With the twitter of birds outside and glorious sunshine streaming through the opened window, Bess awoke early, feeling that the refreshing sleep had completely restored her energy and light-heartedness. She breathed deeply of the fresh, cold air, feeling as if she could fly with the birds.
The thought of helping with breakfast prompted her to hasten, and soon she found the kitchen. An Indian woman was busily engaged getting the meal, as Bess entered, and she inquired of the woman where Mrs. West was. A slight motion of the hand upward was the only reply, and the woman silently moved out of the room.
Bess did not understand, and left the house for out-of-doors. At a little distance stood Henry West. Bess ran toward him with a cheerful “Good morning! Are you quite rested, Mr. West?”
“Oh, yes, indeed! It takes more than a day like yesterday to tire me. But may I ask how you are feeling this morning? You look well and happy, surely.”
“I am, and completely rested, too; but my face still smarts,” she replied, cautiously touching the pretty cheeks.
“You will suffer a good deal from the sun and wind for a while, then they won’t have any ill effects at all.”
“Not after I get thoroughly toughened, you mean,” she said with a merry twinkle in her eye. “Please, have we time to walk up there to the spring, before breakfast, Mr. West?”
“Yes, I think so,” he replied, and led her to the willows bending gently over, as if to hide their treasure. Here was an immense trough hewn from a log, where the clear, cold water flowed through it, in a great stream.
Bess stooped to drink; when she lifted her dripping face, Henry West could not suppress a laugh at the picture she made. Even her stray locks had had a bath, and her brown eyes were alight like a water nymph’s. His heart swelled with increasing love for this beautiful girl, and with the love grew a most bitter anguish as he realized more and more how hopeless it all must be. He fought hard to stifle his tender passion, and fully aware of the pain he must bear to be so near her day after day, to see her so unconsciously happy, to hear her merry laugh and soft, tender voice. He could at least seek solace away across the hills, or comfort in the company of his faithful Eagle, whose confiding ear had already heard many of his master’s heartaches.
His mother summoned them from the house, and Bess, with a girlish challenge that she would reach there first, started to run swiftly down the gentle slope towards the house. Mrs. West caught the rosy, merry laughing girl in her arms as she said, “I am glad to see you feeling so well and rested this morning, dear.”
“Oh, I feel fine,” Bess replied. “I want to cry out—to shout,” she added, as she gave the older woman so vigorous a hug that it made her gasp for breath.
“Great guns! Bess, you better vent some of that superfluous squeeze on some of the rest of us. See! Mrs. West is still struggling to breathe,” said James, as he placed Bess in her chair at the breakfast table.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, little Mother! Did I really hurt you? But I just had to squeeze someone or something; so after this when any of you see me coming with fire in my eye, I give you all fair warning.” They laughed at her strenuosity and good spirits and the coffee was served.
“Bess, don’t impress those people that you came from the Bowery,” said her brother, and all through breakfast she tried to recall what she had said or done that should suggest such a thought to James.
Breakfast was nearly over when Mrs. West told Henry to go up to the sick man’s room, as Mr. Davis had requested to see him. Henry shot a troubled glance at his mother and said, “I would much rather not go, mother.”
“I cannot understand, Henry, why you have taken such a dislike to Mr. Davis; he has always treated us with courtesy and many times has shown us marked consideration. Surely you cannot have forgotten how attentive he always was to Helen—”
“Hush, Mother! I will go to him at once. No, I have not forgotten anything,—and pray you may never understand,” he added in a whisper. He arose abruptly from his chair and quitted the room before he had finished speaking, so the last words reached the ears of Bess alone.
She watched the man, and thought of his words the day before when she told him that she knew Mr. Davis. As he had not asked how nor where she had known him, she thought perhaps James had explained.
Henry West knocked softly at the door of Mr. Davis’ room and entered at a faint “come in.” He could not help feeling a twinge of pity as he saw the pallid brow and hands of the helpless man, and yet his very presence filled him with ever-increasing hatred and contempt. He put his hand to his throat as if his collar were choking him, as he said in a husky voice: “You sent for me, Mr. Davis. Of what service can I be to you?”
He could scarcely catch the faint words that came from the injured man’s lips, and going nearer, bent over that he might hear what Davis was saying.
“Will you send one of my policemen here, West? There are several important matters which I must see about today.” The Indian agent spoke with effort.
“I fear you are not strong enough to see anyone yet,” Henry suggested kindly.
The man glared at him and hotly said, “Oh, hell! Yes, I am! All that hurts is my ankle, and I don’t have to talk with that.”
With an abrupt, “Very well, sir,” West moved towards the door.
“Say, West,” said Davis, raising his voice; “I know you didn’t give me that help yesterday because you love me,” with a slight sneer,—“but I thank you just the same.”
West suddenly wheeled and stood for a moment, rigid with clenched hands, looking at the man. “No, Dave Davis,” he said in his low, firm voice, “I did not save your neck because I even respect you. I would have done as much, or even more, for any old Injun.”
Bess met him as he went through the living-room, but he did not look at her as he passed outdoors. She wondered what could be the reason for his looking so sullen as he passed, and knew that it must be the man upstairs.
“Come here a moment, dear,” called Mrs. West to her; “I want you to take some breakfast up to Mr. Davis. One of my women is sitting there.”
Bess dreaded meeting him, yet she could not refuse to go. She carried the dainty and appetizing food into his room, and entered so softly that the man did not move. She thought he had fallen asleep, when a slight groan told her she was mistaken.
“Here is your breakfast, Mr. Davis,” she said cheerily.
“Oh, it is you, Miss Fletcher! I had begun to wonder why you did not come to see your patient.”
“I do hope you are better this morning, and that you may soon be strong again,” she said, beginning to help him with his meal.
“I am afraid this confounded ankle won’t be in any hurry getting well,” he replied bitterly, “and I shall be obliged to force my unwelcome presence here for too long.”
“Please don’t say that, Mr. Davis; I am sure you are perfectly welcome here. Mrs. West is only too glad to do all she can to alleviate your pain,” reassured Bess hastily.
“Yes, I understand,” he replied, as he sipped his coffee, “but Henry West has some sort of a grudge against me. Guess he thinks that at one time I cared for his sister.” Bess noticed a swift, sneering smile flit across his lips. He continued: “One never knows what to expect from these Indians.”
“S—sh,” warned Bess, glancing at the servant. She did not like what he was saying nor the tone of his voice, and as soon as he had finished his breakfast she hurriedly left him. Could the cause of all of Henry’s hatred be the sister whom he had loved so tenderly, she wondered.