliding away toward the canyon where the Indians were camped by the stream. They had chosen the same spot that the professor had used for a camping site.

And when Kit joined the group of Indians by the side of the creek she realized that Mary was now a grown-up Indian woman. She did not run or dance about any more, but seated herself with the squaws and seemed happy.

Mary had returned to her people. There was no doubt about it. She would never again be the chum of the white girl. There were times when Kit felt angry; it seemed like a reflection on herself, on her loyalty.

The girls watched with amusement Young Mary’s pride in her new dress. There was a buzz of unintelligible comments from the squaws as they pressed about the girl, fingering the material and patting the silk.

Kit learned before long why Mary was so preoccupied with herself. She was in love. In love with a man of her own race.

Old Mary shrugged her shoulders and grunted her disapproval.

But in spite of her shrugs, the older woman was proud. Young Mary was making a good choice. Andreas was a fine young Indian. He had a farm of his own on the San Pablo. They were both young and could work and would have many children to bless them.

As Kit had prophesied, the Indian women were not interested in basket weaving. They shook their heads vehemently. Then at Bet’s proposal that they sell her some that were already made, the ones they carried along, their heads shook more than ever and their grunts and frowns were decisive. Kit translated it to the girls as a flat refusal. Flat refusals always spurred Bet on to further efforts.

“I’ll get those baskets yet,” she declared. “I want them. What’s more I’ve got an idea.”

“Go ahead Bet and dream your little dream. You never dealt with an ‘injun’ before. Now you’ve met your Waterloo.” Kit laughed. At heart she was rather pleased to see Bet go up against a losing proposition for once.

Bet tossed her head impudently at her friend but made no answer. The determination in her glance proved that she had not given up the struggle.

And late in the afternoon when the girls again walked down the canyon, Bet was decked out in such brightly colored beads that she might have been mistaken for an Indian girl herself. Strings of red, blue, amber, green and orange encircled her neck.

“What are you trying to do, Bet?” exclaimed Shirley with a laugh. “Are you trying to show off in front of the squaws to make them jealous?”

Enid laughingly began to count the strings.

“Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like this,” Kit interrupted.

“Oh, keep quiet, all of you! I can wear as many strings of beads as I want to. It’s the latest style,” she retorted with a grimace. “I have an object in wearing them.”

“It’s a bribe to get those baskets!” cried Kit delightedly. “And maybe you will, at that. Your methods are sound and business-like. I thought you’d met your match, but now I’m inclined to think they have.”

They were nearing the Indian camp and Bet noticed with pleasure the surprised glances of the squaws. They did not look at the other girls. Bet was the center of attraction.

Finally one Indian woman drew near and put out a brown finger to touch the bright objects. Bet smiled and waited. “You like beads?” she asked.

The squaw nodded and was joined by another one. Soon Bet was surrounded. “You want them?” There were as many grunts of acceptance as there were women there.

“You sell me some baskets?” asked Bet. “Then you can have the beads.”

The squaws looked at each other then back at the bright beads. They sidled away, without a word.

Bet’s heart stood still. She had lost! Kit’s eyes were shining with triumph.

But only for a moment. The Indian women were busily at work emptying the contents of their baskets into blankets. They were evidently preparing to give her the best they had. Bet got several small jar-like baskets besides two large ones that were used to carry things on their saddles.

They looked on in surprise when Bet paid them a good price for their baskets and passed over the strings of beads as well.

There was a chorus of grunts and Kit again translated. The squaws were congratulating themselves on their bargain. They were more than satisfied. “I’ve known Indians all my life,” Kit whispered to the girls, “but I’ve never before seen them so pleased about anything! You win, Bet!”

“I certainly do, Kit Patten. Come on, girls, lend a hand and let’s get these baskets home before they change their minds.”

As they were going up the trail toward the ranch, Young Mary suddenly appeared from a thicket of Palo Verde.

“Kit,” she said softly.

Kit turned as if she had been shot. “Mary,” she answered uneasily. “What’s the matter?”

Kit ran to the girl who now hesitated as if she were addressing a stranger. Then suddenly, with what appeared to be an effort, she whispered: “Your old man! He’s in the hut over in Rattlesnake Creek, and he’s being guarded by some bad Indians from down the valley. Be careful!”

And before Kit could stop her to ask any more questions, the Indian girl glided away as softly as she had come.