Chapter XI: Many Years Ago

In this everyday world of ours, what with the rapid strides that civilization has taken in every direction and the progress of our own generation, we have become cynical and apathetic regarding the ingenuity of mankind.

This fact was never brought to mind so much as on that Sunday afternoon when Westy got his first glimpse of Lola’s home. It must represent the love and labor of three quarters of a century and more, he thought, to attain such a triumph against such odds. How these sturdy people had outwitted stubborn Nature, to have made this paradise possible in a wilderness, when all the soil surrounding it even now seemed unwilling to give sustenance to anything save a few hardy trees and lifeless mosses. It was astounding and worthy of praise.

A little arbor had been built to one side of the house and it was here that Lola entertained them. At length her grandmother appeared, Lola introducing her as Mrs. Redmond.

Mr. Wilde could not help noticing that in spite of her simple costume she was a woman of marked aristocratic bearing, welcoming them all in the same soft, deep voice as her granddaughter.

Their hospitality was overwhelming, and in spite of the plainness of the food served at supper, the sweetness and wholesomeness of the two lonely creatures made the meal taste like a king’s feast.

Their eager interest about everything in the world outside was pathetic. They encouraged Mr. Wilde and Billy to talk of their work and listened attentively to Westy and Rip talk of the scouts. It was obvious that they did not want to talk of themselves at all, mentioning nothing of their own daily lives and routine.

Westy’s heart was filled with pity as he watched Lola’s dark eyes widening with interest as she listened to the desultory conversation around the table. She fairly gurgled with delight at times when little touches of humor were added here and there. It was a meal that none of them ever forgot.

After supper was over, the night being so warm, it was suggested that they go outside. The air was heavy with the scent of the flowers and the crooning hum of all the mountain night folk had begun.

Lola and the boys flopped themselves in the cool, thick grass at the feet of the older folks who were sitting in the rough-hewn chairs, bearing all the earmarks of true pioneer handicraft.

“I say, Miss Lola,” Westy said suddenly, breaking the spell, “are there any Indians in these woods? The honest-to-goodness kind, I mean!”

He wasn’t sure, but Westy imagined that he saw Lola startle at his question and in the faint light from the rising moon he detected a bright flush on her cheeks. Glancing at Mrs. Redmond, he saw that she also wore that same strange look. But then in the next moment Lola seemed to have regained her poise, for she smiled--perhaps a trifle sadly, he thought.

“You must remember, Westy, the red man no longer roams the mountain forests at will, nor does he fish in the streams unmolested that were once his by the divine right of Providence. The government sees to it that the Indian makes his home where the white man wishes him to make his home. They are now herded together, these once proud red men, like cattle and their freedom is as limited. The white man has wished it so!”

To say that they were startled at this speech from so young a girl was putting it mildly. They were amazed and no one missed the bitterness that infused her outburst.

“Gee, I know, you sure are right--there, Miss Lola,” Westy said sympathetically. “I’ve always thought it a darn shame to coop them up. They wouldn’t do any harm now, that’s a cinch!”

“I have often wondered myself,” Mr. Wilde put in, “wherein the fault did really lie in the beginning. It is true after all I suppose that the white man has been more or less of a thief, too. He took away their land at the start and then snatched from them the very birthright of every red man--his freedom. It is a fact to be deplored by the white man, really!”

Both Lola and her grandmother seemed to be looking back into the past, so grave were they in their meditation.

“Would you like to hear a long story, gentlemen?” Lola said inquiringly.

The very silence spoke consent.

In the realms of imagination they sat, waiting for Lola to begin. The moon broke full through the dark, star-flecked heavens as an elfin breeze stirred the sleeping flowers, wafting their heavy languorous perfume through the air. The cry of some distant night-prowler pierced the stillness and she looked away where the black shadows hid the deep ravine from view. With her face uplifted to the moonlight, her lips parted slowly:

“Many years ago----”