The Last of the Chiefs | Page 2

well for us, just as the evening was coming on, to go over a
swell and ride right into a forest of big oaks and maples, with the finest
little creek that you ever saw running through the middle of it. It would
be pleasant and shady there. Leaves would be lying about, the water
would be cold, and maybe we'd see elk coming down to drink."
"Perhaps we'll have such luck, Al," said Dick, although his tone
showed no such hope. But he added, assuming a cheerful manner:
"This can't go on forever; we'll be reaching the mountains soon, and
then you'll get well."
"How's that brother of yours? No better, I see, and he's got to ride all
the time now, making more load for the animals."
It was Sam Conway, the leader of the train, who spoke, a rough man of
middle age, for whom both Dick and Albert had acquired a deep dislike.
Dick flushed through his tan at the hard words.
"If he's sick he had the right to ride," he replied sharply. "We've paid
our share for this trip and maybe a little more. You know that."
Conway gave him an ugly look, but Dick stood up straight and strong,
and met him eye for eye. He was aware of their rights and he meant to
defend them. Conway, confronted by a dauntless spirit, turned away,
muttering in a surly fashion:
"We didn't bargain to take corpses across the plains."
Fortunately, the boy in the wagon did not hear him, and, though his
eyes flashed ominously, Dick said nothing. It was not a time for
quarreling, but it was often hard to restrain one's temper. He had
realized, soon after the start, when it was too late to withdraw, that the
train was not a good one. It was made up mostly of men. There were no
children, and the few women, like the men, were coarse and rough.
Turbulent scenes had occurred, but Dick and Albert kept aloof, steadily
minding their own business.
"What did Conway say?" asked Albert, after the man had gone.

"Nothing of any importance. He was merely growling as usual. He
likes to make himself disagreeable. I never saw another man who got as
much enjoyment out of that sort of thing."
Albert said nothing more, but closed his eyes. The canvas cover
protected him from the glare of the sun, but seemed to hold the heat
within it. Drops of perspiration stood on his face, and Dick longed for
the mountains, for his brother's sake.
All the train fell into a sullen silence, and no sound was heard but the
unsteady rumble of the wheels, the creak of an ungreased axle, and the
occasional crack of a whip. Clouds of dust arose and were whipped by
the stray winds into the faces of the travelers, the fine particles burning
like hot ashes. The train moved slowly and heavily, as if it dragged a
wounded length over the hard ground.
Dick Howard kept his position by the side of the wagon in which his
brother lay. He did not intend that Albert should hear bitter words
leveled at his weakness, and he knew that his own presence was a
deterrent. The strong figures and dauntless port of the older youth
inspired respect. Moreover, he carried over his shoulder a repeating
rifle of the latest pattern, and his belt was full of cartridges. He and
Albert had been particular about their arms. It was a necessity. The
plains and the mountains were subject to all the dangers of Indian
warfare, and they had taken a natural youthful pride in buying the finest
of weapons.
The hot dust burned Dick Howard's face and crept into his eyes and
throat. His tongue lay dry in his mouth. He might have ridden in one of
the wagons, too, had he chosen. As he truly said, he and Albert had
paid their full share, and in the labor of the trail, he was more efficient
than anybody else in the train. But his pride had been touched by
Conway's words. He would not ride, nor would he show any signs of
weakness. He strode on by the side of the wagon, head erect, his step
firm and springy.
The sun crept slowly down the brassy arch of the heavens, and the glare
grew less blinding. The heat abated, but Albert Howard, who had fallen

asleep, slept on. His brother drew a blanket over him, knowing that he
could not afford to catch cold, and breathed the cooler air himself, with
thankfulness. Conway came back again, and was scarcely less gruff
than before, although he said nothing about Albert.
"Bright Sun says than in another day or two we'll be seeing the
mountains," he vouchsafed; "and I'll