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Updated: May 31, 2025
Who's there?" called Madeline fearlessly, and then she whistled in case Bob had been mistaken about the dog. "It's I Betty Wales," answered a shaky little voice, with a reassuring suggestion of mirth in it. "I'm so glad somebody has come. I'm down here in a berry-patch and I can't get up." Madeline was off her horse by this time, pushing through the briars regardless of her new riding habit.
The following day I rode back in company with my young Indian friend to within two or three miles of the berry-patch, where we separated, and I rode out to the ridge that Nawasa had pointed out to me the day previous. I saw them standing by the tree, as she had said. I put my glass to my eyes and saw sure enough that it was a white girl with Nawasa, and that she looked very sad.
So we turned our backs upon the town, and, for my part very reluctantly, went home. The moon was not yet much past the full, and I can remember now how the berry-patch looked that night as we passed it, lying white and shining in the moonlight.
Louis returned the smile, and Arthur gave her a look of adoration, so tender, so bold, that she trembled. The next moment, when the broad space through which they were walking ended in a berry-patch, he plunged among the bushes with eagerness, to gather for her black raspberries in his drinking-cup. Her attempt to discuss her departure amiably had failed.
For a berry-patch was community property, and when the crop was plentiful, as it was this year, a berry-picking became a pleasant social function, where one met friends from near and far, and picnicked with them under the trees. Christina was working with furious speed. She and Sandy had been racing all morning to see who would be the first to fill a four-quart pail.
Paul had been sent for blue-berries through the Eagle Rock woods to the high upland pasture where the Powers cows fed during the day. On the upper edge of that, skirting a tract of slash left from an old cutting, was a berry-patch, familiar to all the children of Crittenden's valley.
I can see the berry-patch now, lying white and shining in the moonlight, with here and there round the edges, and even sometimes pretty well out into the middle, if the night was not too light, the black spots showing where the bears were feeding.
He was to wait there until the middle of the afternoon, and if we were not there by that time he was to return to camp. Nawasa and I went on to the berry-patch, but the white girl was not there. We had not waited long, however, until Nawasa looked up and said in Spanish, "There she comes now." I looked and saw the girl running.
The mere smell of a berry-patch at the end of summer, when the sun has been beating down all day, so that the air is heavy with the scent of the cooking fruit, is delicious enough, but it is nothing to the sweetness of the berries themselves. It was in the evening, after our dip in the river, when twilight was shading into night, that we used to visit the patch.
A small ranchman who lived a dozen miles from me on the Little Missouri once found a she-bear and three half-grown cubs feeding at a berry-patch in a ravine. He shot the old she in the small of the back, whereat she made a loud roaring and squealing.
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