The Heritage of the Sioux by B. M. Bower (best books to read for teens .txt) 📗
- Author: B. M. Bower
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“You big fool,” she told him bluntly. “I not so fool like that. I go to Ramon—and plenty gold! I think you awful fool. You make me tired!”
Luis was furious enough for a minute to do her violence—but Annie-Many-Ponies killed that impulse also with the cold contempt in her eyes. She was not afraid of him, and like an animal he dared not strike where he could not inspire fear. He muttered a Mexican oath or two and went mortifiedly away to lead the horses down to the little stream where they might drink. The girl was right—he was a fool, he told himself angrily; and sulked for hours.
Fool or not, he had told Annie-Many-Ponies what she wanted to know. He had given food to her brooding thoughts—food that revived swiftly and nourished certain traits lying dormant in her nature, buried alive under the veneer of white man's civilization—as we are proud to call it.
The two ate in silence, and in silence they saddled the horses and fared forth again in their quest of Ramon—who had the gold which Annie-Many-Ponies boldly asserted was an added lure. “The monee—always the man wins that has muchos monee.” Luis muttered often to himself as he rode into the dusk. Behind him Annie-Many-Ponies walked and led the black horse that bore all her worldly possessions bound to the saddle. The little black dog padded patiently along at his heels.
CHAPTER XXI. “WAGALEXA CONKA—COLA!”
“So good little girl yoh are to true' Ramon! Now I knows for sure yoh lov' me moch as I lov' yoh! Now we go little ride more to my house high up in the pinons—then we be so happy like two birds in nes'. Firs' we rest ourselves, querida mia. This good place for res', my sweetheart that comes so far to be with Ramon. To-morrow we go to my house—to nes' of my loved one. Thees cabin, she's very good little nes' ontil tomorrow—yoh theenk so?”
Annie-Many-Ponies, sitting beside the doorway of the primitive little log cabin where the night-journeys with Luis had ended, looked up into Ramon's flushed face with her slow smile. But her eyes were two deep, black wells whose depths he could not fathom.
“Where them priest you promise?” she asked, her voice lowered to its softest Indian tone. “Now I think we make plenty marriage; then we go for live in your house.”
Ramon turned and caught her unexpectedly in his arms. “Ah, now you spik foolish talk. Yoh not trus' Ramon! Why yoh talk pries', pries' all time? Lov', she's plenty pries' for us. Pries' she don' make us more lov' each other—pries' don' make us happy—we like birds that make nes' in tree-tops. Yoh think they mus' have pries' for help them be happy? Lov'—that's plenty for me.”
Annie-Many-Ponies drew herself away from his embrace, but she did it gently. Bill Holmes, coming up from the spring, furnished excuse enough, and Ramon let her go.
“You promise me priest for making us marriage,” she persisted in her soft voice.
Ramon twisted the points of his black mustache and regarded her askance, smiling crookedly. “Yoh 'fraid for trus' me, that's why I promise,” he said at last. “Me, I don' need padre to mumble-mumble foolish words before I can be happy. Yoh 'fraid of Luck Leen'sey, that's why I promise. Now yoh come way up here, so luck don' matter no more. Yoh be happy weeth me.”
“You promise,” Annie-Many-Ponies repeated, a sullen note creeping into her voice.
Bill Holmes, lounging up to the doorway, glanced from one to the other and laughed. “What's the matter, Ramon?” he bantered. “Can't you square it with your squaw? Go after her with a club, why don't you? That's what they're used to.”
Ramon did not make any reply whatever, and Bill gave another chuckling laugh and joined Luis, who was going to take the gaunt horses to a tiny meadow beyond the hill. As he went he said something that made Luis look back over his shoulder and laugh.
Annie-Many-Ponies lifted her head and stared straight at Ramon. He did not meet her eyes, nor did he show any resentment of Bill Holmes' speech; yet he had sworn that he loved her, that he would be proud to have her for his wife. She, the daughter of a chief, had been insulted in his presence, and he had made no protest, shown no indignation.
“You promise priest for making us marriage,” she reiterated coldly, as if she meant to force his real self into the open. “You promise you put ring of gold for wedding on my finger, like white woman's got.”
Ramon's laugh was not pleasant. “Yoh theenk marry squaw?” he sneered. “Luck Leen'sey, he don't marry yoh. Why yoh theenk I marry yoh? You be good, Ramon lov' yoh. Buy yoh lots pretty theengs, me treat yoh fine. Yoh lucky girl, yoh bet. Yoh don't be foolish no more. Yoh run away, be my womans. W'at yoh theenk? Go back, perhaps? Yoh theenk Luck Leen'sey take yoh back? You gone off with Ramon Chavez, he say; yoh stay weeth Ramon then. Yoh Ramon's woman now. Yoh not be foolish like yoh too good for be kees. Luck, be kees yoh many times, I bet! Yoh don' play good girl no more for Ramon—oh-h, no! That joke she's w'at yoh call ches'nut. We don' want no more soch foolish talk, or else maybe I do w'at Bill Holmes says she's good for squaw!”
“You awful big liar,” Annie-Many-Ponies stated with a calm, terrific frankness. “You plenty big thief. You fool me plenty—now I don't be fool no more. You so mean yoh think all mens like you. You think all girls bad girls. You awful big fool, you think I stay for you. I go.”
Ramon twisted his mustache and laughed at her. “Now yoh so pretty, when yoh mad,” he teased. “How yoh go? All yoh theengs in cabin—monee, clothes, grob—how yoh go? Yoh mad now—pretty soon Ramon he makes yoh glad! Shame for soch cross words—soch cross looks! Now I don't talk till yoh be good girl, and says yoh lov' Ramon. I don't let yoh go, neither. Yoh don't get far way—I promise yoh for true. I breeng yoh back, sweetheart, I promise I breeng yoh back I Yoh don't want to go no more w'en I'm through weeth yoh—I promise yoh! Yoh theenk I let yoh go? O-oh-h, no! Ramon not let yoh get far away!”
In her heart she knew that he spoke at last the truth; that this was the real Ramon whom she had never before seen. To every woman must come sometime the bitter awakening from her dreamworld to the real world in all its sordidness and selfishness. Annie-Many-Ponies, standing there looking at Ramon—Ramon who laughed at her goodness—knew now what the future that had lain behind the mountains held in store for her. Not happiness, surely; not the wide ring of gold that would say she was Ramon's wife. Luis was right. He had spoken the truth, though she had believed that he lied when he said Ramon would never marry a woman. He would love and laugh and ride away, Luis had told her. Well, then—
“Shunka Chistala!” she called softly to the little black dog, that came eagerly, wagging his burr-matted tail. She laid
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