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diff --git a/16870-h/16870-h.htm b/16870-h/16870-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..45fb7f7 --- /dev/null +++ b/16870-h/16870-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6902 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Injun and Whitey to the Rescue, by William S. Hart</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + hr.full { width: 100%; } + pre {font-size: small;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Injun and Whitey to the Rescue, by William S. +Hart, Illustrated by Harold Cue</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Injun and Whitey to the Rescue</p> +<p>Author: William S. Hart</p> +<p>Release Date: October 14, 2005 [eBook #16870]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INJUN AND WHITEY TO THE RESCUE***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Paul Ereaut,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (https://www.pgdp.net/)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="img1-4" id="img1-4"></a> +<img src="images/img1-4.jpg" alt="They couldn't shoot him—he was going too fast." +title="They couldn't shoot him—he was going too fast" /> +<br /> +<h3>They couldn't shoot him—he was going too fast</h3> +</div> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h3>THE GOLDEN WEST BOYS</h3> + +<h1>INJUN AND WHITEY TO THE RESCUE</h1> + +<h2>BY WILLIAM S. HART</h2> + + +<p class="center">AUTHOR OF<br /> +<br /> +INJUN AND WHITEY<br /> +AND INJUN AND WHITEY STRIKE OUT FOR THEMSELVES, <span class="smcap">Etc</span>.</p> + +<p> </p> +<h4>ILLUSTRATED BY HAROLD CUE</h4> + +<p> </p> +<p class="center">GROSSET & DUNLAP<br /> +PUBLISHERS NEW YORK<br /> +Made in the United States of America</p> +<p> </p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center">COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY WILLIAM S. HART<br /> +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED<br /> +PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>PREFACE</h2> + + +<p><i>In the Boys' Golden West Series I have done my best to present to its +readers the West that I knew as a boy.</i></p> + +<p><i>Frontier days were made up of many different kinds of humans. There +were men who were muddy-bellied coyotes, so low that they hugged the +ground like a snake. There were girls whose cheeks were so toughened by +shame as to be hardly knowable from squaws. There were stoic Indians +with red-raw, liquor-dilated eyes, peaceable and just when sober, +boastful and intolerant when drunk. And then there were those White Men, +those moulders, those makers of the great, big open-hearted West, that +had not yet been denatured by nesters and wire fences, men to whom a +Colt gun was the court of last appeal and who did not carry a warrant in +their pockets until it was worn out, men who faced staggering odds and +danger single-handed and alone, men who created and worked out and made +an Ideal Civilization,—a country where doors were left unlocked at +night and the windows of the mind were always open,—men who were +always kind to the weak and unprotected, even if they did have hoofs and +horns, men like William B. (Bat) Masterson and Wyatt Earp. They and +their kind made the frontier, that Great West which we can now look back +upon as the most romantic era of our American History.</i></p> + +<p><i>I love it; I love all that was ever connected with it; and to all those +who are in sympathy with my crude efforts to set forth what little I +know, to each and every boy who feels a choke in his throat when he +reads the closing lines of "In Memory," I say, I have a choke in my +throat too, and I am silently clutching your hand, for that red boy has +crossed the Big Divide and gone to the Happy Hunting Grounds and the +white boy is saying Farewell.</i></p> + + +<p>The Author<br /><br /><br /></p> + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> + +<tr><td align='left'>Chapter</td> +<td align='left'></td> +<td align='left'>Page</td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">I.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">An Arrival</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_1'>1</a></td></tr> + + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">II.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Surprise</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_13'>13</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;"> III.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Mystery</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_26'>26</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">IV.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Solution</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_39'>39</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">V.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Bunk-House Talk</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_51'>51</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">VI</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Boots</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_66'>66</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">VII.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Education and Other Things</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_77'>77</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">VIII.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Injun Talks</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_87'>87</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">IX.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Fish-Hooks and Hooky</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_115'>115</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">X.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Hard Job</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_129'>129</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">XI.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">The T Up and Down</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_139'>139</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">XII.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Felix the Faithless</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_150'>150</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">XIII.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Fool's Errand</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_160'>160</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">XIV.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Stampede</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_170'>170</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">XV.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Cattle-Sheep War</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_185'>185</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">XVI.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">"Medicine"</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_206'>206</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">XVII.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">"The Pride of the West"</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_218'>218</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">XVIII.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Wonders</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_229'>229</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">XIX.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Threshing-Time</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_235'>235</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">XX.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Story of the Custer Fight</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_247'>247</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">XXI.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Unrest</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_263'>263</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">XXII.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">The New Order</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_271'>271</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">XXIII.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Pioneer Days</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_290'>290</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">XXIV.</span></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">"In Memory"</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_299'>299</a></td></tr> +</table><br /><br /><br /></div> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations"> + +<tr><td align='left'>ILLUSTRATIONS</td> +<td align='left'>Page</td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>They couldn't shoot him—he was going too fast</td> +<td align='left'><i>Frontispiece</i></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>In Front of Them Stood Sitting Bull</td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_16'>16</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>Advancing into the Road with both Front Paws Extended</td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_120'>120</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>The Man's Figure disappeared through the Opening, the Bucket falling from</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>his Hands</td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_202'>202</a></td></tr> +</table><br /><br /></div> + +<p><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 1]</span></p> + +<h2>INJUN AND WHITEY TO THE RESCUE</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>AN ARRIVAL</h3> +<p><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 2]</span></p> + + +<p>There was no doubt that affairs were rather dull on the Bar O Ranch; at +least they seemed so to "Whitey," otherwise Alan Sherwood. Since he and +his pal, "Injun," had had the adventures incidental to the finding of +the gold in the mountains, there had been nothing doing. So life seemed +tame to Whitey, to whom so many exciting things had happened since he +had come West that he now had a taste for excitement.</p> + +<p>It was Saturday, so there were no lessons, and it was a relief to be +free from the teachings of John Big Moose, the educated Dakota, who +acted as tutor for Injun and Whitey. Not that John was impatient with +his pupils. He was too patient, if anything, his own boyhood not being +so far behind him that he had forgotten that outdoors, in the Golden +West, is apt to prove more interesting to fifteen-year-old youth than +printed books—especially when one half the class is of Indian blood.</p> +<p><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 3]</span></p> +<p>As Whitey stood near the bunk house and thought of these things, his eye +was attracted by a speck moving toward him across the prairie. He +watched it with the interest one might have in a ship at sea; as one +watches in a place in which few moving things are seen. The speck was +small, and was coming toward Whitey slowly.</p> + +<p>From around the corner of the bunk house Injun approached. It will be +remembered by those who have read of Injun that he was very fond of pink +pajamas. As garments, pink pajamas seemed to Injun to be the real thing. +It had been hard to convince him that they were not proper for everyday +wear, but when he was half convinced of this fact, he had done the next +best thing, and taken to a very pink shirt. This, tucked in a large pair +of men's trousers, below which were beaded moccasins, was Injun's +costume, which he wore with quiet dignity.</p> + +<p>"What do you s'pose that is?" asked Whitey, pointing at the speck.</p> + +<p>"Dog," Injun answered briefly.</p> + +<p>"A dog!" cried Whitey, who, though he had never ceased to wonder at +Injun's keenness of sight, was inclined to question it now. "What can a +dog be doing out there?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 4]</span></p> + +<p>"Dunno," Injun replied. "Him dog." Injun's education had not as yet sunk +in deep enough to affect his speech.</p> + +<p>Whitey again turned his eyes toward the object, which certainly was +moving slowly, as though tired, and, as the boys watched, sure enough, +began to resolve itself into the shape of a dog. Here at last was +something happening to break the dullness of the day. A strange dog +twenty-five miles from any place in which a dog would naturally be.</p> + +<p>Furthermore, when the animal was near enough to be seen distinctly, he +furnished another surprise. He was entirely unlike any of the dogs of +that neighborhood—the hounds, collies, or terriers. He was white, +short, chunky. His head was very large for his size, his jaw undershot, +his mouth enormous, and his lower lip drooped carelessly over a couple +of fangs on each side. Under small ears his eyes popped almost out of +his head, and his snub nose could scarcely be said to be a nose at all. +From a wide chest his body narrowed until it joined a short, twisted +tail, and his front legs were bowed, as though he had been in the habit +of riding a horse all his life.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 5]</span></p> + +<p>Injun gazed at this strange being with something as near surprise as he +ever allowed himself. "Him look like frog," he declared.</p> + +<p>"Why, it's a bulldog, an English bulldog!" exclaimed Whitey, who had +seen many of this breed in the East.</p> + +<p>"More like bullfrog," Injun maintained solemnly. "What him do—eat +bulls?"</p> + +<p>The brute's appearance surely was forbidding enough, and if Injun had +been subject to fear, which he wasn't, he would have felt it now. He did +not know, as many better informed people do not, that beneath this +breed's fierce appearance lies the deepest of dog love for a +master—and that's a pretty deep love—and that no other "friend of man" +holds gentler, kinder feeling for the human race than this queerly +shaped animal. And this in spite of the fact that he owes the very +queerness of his appearance to man, who has had him bred in that shape, +through countless generations, to the end that the poor, faithful beast +may do brutal deeds in the bull ring and the dog pit.</p> +<p><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 6]</span></p> + +<p>Whitey did not know all this—that the wide jaws were designed for a +grip on the enemy, the snub nose to permit breathing while that grip was +held, the widespread legs to secure a firm ground hold; in short, that +he was looking at an animal built for conflict, which had the courage of +a lion where his enemies were concerned, and the love of a wild thing +for its young where its human friends were concerned.</p> + +<p>But Whitey knew the latter part of it—that bulldogs were friendly, and +usually misunderstood, and he proceeded to let Injun in on his +knowledge. "You needn't be afraid of him," he said.</p> + +<p>"No 'fraid, but no go too close," replied the cautious Injun.</p> + +<p>Now that this dog was in reach of humans he sat down, opened his +cave-like mouth, allowing a few inches of tongue to loll out, panted, +and looked amiably at the boys. He certainly was tired.</p> + +<p>"He's not only tired, he's thirsty," said Whitey, and ran to the stable +for water.</p> +<p><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 7]</span></p> +<p>And while he was gone the bulldog and Injun looked at each other—Injun +with his bronze skin, his long, straight hair, his calm face, and his +steady, dark eyes. This descendant of thousands of fighting men regarded +that descendant of thousands of fighting dogs. And what they thought of +each other the dog couldn't tell, and Injun didn't, but ever after they +were friends.</p> + +<p>Presently Whitey returned from the stable with a pan of water, and with +Bill Jordan, foreman of the Bar O, Charlie Bassett, Buck Higgins, and +Shorty Palmer, all the cowpunchers who happened to be on the place. They +all knew bulldogs, and they regarded the newcomer with awe and respect.</p> + +<p>Whitey put the water before the dog, who, after favoring him with a +grateful glance and a quiver of his stub tail, went to it.</p> + +<p>"He's sure awful dry," Bill said. "Ought t' take him up to Moose Lake. +Looks like that pan o' water won't even moisten him."</p> + +<p>"Where d'ye reck'n he come from?" asked Shorty.</p> + +<p>"Dunno."</p> +<p><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 8]</span></p> +<p>"Mebbe he was follerin' a wagon, an' got lost," Buck Higgins suggested +hopefully.</p> + +<p>"Wagon nothin'!" snorted Bill. "Nobody in these parts'd have a dog like +that, an' if they did, what would he be doin' follerin' a wagon? He +ain't built to run, he's built to fight."</p> + +<p>Where the dog had come from was something of a mystery. Neighbors were +not near by, in those days, in Montana, the nearest being fourteen miles +off, and the railway twenty-two, and nothing there but a water tank. +There was some discussion regarding the matter which ended in a +deadlock. It was certain that none of the ranchmen in the vicinity owned +such a dog, and even so, or if a visitor owned him, how would he get to +the Bar O? Walk, with "them legs"?</p> + +<p>While the discussion went on, the subject of it gulped down large chunks +of beef which Whitey had begged from the cook, and after that he went +with the men and boys to the ranch house, where, with an apologetic +leer, and a wiggle of his tail, he stretched himself on the veranda, and +fell into a deep sleep. He was very grateful, but he was also very +tired.</p> +<p><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 9]</span></p> +<p>In a lonely ranch house matters are of concern which would create little +comment in a city. This dog's coming was in the nature of an event at +the Bar O. Bill, the foreman, and all the punchers were ready to neglect +work for a considerable time and talk about it. Even Injun occasionally +looked interested. But all the talk could not solve the problem of the +animal's presence.</p> + +<p>The only one who knew lay sleeping on the veranda and couldn't tell. It +isn't likely that he dreamed, but if he did it might have been of being +tied to the handle of a trunk in an overland limited baggage car; of the +train's stopping for water at a lonely tank; of the earthy, wholesome +country smell that came through the door, left open for coolness.</p> + +<p>There had been a stirring in the grass near the track. A glimpse of an +animal that looked something like a fox and something like a wolf, and +<a name="Page_10" id="Page_10"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 10]</span> +wasn't either one, a wild animal that was sneaking around the train for +the odd bits of food that were sometimes left in its wake. As the +pungent scent of this beast reached the bulldog's snub nose, the leash +that held him to the trunk became a thing of little worth. With a +violent lurch he broke it, leaped from the door, landed sprawling +alongside the track, and was off in pursuit of the strange animal.</p> + +<p>Now, any one who knows how a bulldog is built and how a coyote is built +can imagine how much chance the first has to catch the second. The dog +followed by sight, not by scent. With his head held as high as his short +neck would allow he dashed on. The coyote didn't bother very much. After +getting a good start he doubled on his tracks for a little way, turned +aside, and sat down. And if he wasn't too mean to laugh, he may at +least have smiled as his enemy rushed forward toward nowhere.</p> + +<p>Then that bulldog ran and ran until he couldn't run any more. Then he +walked till he couldn't walk any farther. Then he slept all night, while +other coyotes howled dismally near by. And in the morning he started off +again, thinking he was going toward the train and his sorrowful master, +really going in the opposite direction. But there was one thing that man +<a name="Page_11" id="Page_11"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 11]</span> +hadn't taught him to do in all the years, and that was to quit, so he +kept on. And at last, as any one will who keeps going long enough, he +had to arrive somewhere and he reached the Bar O Ranch.</p> + +<p>So you and I and the dog know how he got there, but Bill Jordan, the +punchers, and the boys didn't, and presently they gave up trying to +figure it out.</p> + +<p>"'Tain't likely his owner'll show up, so he's ours," said Bill Jordan.</p> + +<p>"He's Whitey's," Buck Higgins maintained. "He saw him first."</p> + +<p>This law was older than any ranch house, or any cowpuncher, so it held +good, and Whitey became the proud owner of the dog. The matter of his +name came next in importance. Of course he had one, and he was awakened, +and asked to respond to as many dog names as the party could think of. +These were many, running from Towser to Nero, but they brought no +response from the sleepy animal.</p> + +<p>"Must be somep'n unusual," Buck Higgins decided, and he ventured on +"Alphonse" and "Julius Cæsar," but they didn't fit.</p> + +<p>"Well, we jest nachally got t' give him a name," said Shorty Palmer.</p> + +<p>Again the list was gone over, but nothing seemed quite right. "Oughta be +somep'n' 'propriate," said Bill Jordan. "How 'bout Moses? He was lost in +th' wilderness."</p> +<p><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 12]</span></p> + +<p>"Wilderness nothin'!" objected Buck. "In the bullrushes. Them ain't +prairie grass."</p> + +<p>"Besides," said Whitey, "he ought to have a fighting name. Napoleon!"</p> + +<p>"'Tain't English."</p> + +<p>"Wellington."</p> + +<p>"Too long."</p> + +<p>As he seemed to have no choice in naming his own dog, Whitey turned in +despair to Injun, who had stood solemnly by. "How about you?" Whitey +asked. "Haven't you a name to suggest?"</p> + +<p>The dog knew that he was the subject of the talk, and possibly felt that +he ought to keep awake, for he sat on the veranda and blinked at the +humans. Injun gazed at him stolidly.</p> +<p><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 13]</span></p> +<p>"Huh!" he grunted. "Sittin' Bull."</p> + +<p>"Great!" cried all the others.</p> + +<p>This matter settled, the men went away. Sitting Bull stretched himself +out on the veranda and again fell asleep, and Whitey told Injun that the +dog's coming probably was a good omen. That there ought to be something +doing on the ranch now.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>A Suprise</h3> + + +<p>It was early morning, and the Bar O Ranch slept, heedless of the keen +late-autumn air that had in it just a faint, brisk hint of the fall +<a name="Page_14" id="Page_14"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 14]</span> +frosts to come. Whitey came out of the ranch house and moved toward the +stable. Sitting Bull trudged after him.</p> + +<p>The dog was entirely rested, having slept the better part of two days +and nights. He seemed to know that Whitey was his new owner. Dogs have +an instinct for that sort of thing. And though Bull was civil and +friendly enough with every one else on the ranch, he took to Whitey by +selection.</p> + +<p>At six o'clock each night Bull sat near the ranch-house front door as +though waiting for some one. He waited a long time. Bill Jordan, who +prided himself on what he knew about dogs, and men, said that Bull's +former owner probably was a city man, and was in the habit of coming +home at six; that the dog was waiting for him to appear. Be that as it +may, in the days to come Bull gave up this custom. No one knew what he +felt about the loss of his old master. He became a Montana dog. The city +was to know him no more.</p> + +<p>Now he waddled along after Whitey, who was making for a straw stack, +<a name="Page_15" id="Page_15"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 15]</span> +near the stable. Among the field mice, gophers, rabbits, and such that +thought this stack was a pretty nice place to hang around, were two hens +that were of the same opinion. At least they made their nests in the +stack and laid their eggs there. And they were the only hens that the +Bar O boasted, for hens were scarce in Montana in those days—as Buck +said, "almost as scarce as hen's teeth, an' every one knows there ain't +no such thing."</p> + +<p>It was Whitey's particular business to gather the eggs of those hens, +which they saw fit to lay early in the morning. So Whitey came to the +stack early, to be ahead of any weasels or ferrets, who had an uncommon +fondness for eggs. This morning as he moved around the stack he didn't +find any eggs, but he saw something black and pointed sticking out of +the straw. Whitey took hold of the object and pulled, and the thing +lengthened out in his hands.</p> + +<p>And right there a sort of shivery feeling attacked Whitey's spine and +moved up until it reached his hair, which straightway began to stand on +end, for the object was a boot and in it was a man's leg. The boot came, +followed by the leg, followed by a man. From what might be called the +twin straw beds, another man emerged. Both sat upright in the straw and +rubbed their eyes. Whitey didn't wait to see if any more were coming, or +even to think of where he was going. He fled.</p> +<p><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 16]</span></p> + +<p>Instinct took him toward the ranch house, and good fortune brought Bill +Jordan out of the door at the same moment.</p> + +<p>"Bill!" yelled Whitey, "there's two men in the straw stack!"</p> + +<p>Bill did not appear unduly excited. "They ain't eatin' the straw, are +they?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"No, but they look awfully tough, and they nearly gave me +heart-disease," Whitey panted.</p> + +<p>"If tough-lookin' folks could give me heart-disease, I'd of bin dead +long ago," Bill responded. "Let's go an' size 'em up."</p> + +<p>Bill strolled to the stack with Whitey. The two men, now thoroughly +awake, were still sitting upright in the straw. In front of them stood +Sitting Bull. His lower jaw was sticking out farther than usual, and he +was watching the men and awaiting events.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="img2-4" id="img2-4"></a> +<img src="images/img2-4.jpg" alt="In Front of Them Stood Sitting Bull." +title="In Front of Them Stood Sitting Bull" /> +<br /> +<h3>In Front of Them Stood Sitting Bull</h3> +</div> +<p><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 17]</span></p> +<p>"Hey! Call off yer dog, will ye?" requested one of the men.</p> + +<p>"He ain't mine," Bill answered calmly, indicating Whitey. "He's his."</p> + +<p>"Well, get him to call him off," said the man. "Every time we move he +makes a noise like sudden death."</p> + +<p>Whitey summoned Bull, who came to him obediently enough, and the men +rose to their feet, and stretched themselves and brushed off some of the +straw that clung to their not over-neat attire. They were not as +bad-looking as they might have been, neither were they as good-looking. +One was tall and slim and wore a dark beard. The other was almost as +tall, but, being very fat, did not look his height. He was +clean-shaven, or would have been had it not been for about three days' +stubbly growth. Their clothes were well-worn, and they wore no collars, +but their boots were good.</p> + +<p>"What you fellers doin' here?" demanded Bill. "Ain't the bunk house good +enough for you?"</p> +<p><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 18]</span></p> +<p>"We got in late, an' ev'body was in bed," said the taller of the two. +"We're walkin' through for th' thrashin'."</p> + +<p>"Well, yer late for that too," said Bill.</p> + +<p>The threshing in the early days of Montana was an affair in which many +people of all sorts took part, as will be seen later. Bill questioned +the men, and their story was brought out. It seemed that they had come +from Billings, in search of work at threshing. The taller, thin one was +named Hank, but was usually called "String Beans," on account of his +scissors-like appearance. He had formerly been a cowpuncher. The other +had been a waiter, until he got too fat, then he had become a cook. +Originally named Albert, after he had waited in a restaurant for a +while he had been dubbed "Ham And," which, you may know, is a short way +of ordering ham and eggs. And this name in time was reduced to "Ham."</p> + +<p>Bill Jordan did not seem to take the men seriously. Their names may have +had something to do with his attitude, and the early West was not +<a name="Page_19" id="Page_19"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 19]</span> +over-suspicious, anyway. It had been said that "out here we take every +man to be honest, until he is proven to be a thief, and in the East they +take every man to be a thief, until he is proven to be honest." You can +believe that or not, as you happen to live in the West or in the East. +Besides, Bill could make use of the talents of String Beans and Ham. He +needed "hands" to work on the ranch.</p> + +<p>When Whitey found that his supposed tragedy was turning into a comedy, +he felt rather bad about it, especially as Bill was inclined to guy him.</p> + +<p>"Lucky you didn't shoot up them two fellers what's named after food," +Bill said, when the strangers had retired to the bunk house. "Or knock +'em out with some of them upper-cuts you're so handy in passin' +'round." For a boy, Whitey was an expert boxer.</p> + +<p>"What was I to think, finding them that way?" Whitey retorted. "And they +don't look very good to me yet."</p> + +<p>"Clothin' is only skin deep," said Bill.</p> + +<p>Whitey felt called on to justify his alarm. "It's not only their +<a name="Page_20" id="Page_20"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 20]</span> +clothes," he said, "but their looks. You noticed that Bull didn't like +them, and you know dogs have true instinct about judging people."</p> + +<p>"Let me tell you somethin' about dogs," began Bill, who usually was +willing to tell Whitey, or anybody else, something about anything. "Dogs +is supposed to be democratic, but they ain't. They don't like shabby +men. I'm purty fond of dogs, but they got one fault—they're snobs. They +don't like shabby men," Bill repeated for emphasis.</p> + +<p>As Whitey thought of this he remembered that the dogs he had known had +this failing, if it was a failing. He also tried to think of some reason +for it, so he could prove that Bill was wrong, but he couldn't. That is, +he couldn't think of anything until Bill had gone away and it was too +late. Then it occurred to him that it was only the dogs that belonged to +the well-dressed that disliked the poorly dressed. That a shabby man's +dog loved him just as well as though he wore purple and fine linen, +whatever that was. Whitey looked around for Bill to confound him with +this truth, but Bill had disappeared—a way he had of doing the moment +<a name="Page_21" id="Page_21"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 21]</span> +he got the better of an argument.</p> + +<p>If the two men were aching to work, they had not long to suffer; Bill +Jordan soon found occupation for them. Slim, the negro cook, had been +taken with a "misery" in his side, and Ham was installed in his place. +And to do Ham justice he was not such a bad cook. The ranch hands +allowed that he couldn't have been worse than Slim, anyway. String Beans +did not make so much of a hit as a cowpuncher. Bill watched some of his +efforts, and said that though he was a bad puncher he was a good liar +for saying he'd ever seen a cow before. So String Beans was sent to the +mine to work.</p> + +<p>This quartz mine, up in the mountains, was the one near which Injun and +Whitey had had so many exciting adventures. Now they owned an interest +in it, as has been told, though Mr. Sherwood and a tribe of Dakota +Indians were the principal shareholders. During the summer the mine had +been undergoing development, and the first shipment of ore was soon to +be made.</p> +<p><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 22]</span></p> +<p>With String Beans working at the mine, and Ham improving the men's +digestion as a cook, it began to look as though Whitey's idea that they +were desperate characters was ill-founded. In fact, the thought had +almost passed from his mind, and was quite forgotten on a certain +Saturday. On that day Injun and Whitey were free from the teachings of +John Big Moose, and were out on the plains for antelope. They didn't get +an antelope, didn't even see one. All they got were appetites; though +Whitey's appetite came without calling, as it were, and always excited +the admiration of Bill Jordan. After dinner that evening Whitey went to +the bunk house. Some of the cowpunchers were in from the range, and +Whitey loved to hear the yarns they would spin.</p> + +<p>So he lay in a bunk and listened to a number of stories, and wondered +if they were all true—and it is a singular fact that some of them were. +But Whitey's day's hunt had been long, and his dinner had been big, and +his eyes began to droop.</p> +<p><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 23]</span></p> +<p>Buck Higgins was in the midst of a tale about being thrown from his +cayuse and breaking his right arm. There was a wild stallion in this +story, which every puncher in seven states or so had tried to capture. +Now, Buck, with his right arm broken, naturally had to throw his rope +with his left, and his manner of doing that took some description. It +was during this that in Whitey's mind he, in a mysterious way, changed +to Buck, or rather Buck changed to Whitey, and the stallion changed to +an antelope, and pretty soon things began to get rather vague generally.</p> + +<p>When Whitey awoke, the bunk house was almost dark. How long he had been +lying asleep he did not know. The light came from a candle, and +presently Whitey heard voices. Three men were seated near by, and Whitey +was about to get out of the bunk, when he recognized the voice of +String Beans, and something held him back. It was evident that the men +did not know that he was there.</p> + +<p>Whitey felt something warm stir against him, and, startled, put out his +hand and encountered a hairy surface. It was Sitting Bull, who had +crawled into the bunk after Whitey had fallen asleep, and crowded in +between the boy and the wall. At the sound of String Beans' voice Whitey<a name="Page_24" id="Page_24"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 24]</span> +felt the hair along Bull's neck rise. He remembered the dog's dislike +for the two men, and put his hand over Bull's mouth to keep him from +growling. Whitey was glad he did not snore. He might now have a chance +to learn whether the two were on the level or not.</p> + +<p>For the moment Whitey had some qualms about listening, but he soon +dismissed them. If these men were open and aboveboard, why were they +whispering in the dimly lighted bunk house? Whitey had never been able +to overcome the first distrust he had felt for String Beans and Ham. He +also had a feeling that he ought to justify that distrust, that in a way +it was up to him. So he continued to eavesdrop.</p> + +<p>String's tones were low, and did not come to Whitey distinctly. This +was unfortunate in one way, but fortunate in another, for had the men +been nearer they probably would have seen the boy. Soon another voice +broke in, and Whitey knew it as that of "Whiff" Gates, a puncher who was +a constant smoker. Then came another voice, that of Ham And.</p> +<p><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 25]</span></p> + +<p>Whiff Gates did not bear a good reputation, and it was only because of +the scarcity of help that Bill Jordan kept him on. As Whitey reflected +on this, and the "birds of a feather flock together" idea, he kept very +still. His patience was soon rewarded, for as the men grew more earnest +in their talk, their tones became louder, though Whitey could not hear +as distinctly as he would have liked.</p> + +<p>However, he gathered that String had returned from the mine on account +of an injury to his foot, caused by a piece of rock falling on it. That +there had been some excitement at the mine, owing to a "bug hole" being +discovered. Whitey learned afterwards this was a sort of pocket caused +by the dripping of water, and containing a small but very rich quantity +of ore. Whitey also heard something about a certain date, on which the +three were to be at a certain place, but here, to his disgust, the +voices were again lowered, as if in caution.</p> + +<p>On the whole, though this secret meeting seemed suspicious, the boy did +not learn enough to form a basis for action. Presently the men went +away, and after waiting until he considered it safe, Whitey left the +bunk house, followed by the faithful Bull. Whit +<a name="Page_26" id="Page_26"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 26]</span>ey decided not to tell +Bill Jordan what he had heard. Bill probably would only poke fun at him +and hand him one of those arguments he couldn't answer.</p> + +<p>But the next day he took Injun into his confidence. Injun had no use for +String and Ham, and furthermore was a person who could keep a secret. +And here was something for the boys to keep to themselves—a +mystery,—something to be solved. They would lie low and await events. +It made them feel quite important.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>Mystery</h3> + + +<p>Awaiting events did not seem a very thrilling occupation. Of course, +there was always John Big Moose's tutoring to fill in the gaps, but that +<a name="Page_27" id="Page_27"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 27]</span> +was less thrilling than just waiting, if possible. The teaching took +place in the big living-room of the ranch house, a room with a great +stone fireplace, the stone for which had been carted down from the +mountains; with walls decorated with Indian trophies—tomahawks, bows +and arrows, stone pipes and hatchets, knives—and with beadwork, +snowshoes, and many other interesting things. All these were enough to +take a fellow's mind off his lessons, and besides there was the floor, +with its bear and moose and panther skins, each with its history.</p> + +<p>And outside, viewed through the big windows, was the rolling prairie, +with the touch of early fall on it, sometimes revealed in a light +curtain of haze, at which a fellow could gaze and imagine he saw the +squaws of the savage tribes gathering the maize for the coming winter's +store, while the braves rode off to hunt the buffalo.</p> + +<p>Yes, it was rather distracting, but John Big Moose was very patient +about the lessons, though he had been eager for knowledge himself. He +had worked his way through a Western college, spurred on by the hope of +bettering his people, the Dakotas, and he <i>had</i> bettered them. And when +<a name="Page_28" id="Page_28"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 28]</span> +Mr. Sherwood, Whitey's father, had gone East, with the understanding +that John was to tutor Whitey and Injun, John had resolved to do his +best.</p> + +<p>But this other Injun, Whitey's pal, was not what you might call eager +for knowledge. Reading and writing were all right, and might be put to +some practical use, but arithmetic seemed rather useless, and when it +came to the "higher branches," geometry and trigonometry, they loomed up +to Injun like a bugbear of the future. In his heart Injun pined for his +truly loved field of study—the great outdoors.</p> + +<p>But presently there came a slight break in the dull routine of words and +figures—a half-holiday. The first shipment of ore was to be made from +the mine. John Big Moose represented his tribe's interest in this mine, +and he was to go and inspect operations. The ore was to come down from +the mountain in sacks, loaded on horse and muleback, and to be delivered +to the railroad at the Junction, a small settlement about twenty miles +south of the ranch.</p> + +<p>The boys thought that as they were stock-holders in the mine, they ought +<a name="Page_29" id="Page_29"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 29]</span> +to go along and attend to this matter, too, but John couldn't see it +that way. He compromised on a half-holiday for them; study in the +morning, freedom in the afternoon. So that morning they stuck to their +lessons. With John there to oversee them they might neglect their +studies. With him away, and the boys placed on their honor, the thing +wasn't to be thought of.</p> + +<p>And here it might be repeated that Injun had a very strong sense of +honor. He had faults, as most of us have, but breaking promises, or what +he considered as promises, was not among them.</p> + +<p>So that afternoon, as Injun and Whitey could not be with the shipment of +ore, they did the next best thing. They rode off into the foothills. +And on a grassy hill that commanded a widespread view of the plains, +they looked far off over the prairie. And winding across it, clear off +near the horizon, they saw tiny specks which represented mules and +horses, laden with the sacks of precious ore, and its escort of +cowpunchers.</p> + +<p>That evening it was lonely at the ranch, Bill Jordan and the other men +<a name="Page_30" id="Page_30"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 30]</span> +being at the Junction. String Beans nursed his sore foot, and Ham +prepared dinner, which Injun had with Whitey in the ranch house. Time +passed and still the men did not return. Evidently they were celebrating +the shipment of the mine's first output, or waiting to see it put safely +aboard the train at the Junction. So Whitey invited Injun to spend the +night, and he accepted willingly, as it gave him a chance to wear the +pink pajamas that he loved.</p> + +<p>Yawning time had come and passed. Whitey was sleeping soundly and +dreamlessly, when he was aroused by a grip on his arm. It was Injun in +his pink pajamas.</p> + +<p>"Some one come," he said.</p> + +<p>"Mebbe it's Bill and the others," Whitey ventured.</p> + +<p>"Not Bill—only one man," Injun replied.</p> + +<p>The coming of a man didn't seem important to Whitey, but he knew Injun +must have had something on his mind, or he wouldn't have waked him, and +he waited for his friend to speak more of the words of which he was so +sparing. The next speech was not long.</p> + +<p>"Look," said Injun, and he went to the window.</p> +<p><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 31]</span></p> +<p>Whitey went and looked. There was a faint light in the bunk house, and +another down by the horse corral. As the boys watched, a man came out of +the bunk house, and even in the dim light Whitey recognized him. He was +String Beans.</p> + +<p>"Why," whispered Whitey, "I thought he was lame. He doesn't even limp."</p> + +<p>"Him get well," Injun replied.</p> + +<p>The light at the corral moved toward and joined that at the bunk house, +and the two revealed a man leading three horses.</p> + +<p>"It's Whiff!" gasped Whitey. "I thought he was with the men at the +Junction."</p> + +<p>"Him get back," Injun grunted, with meaning.</p> + +<p>Absorbed in the scene being enacted before them, the boys watched in +silence.</p> + +<p>Bill Jordan had said that Injun slept with his mind open; that most +Injuns did; that if they hadn't done that all these years there wouldn't +be no Injuns—and no doubt Bill was right. But any way you thought about +it, it was remarkable that the slight sound outside—the thudding of a +<a name="Page_32" id="Page_32"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 32]</span> +horse's hoofs on soft ground, or the letting down of the bars of the +corral—should have wakened Injun. It probably was not the sound so much +as the sense of something unusual, something threatening. Furthermore, +Injun had a different way of figuring things from Whitey. Also he had +been awake longer, so his mind had a better start, not being bewildered +by sleep.</p> + +<p>"They're up to something," said Whitey.</p> + +<p>"Um," grunted Injun.</p> + +<p>The two men went into the bunk house and soon came out with another man +who was fat. It undoubtedly was Ham. Each man carried a saddle, which +he put on a horse. Then they mounted and rode away.</p> + +<p>A cloud moved away, like a curtain, and a full moon shed its light over +the scene and into the window. The hour must have been late, for the +moon was low. Whitey turned and looked at Injun, who was stolidly +watching the riders disappear.</p> + +<p>"Can you beat that?" Whitey demanded. "String Beans walked as well as +any one. I'll bet he wasn't hurt at the mine at all. That he was just +pretending."</p> + +<p>"Uh," muttered Injun.</p> +<p><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 33]</span></p> + +<p>"Mebbe they've stolen something," continued Whitey.</p> + +<p>"No, no come into the house, me hear 'em," said Injun. "In bunk house +nothin' to steal."</p> + +<p>Suddenly Whitey thought of the negro cook, the only other man on the +place, and demanded, "Where's Slim?"</p> + +<p>"Dunno," said Injun, and followed Whitey, who shoved his feet into a +pair of slippers and ran hastily from the room.</p> + +<p>The bunk house was dark, the men having put out their lanterns before +they rode away. Whitey groped for matches and, finding one, lighted a +lamp. Slim was nowhere to be seen. Whitey looked at Injun in wonder and +alarm. Injun looked at Whitey with no expression of any kind.</p> + +<p>"Mebbe they've killed Slim!" cried Whitey.</p> +<p><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 34]</span></p> +<p>"Mebbe," Injun agreed.</p> + +<p>Sitting Bull had silently followed the boys, and while they were +investigating with their eyes, he was doing the same with his nose. His +search had led him to a bunk, and with his fore paws on its edge, he was +gazing into it, his head on one side and a very puzzled expression on +his face. Bull rarely barked, except to express great joy, and he never +was afraid. His nose had told him what was in that bunk; the curious +movements of the object were what puzzled him. Attracted by the dog's +interest, Injun and Whitey went to him.</p> + +<p>The bedding in the bunk heaved and rolled from side to side. Whitey +reached over rather fearfully and pulled down the upper blankets, and +Slim was brought to view. Not only was Slim bound and gagged, but a coat +was tied around his head, to keep him from hearing. In fact, about the +only thing to show that the man was Slim was his black hands.</p> + +<p>Injun and Whitey hastily removed the head covering and the gag, and +Whitey eagerly asked what had happened. Slim was half choked and very +indignant.</p> + +<p>"I dunno what happened to nobody, 'ceptin' to me," he gurgled. "Gimme a +drink o' watah. I'se burnin' up."</p> +<p><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 35]</span></p> + +<p>While Whitey held a cup of water to Slim's lips, Injun struggled with +his bonds, and with great difficulty succeeded in releasing him. Whitey +asked a hundred questions meanwhile, none of which Slim answered. He +seemed entirely absorbed in his own troubles, and when he was free, he +carefully felt himself all over.</p> + +<p>"Dis is fine foh mah misery, fine!" he said bitterly.</p> + +<p>As far as Whitey had ever been able to learn, a "misery" was a sort of +rheumatism.</p> + +<p>"How is your misery?" he asked, despairing of getting him to talk about +anything but himself.</p> + +<p>"Tehibul, tehibul," groaned Slim; "an' dey tie me wid a rawhide rope, +too, dat jest eat into mah flesh." And Slim looked venomously down at +the lariat that lay at his feet.</p> + +<p>"Who tied you?" Whitey inquired.</p> + +<p>"I dunno. Wen I wakes up dis yeah rag is bein' jammed into mah mouf, an' +dis yeah coat bein' wrapped round mah haid, an' dat dere rope bein' +<a name="Page_36" id="Page_36"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 36]</span> +twisted round mah body, till it cuts mah ahms an' legs somethin' +scand'lus. I dunno who dey wuz, but dey suttinly wuz thorough," Slim +admitted.</p> + +<p>"Then you didn't hear anything?" Whitey demanded.</p> + +<p>"Heah? I couldn't 'a' heard a elephant cough," Slim declared.</p> + +<p>"Well, Whiff and String Beans and Ham just rode away," said Whitey.</p> + +<p>"Dey did?" said Slim. Then an awful thought came to him, and he jumped +to his feet. "Wheah's mah watch?" he cried. He hastily fumbled under the +bedclothes, and brought to light an enormous, old-fashioned silver +watch. Then he heaved a sigh of relief. "An' dat Ham gone, too! Now, +how'm I goin' t' cook, wid dat misery wuss'n evah?"</p> + +<p>It was very plain to Whitey that all Slim could think about the affair +was the way it concerned him personally. Also, there was no doubt in the +boy's mind that the absent men were bent on mischief. Bill and the other +cowboys were surely making a night of it at the Junction, in celebration +of the gold shipment. Whatever was to be done in the matter Whitey and +<a name="Page_37" id="Page_37"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 37]</span> +Injun would have to do. By this time Slim was busily rubbing some horse +liniment on his arms and legs.</p> + +<p>"Injun and I will see what's to be done. You might as well go to sleep," +Whitey said to him.</p> + +<p>"Sleep! Ah couldn't sleep in Mistah Vanderbilt's bed."</p> + +<p>"Well, stay awake, then," said Whitey, as he left the bunk house, +followed by Injun.</p> + +<p>In spite of Injun's belief that the men had not been in the ranch house, +the boys took a look around, but nothing had been disturbed. Then, as +they dressed, they talked things over. Whitey was not sorry that Bill +Jordan was away. While not one to think ill of people, Whitey always had +believed that String and Ham were queer, and the affairs of the night +seemed to point to the truth of this. If Whitey could learn what sort of +mischief the men were up to, it would be a feather in his cap, and it +would give him great satisfaction to say "I told you so" to Bill, who +<a name="Page_38" id="Page_38"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 38]</span> +always was so sure of himself. And if he and Injun could prevent the +others from committing that same mischief, the boys would be something +like heroes.</p> + +<p>As Whitey and Injun talked the matter over, Whitey reviewed what took +place the night he overheard the whispered conversation in the bunk +house.</p> + +<p>"They talked about the mine," he said to Injun, "and about meeting on a +certain date. What day of the month is it?" he asked.</p> + +<p>By a miracle Injun happened to know the date, for John Big Moose had +told him the day in September on which the ore was to be shipped, so +Injun answered briefly, "Him thirty."</p> + +<p>"That was the date!" cried Whitey. "They said the thirtieth of +September." Other scraps of the men's whispered talk began to come to +Whitey's mind, and to have meaning. "They were to meet on that date, and +they did. That's what String Beans was loafin +<a name="Page_39" id="Page_39"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 39]</span>g around here for, +pretending to be lame. And they rode south. Don't you see?"</p> + +<p>"Don't see nothin'," Injun answered.</p> + +<p>"Why," Whitey declared, jumping to his feet, "they've gone toward the +railroad; toward the water tank, where all the trains stop. I believe +they're going to hold up the gold shipment. Come on, Injun, let's get +busy."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>Solution</h3> + + +<p>The moon was well down toward the western edge of the prairie when the +boys rode away from the bunk house. They rode toward the south, in +<a name="Page_40" id="Page_40"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 40]</span> +pursuit of the bandits, as they now called Whiff, String, and Ham. +Whitey and Injun had settled on this course shortly after Whitey had +decided that the men were intent on train robbery. There were several +reasons for their choice.</p> + +<p>For one thing, it was too late to go and warn Bill and the other +punchers at the Junction. And even if it were not, if they did that they +would have to share with the ranch men the glory of the pursuit and +possible capture of the bandits. It may have been rash of the boys, but +after their former adventures they felt capable of taking care of three +bandits by themselves—especially if they came on them unawares, which +they intended to do. Had Bill been there, it isn't likely that he would +have approved of their act, but with him away the boys could find +plenty of reasons for doing what they wanted to do.</p> + +<p>Slim, the cook, had taken no interest in the affair. He was wrapped up +in attending to his misery, and the boys left him in a bunk, soaked with +liniment—which by rights was intended for a horse—and trying to sleep +and forget his troubles.</p> +<p><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 41]</span></p> + +<p>As the horses galloped over the rolling plains into the darkness of the +south, the boys were thrilled by a glow of excitement. Each had his +rifle hanging in a gun-boat from his saddle. The mystery of the night; +the fresh, keen stirring of the September air; the spirit of adventure; +the easy, swinging motion of the horses—all these made the night's +hours worth living for.</p> + +<p>For a while, by the moon's light, Injun had easily been able to follow +the tracks of the horses of the three men, and as they continued toward +the south, Whitey felt sure that he had guessed correctly, so the horses +were urged to a swifter pace. Little urging was necessary, however, as +Whitey's "Monty" pony and Injun's pinto were fresh and seemed as eager +for the chase as their masters.</p> + +<p>Whitey's plan for thwarting the bandits was simple. Before reaching the +Junction, the boys were to branch off toward the east and intercept the +train. They could stand on the track and swing a lantern, which Injun +carried for the purpose. When the train came to a standstill, they could +<a name="Page_42" id="Page_42"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 42]</span> +get aboard, and warn the train crew. It would be easy to recruit an +armed force from among the passengers, for in those days, in the West, +there were few men who went unarmed. And when the bandits attempted +their hold-up, they would meet with a warm reception.</p> + +<p>The train left the Junction at six, and should reach the water tank +about three-quarters of an hour later, though it often was late. As the +boys had started from the ranch house at two, Whitey figured that they +would have time enough, though none to waste.</p> + +<p>The hours could not be counted, but perhaps three had passed, and +through the scented, velvety darkness there came a touch of gray in the +east, which changed to pink, then to opal, as the coming sun tinged the +low-lying clouds. The animal and bird life began to stir, preparing to +greet the beauty of the dawn, or rather, to start on their affairs of +the day, for it is likely that the denizens of the prairie had as little +thought for the glory of the sunrise as had Injun and Whitey, whose +minds were firmly fixed on train robbers.</p> + +<p>When the light was full, the boys drew up, and looked off toward the +southwest. Whitey had been depending on Injun's never-failing sense of +direction to carry them aright. This ability to point toward any point +<a name="Page_43" id="Page_43"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 43]</span> +of the compass, in the dark, was one of Injun's gifts—though he didn't +know what a compass was. And sure enough, away off there against the +gray of the clouds was a line of high, tiny crosses, telegraph poles, +near which stretched the tracks of the road.</p> + +<p>When he saw them, Whitey could not resist a whoop of joy. "If we ride +straight for them, how far do you think we'll be from the water tank?" +he asked.</p> + +<p>"Mebbe one mile, mebbe two," replied Injun, who seldom committed himself +to an exact answer.</p> + +<p>"That's all right, come on!" cried Whitey, and they galloped straight +for the railroad.</p> + +<p>When they reached the tracks, they dismounted and tied their ponies to +neighboring telegraph poles, fearing the effect the noise of the train +would have on the spirited animals. Then the boys went to the roadbed to +await the coming of the train. The line stretched straight toward the +west, until the rails seemed to join in the distance. But toward the +east was a curve as the road approached a gully, at the bottom of which +was a creek. It was from this creek that the water was drawn for the<a name="Page_44" id="Page_44"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 44]</span> +tank.</p> + +<p>The sunrise had seemed to promise a fair day, but the promise failed, +for a mist was forming over the plains. The train was not in sight, and +Whitey kneeled, and placed an ear to the track, knowing that he could +detect the vibration caused by the train before it appeared.</p> + +<p>He rose and nodded his head. "I hear it," he said. For once Whitey had +it on Injun. He knew about railroads and Injun didn't.</p> + +<p>"Light the lantern," said Whitey. Then he began to laugh.</p> + +<p>Injun gazed at the lantern, then at Whitey. He could see no cause for +laughter.</p> + +<p>"I was wise when I suggested that lantern," said Whitey. "I never +thought that it would be daylight, and its light wouldn't show."</p> + +<p>Injun almost smiled.</p> + +<p>"What we ought to have is a red flag," Whitey continued. "That's the +proper thing to signal a train with in daytime."</p> + +<p>Injun grunted, and Whitey considered the matter. "I have it! Your<a name="Page_45" id="Page_45"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 45]</span> +shirt!" he cried. "It's pink, close enough to red. We'll wave that."</p> + +<p>Injun grunted again and looked doubtful. "Me get 'im back?" he asked. +Injun didn't care any less for that shirt than he did for his pinto or +his rifle—and he cared more for it than for his interest in the gold +mine.</p> + +<p>"Sure, you'll get it back," said Whitey, and without a word Injun took +off the shirt and handed it to Whitey.</p> + +<p>The boys gazed anxiously toward the west. Whitey thought of the three +armed men, who now probably had handkerchiefs tied over their faces, and +were lying in wait in the gully. Then of the oncoming train, with its +unsuspecting passengers, and in the express car the bags of ore that +were said to assay forty thousand dollars a ton. It wouldn't take much +of <i>that</i> to make it worth while for the bandits to hold up the +shipment.</p> + +<p>Although the mist was getting thicker, it seemed singular that the train<a name="Page_46" id="Page_46"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 46]</span> +did not appear. The inaction of waiting was beginning to get on Whitey's +nerves—and would have affected Injun's if he'd had any. At that, they +had not been waiting very long, though they did not know it.</p> + +<p>"It must be getting near. I'll listen again," said Whitey.</p> + +<p>Whitey again placed his ear to the track, then looked up blankly. "It's +stopped," he said, "Mebbe there's been an accident."</p> + +<p>Injun knew a good deal about plains and woods, and animals and birds, +but was rather in awe of trains. He gazed at Whitey's face, which wore +the same blank look as his own, and ventured no opinion. Two sharp, +faint sounds came from the east—something between the crack of whips +and the popping of corks. They were followed by three more.</p> + +<p>Injun knew about these. "Him shoot," he said.</p> + +<p>The startled expression on Whitey's face gradually gave way to one of +understanding and disgust. "They came from the water tank," he said.<a name="Page_47" id="Page_47"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 47]</span> +"Don't you see? We're late, and what I heard was the train going the +other way. Then it stopped, and they're holding it up." And Whitey sat +down on one of the rails, thoroughly disgusted.</p> + +<p>For a while nothing was said. The disappointment was too great for +words. The boys' chance for heroism had melted in the fog, which the +mist had now become. Injun slowly put on his shirt. It was nothing but a +garment now, no heroic rescue signal.</p> + +<p>"I'll bet that clock at the ranch was wrong. It always is. I might have +known it," Whitey said dejectedly. The thought of the loss of the gold +was forgotten in his disappointment at failure. "I hope no one was +hurt—I mean none of the trainmen or passengers," he added. "But I +guess not. Those bandits had the drop on them, and they couldn't have +put up much of a fight. How do you suppose we heard those shots? We must +be at least a mile from the tank.</p> + +<p>"Him fog," Injun answered. "Hear plain." And it is true that fog has a +way of conveying sound.</p> +<p><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 48]</span></p> +<p>An idea brought Whitey to his feet with a leap. "What fools we are to be +sitting here!" he cried. "We'll follow those robbers. The people on the +train won't do that. They've no horses."</p> + +<p>Here, indeed, was a brilliant thought. The boys could track the bandits +to their hiding-place, and possibly recover the ore. At least, they +could return and report where the men had gone. There was a chance to +distinguish themselves yet. In a moment they were mounted and dashing +down along the track, toward the water tank.</p> + +<p>Presently a shrill whistle was followed by the faint rumbling of the +train as it resumed its way. "See?" yelled Whitey. "The train's just +starting. We won't be very late, and the men's tracks will be plain. +Gee! I hope it doesn't rain."</p> + +<p>A few minutes' ride brought the boys to the deserted water tank. They +dismounted to pick up the trail of the robbers. Near the tank, where the +express car must have stood, were the traces of many feet. There were +others leading from the cars in the rear. Noting these, Whitey said: +"Mebbe they held up the passengers, too. It's likely that they would."</p> + +<p>But, singularly enough, most of these tracks led on toward the high<a name="Page_49" id="Page_49"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 49]</span> +bridge which spanned the gully. The boys followed them curiously, and +when they reached the bridge Injun stopped.</p> + +<p>"Huh! Go back again, too," he muttered. And sure enough in the maze of +footprints many seemed to lead back toward the water tank.</p> + +<p>"Why do you s'pose they went to the bridge? Prob'ly to see if it was +safe; that the robbers hadn't damaged it," Whitey said.</p> + +<p>"Mebbe," said Injun, who was figuring things out in his own way and +seldom spoke until he had them figured.</p> + +<p>From the scramble of footprints near the tank, Injun picked out those +of three pairs that diverged from the mass. Injun traced these back +toward the gully. Two of the tracks were made by ordinary boots, the +other by high-heeled cowboy boots. Whitey left this part of the chase +entirely to Injun, and followed, leading the ponies.</p> + + +<p>Presently Monty gave voice to a shrill neigh, and to Whitey's surprise +it was answered from the gully. "Look out!" Whitey called softly to +Injun. "They haven't gone. There's one of their horses."</p><p><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 50]</span></p> + +<p>But to Whitey's further surprise Injun paid no heed, but kept calmly on +his way, and there was nothing for Whitey to do but to follow. The +gully, or little canyon, was about fifty feet deep, and the creek that +ran through it about that many feet wide. At the lowest part, near the +stream, Injun paused.</p> + +<p>"Where are their horses?" Whitey whispered.</p> + +<p>"No tied here," Injun answered, which was plainer to see than his reason +for knowing that they were not.</p> + +<p>Whitey was now greatly puzzled and, he had to confess to himself, not a +little alarmed. But as the next impatient question was on his lips he +stopped short. A cool breeze had sprung up, and was wafting aside the +cloud-like fog. A rift in the fog disclosed<a name="Page_51" id="Page_51"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 51]</span> a portion of the trestle +bridge. And, hanging from it, with noosed lariats around their necks, +were three limp, ghastly figures.</p> + +<p>In horror, Whitey clutched Injun's arm, and gasped, "The bandits!"</p> + +<p>Injun looked stolidly at the horrible sight, as for thousands of years +his people had looked on death. "Uh," he said and pointed toward the +water tank. "Walk marks go that way. No come back."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>BUNK-HOUSE TALK</h3> + + +<p>About noon that day two sad boys rode into the Bar O Ranch, leading +three tired-looking broncos, who had been put through some severe paces +since early morning. One of the boys and all the horses were hungry, but +the other boy had little desire for food. Whitey had been up against +some rough adventures in the West. This was his first taste of the<a name="Page_52" id="Page_52"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 52]</span> +tragedy that was frequent, and often necessary in regulating the affairs +of those days.</p> + +<p>And while Whitey was far from being a coward, as you know, the sight he +had witnessed had left him a bit shaken. He and Injun unsaddled the +ponies and horses, put them in the corral, and made their way to the +ranch house. Bill Jordan and John Big Moose were in the living-room. +Bill was getting the big Indian to help him with his accounts, which +always were a puzzle to him. And this morning, after his night of +merriment at the Junction, Bill was less inclined toward figures than +usual.</p> + +<p>"Well, well," said John Big Moose, as the boys entered the room. "You +two seem to have extended your holiday to the next morning."</p> + +<p>"You look kinda shaky, Whitey," said Bill "You been makin' a night of +it, too?"</p> + +<p>Without further questioning Whitey sat down and told the story of the +adventure, from the boys' awakening to their finding the bodies of the +three men hanging from the railroad bridge.</p> +<p><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 53]</span></p> +<p>"So you were right about String an' Ham's bein' crooks," Bill said, when +the boy had finished.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but even so, it seems terrible for them to die that way," Whitey +replied.</p> + +<p>"The express folks is tired o' havin' their cars robbed, an' if you'd +known what I found out at the Junction, you might o' saved yourself some +trouble," said Bill. "They was a shipment of a hundred thousand dollars +in gold in that there car, an' they was six fellers went along to +pertect it. Not detectives, or nothin', just fellers that was hired, an' +was dyin' for excitement. I reck'n some o' the passengers was as tired +o' bein' held up as those fellers was pinin' for excitement, an' when +String an' Ham an' Whiff made their poor little play, they musta thought +they'd struck a hornet's nest."</p> + +<p>"But to hang them," Whitey protested. "Why didn't they shoot them, if +they had to kill them?"</p> + +<p>"Well, ye see hangin' makes it look worse for the next fellers what +thinks o' holdin' up a train," said Bill. "They'd stole three o' our +hosses, anyway, an' that's a hangin' offense."</p> +<p><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 54]</span></p> +<p>But Whitey was not inclined to argue about the justice or injustice of +the lynching. He went away with Injun, and tried to eat. And he tried, +too, to forget the horror of the scene at the bridge. But all his life +long he never quite succeeded in doing that.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And that night, in the bunk house, the talk was all about the tragedy of +the morning. Bill Jordan and four of the cowboys were there, to say +nothing of Slim, the cook. Slim had another grievance, for, now that Ham +had gone, he was again forced to cook for the men, misery or no misery.</p> + +<p>Whitey loved to sit in the long, half-lighted room, and listen to the +talk and yarns of the cowboys, for, "boys" they were called, whether +they were eighteen or fifty, and in many ways boys they seemed to have +remained.</p> + +<p>They had threshed over the lynching. Whitey had answered a thousand +questions about his experiences, had been praised and blamed with equal +frankness, and now he was glad to see that the subject was to be +dropped. For it had reminded Buck Higgins of lariats and their merits,<a name="Page_55" id="Page_55"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 55]</span> +especially for hanging men.</p> + +<p>"For all-round use give me a braided linen," said Buck.</p> + +<p>He was speaking of a rope that is made as its name suggests, and is very +strong. If you have ever been in the West, you probably have seen a +mounted cowboy carrying one of these thin but strong ropes coiled at the +horn of his saddle, or dragging on the ground behind him to take the +kinks out of it.</p> + +<p>"Rawhide's purty good," suggested Shorty Palmer.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but braided linen for me," Buck declared. "It's got any other +kind o' rope beat a mile for strength."</p> + +<p>"Ever get stretched with one?" Jim Walker asked, with interest.</p> + +<p>"Nope," Buck replied, "but I seen other fellers that did."</p> + +<p>"G'wan, spill your yarn about it," said Shorty. "We don't care whether +it's true or not."</p> + +<p>Buck was inclined to be offended. "Say, you all never heard me tell +nothin' but th' truth," he snorted.</p> + +<p>"Sure, we didn't," said Jim. "Leastways, your yarns is told about places +so far away that we has t' take 'em as true, not knowin' any one to call<a name="Page_56" id="Page_56"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 56]</span> +on for t' verify 'em."</p> + +<p>"Well, if they're made up, you c'n make up just as good ones +yourselves," said Buck, and he lapsed into silence.</p> + +<p>"Your tale interests me strangely," said Bill. "Get to it. You started +fine."</p> + +<p>"He didn't start at all," Jim said.</p> + +<p>"That's what Bill means," explained Shorty.</p> + +<p>"Aw, let him tell th' story," said Charlie Bassett. "You fellers that +ain't liars yourselves is all jealous."</p> + +<p>Whitey would have thought that the tale was to go untold had he not +known that every story of Buck's met with this sort of reception, and +that nothing short of an earthquake could keep him from talking.</p> + +<p>"Well, just to show you fellers you can't queer me, I <i>will</i> tell about +this here lynchin'," Buck declared, after a pause.</p><p><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 57]</span></p> + +<p>"'Twas back in Wyomin', 'bout five years ago," Buck began, "an' I was +workin' for the Lazy I. An' rustlers was good an' plenty. An' every one +knows that there ain't on easier brand to cover up than a lazy I. It was +got up by old man Innes, what owned th' ranch, an' lived in Boston, an' +was so honest an' unsuspectin' that he'd 'a' trusted Slim, here, with a +lead nickel."</p> + +<p>Fortunately Slim was asleep, and did not hear this reflection on his +character, so Buck continued:</p> + +<p>"Well, our stock had been disappearin' in bunches, an' purty soon them +bunches begins t' seem more like herds, an' somethin' had t' be did, +an' Squeak Gordon, th' manager, wa'n't no man for th' job."</p> + +<p>"Squeak!" interrupted Jim. "That's a fine name for a white man."</p> + +<p>"'Count of his voice," Buck explained briefly, and went on. "So it was +up t' Lem Fisher, th' foreman, an' him an' 'bout seven punchers, +includin' me, got th' job. 'Course, we had some idea of where them +steers was goin', an' what brands was goin' over ours, but we was +wantin' somethin' pos'tive before we c'd get busy.</p> + +<p>"I started talkin' 'bout braided linen ropes, not 'bout cattle thieves, +so they's no use tellin' you of all th' figurin', an' trailin', an' hard +ridin' we did. You know old Mr. Shakespeare sez that levity's th' soul<a name="Page_58" id="Page_58"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 58]</span> +o' wit."</p> + +<p>"Brevity," corrected Whitey.</p> + +<p>"What's the difference?" demanded Shorty. "Buck don't know what either +o' them words means."</p> + +<p>"Neither do you," retorted Buck.</p> + +<p>"Anyway, they ain't got nothin' t' do with braided linen ropes. G'wan," +commanded Bill.</p> + +<p>"Well," resumed Buck, "one noon, in th' foothills, we come on what we +was after, an' we did some stalkin' t' do it. We ketched three guys +red-handed. They was artistic-like re-brandin' some of our calves so's +Lazy I'd read Circle W. 'Course, they wa'n't but one thing t' do with +them fellers, an' we perceeds to do it. But unfortunate enough they +wa'n't a tree within miles of that there spot. It'd seem as though +nature hadn't figured on no rus'lers conductin' bizness there, an'<a name="Page_59" id="Page_59"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 59]</span> +gettin' caught.</p> + +<p>"We felt purty bad about that, an' knowin' those fellers as we did made +us feel worse. They sure didn't deserve shootin'. Then Lem Fisher, who +always was handy with his memory, happens t' think of a canyon 'bout +three mile away, with a bridge over it. Sort o' like that place at the +water tank, where them boys was strung up this mornin', only deeper, an' +th' stream under it swifter an' rockier.</p> + +<p>"Well, we conducts our three friends to this here canyon. They draw lots +t' see who goes first, an' a feller named Red Mike wins—- or loses, +rather—as he gets number one. The noose of one of these common manilas +is attached to Mike's neck, th' other end is fastened to th' bridge, +an' he's dropped over.</p> + +<p>"An' would you b'lieve it? When Mike comes to the end of that there rope +with a jerk, th' rope breaks, an' Mike goes cavortin' down that swift +stream, at th' rate of 'bout thirty miles an hour, bumpin' against th' +rocks an' everythin'. An' he sure must 'a' disliked that, for he hated +water.</p> + +<p>"The next feller on th' programmy was called 'Sure Thing' Jones. You c'n +imagine why he was called that. He wouldn't even risk bein' honest. +Well, Sure Thing watches perceedin's with a good deal of interest, an'<a name="Page_60" id="Page_60"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 60]</span> +he sees Mike disappear 'round a bend of them rapids, his arms an' legs +wavin' somewhat wild.</p> + +<p>"Then Sure Thing goes up to Lem, an' he sez, 'Lem, have you got a +braided linen rope in the outfit?'</p> + +<p>"'Sure,' says Lem. 'Why?'</p> + +<p>"'It's my turn next, an' I wish you'd use it on me,' says Sure Thing. +'Ye see what happened t' Mike, an' I don't want t' take no chances. You +know I can't swim.'"</p> + +<p>"Just the same," said Bill Jordan, determined to have the last word, +"with all your advertisin' for braided linen ropes, I'll take old maguey +for mine, swimmin' or no swimmin'."</p> + +<p>In the midst of the laugh which had followed Buck's grim tale, Sitting +Bull, who had been lying near Whitey, rose to a sitting posture, his +cave-like mouth open wide and raised at the corners, his eyes twinkling.</p> + +<p>"See Bull!" Bill Jordan cried delightedly. "He's laughin' at Buck's +story yet. He's sure got a sense o' humor, that dog. He's just about +human."</p> +<p><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 61]</span></p> +<p>Bull's expression raised another laugh. All the men liked him, but Bill +was his especial admirer, and loved to dwell on Bull's wonderful +intelligence and tell stories about it.</p> + +<p>"Me for bed," said Jim Walker. "After that jamboree las' night I feel's +though I c'd sleep a month."</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute till I tell you 'bout me havin' Bull down t' th' Junction +las' week, an' him chasin' th' fox," Bill said.</p> + +<p>"Tell nothin'," Jim answered. "Me for th' hay."</p> + +<p>"Aw, g'wan," protested Bill. "'Twon't take a minute, an' you got all +'ternity t' sleep in, as the poet says."</p> + +<p>"An' I c'n use it," Jim yawned; "but cut loose, an' make it short."</p> + +<p>"Well," Bill began, "las' week Thursday I was goin' down t' th' Junction<a name="Page_62" id="Page_62"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 62]</span> +for feed, an' I takes Bull along. You know how he likes t' ride in a +wagon? 'S almost human. Why, that there animal—"</p> + +<p>"Here, cut out them side comments," commanded Jim. "We know how smart +that dog is, without your tellin' us any further. Get down t' bed rock!"</p> + +<p>"Well," Bill continued, "when we gets t' th' store, an' Al Strong's +nigger's loadin' th' feed in th' wagon, I allows t' take Bull for a +little stroll 'round, so's he c'n stretch his legs. So I ties a halter +t' his collar an' starts out. I isn't exactly leadin' Bull, he's sort o' +leadin' me, for you all know how strong he is. But we sure needs th' +halter t' make Bull keep th' peace. He's had more fights at that there +Junction! Say, he's the fightenist dog"—a warning look from Jim kept +Bill to the thread of his story.</p> + +<p>"We passes th' homes of all Bull's live enemies, an' th' graves of his +dead ones, an' gets to a rock, where we c'n sit an' study natur' a bit, +before we turns back. An' thinkin' it's safe t' do so, I lets go o' +Bull's halter. An' while I'm studyin' an' takin' a nip from a flask I +happens t' have in my jeans, I forgets Bull for a minit, an' when I +looks up, he's plumb absent.</p> +<p><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 63]</span></p> +<p>"I ain't worried none, till I happens t' think we was only 'bout a +quarter mile from that Englishman, Barclay's, place, what has that pack +o' wolf-hounds that he hunts with. Fox-huntin' he calls it, though what +he mostly chases is coyotes. Ain't it funny how when an Englishman comes +t' this country he brings his habits with him, or twists ours aroun' t' +fit his'n?"</p> + +<p>"Say," demanded Jim. "Is this a yarn 'bout a bulldog or a lecture on +them foreign habits? 'Cause if it's that last, I—"</p> + +<p>"Well, anyway," Bill interrupted hastily, "I looks down th' road, an' +Bull's beatin' it hot foot for that Barclay's place, an' I c'n see what +happens if he meets up with them hounds. So I follers, swift's I can, +spillin' some language to Bull—prayers, an' warnin's an' such. But +before I gets there, I sees that pack o' hounds swarm over th' fence +into th' road, an' purty soon, there is Bull, right in their midst, as +th' feller says.</p> + +<p>"For th' rest of th' way I does nothin' but pray, an' see visions of th' +biggest dog fight that ever hit Montana, but I keeps movin' rapid, an' +when I gets on th' spot, there's Bull, right in th' middle of th' pack. +Now all th' tails is waggin', an' that looks purty good, till I comes t' +think that Bull always wags his tail before he goes into battle, 'cause +he loves to fight so. An' all them hounds is sniffin' 'round, right +pert, an' Bull is purty cocky, an' when I gets close enough, I hears<a name="Page_64" id="Page_64"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 64]</span> +Bull say:</p> + +<p>"'Hello, d'ye want t' fight?'</p> + +<p>"'Fight, no,' says one of th' hounds. 'We're goin' to chase a fox. D'ye +want t' go?'</p> + +<p>"'Sure,' says Bull.</p> + +<p>"An' with that th' whole pack o' 'em leaps over a fence, an' beats it +off toward th' hills.</p> + +<p>"Well, Bull don't even hesitate. He leaps at that there rail fence an' +lands against it with his head, plunk—an' caroms back into th' road. He +leaps again, an' comes back th' same way, but at th' third jump he goes +through a wider place in th' rails, an' lands on th' other side o' the +fence, on that there same head. Then he scrambles to his feet, an' +starts off after them hounds.</p> + +<p>"Now, you all know that a bulldog ain't built for speed, he's built for +war. In th' first place, his fore legs is so far apart they's almost<a name="Page_65" id="Page_65"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 65]</span> +strangers, an' his hind legs is too short, an' th' rest of him's too +heavy for all of 'em. But Bull keeps goin', industr'ous. An' he goes so +fast that 'bout every thirty yards he stumbles, an' falls on his face, +an' his head plows up large chunks of Montana soil.</p> + +<p>"By this time them wolf-fox-hounds has flown into them hills, they +touchin' th' ground 'bout every hunderd feet. An' Bull ain't one to let +no hounds see him quit, an' he plows along, till at last he gets t' them +hills an' is lost t' sight but t' mem'ry dear. Well, I goes back t' that +rock, an' sits down, sad-like, thinkin' mebbe I never will see Bull +again.</p> + +<p>"An' p'r'aps it's an hour goes by, when I hears somethin' that sounds +like a engine puffin' strong on a upgrade, an' up over one of them +hummocks comes Bull, draggin' himself along like he has flatirons tied +t' his feet. An' he's all decorated with real estate, an' burrs, an' +everythin' loose what would stick to him. An' when he gets to where I +sits, he flops down flat on his back. He sure is exhausted; even his +paws is limp. But one of his eyes seems t' ho<a name="Page_66" id="Page_66"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 66]</span>ld a spark o' life, an' he +fixes that on me. An' he asks, weak-like:</p> + +<p>"'Say, Bill, what in tarnation is a fox?'"</p> + +<p>The company looked at Bill fixedly; not reproachfully, but fixedly. Then +slowly the men began to take off their clothes, with the idea of turning +in. And Bill Jordan and Whitey started for the ranch house, for the same +purpose.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>BOOTS</h3> + + +<p>The green of the prairie had given way to brown, and the brown to white, +which rolled off to the sky-line and the hills in dazzling billows, in +the cold light of the sun. For winter had the Bar O in its grip. And<a name="Page_67" id="Page_67"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 67]</span> +though winter was no gentle thing in Montana, there was a tingle in the +cold, sharp air that made a boy want to whoop and to get on his +snowshoes and go after rabbits, which wise old Nature had also turned +white, so that they could blend in with the color of the landscape and +the better avoid their enemies. Not that Injun ever whooped; he never +did. His people always had reserved that form of expression for warlike +purposes.</p> + +<p>There were many things the boys could do in winter, but these were +forgotten for a time by Whitey, for a great event was about to take +place. His father was to return to the ranch from New York, stopping +over at St. Paul, on his way, to buy supplies. And as the snow was not +too deep for sleighing, Whitey drove down to the Junction, with Bill +Jordan, to meet Mr. Sherwood. And outside Whitey was all wrapped up in a +buffalo coat, and inside he was so warm with excitement that the coat +seemed hardly necessary.</p> +<p><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 68]</span></p> +<p>Now, of course, Whitey was awfully glad to see his father, and to hear +the news about his mother and sisters, and about Tom Johnson, and George +and Bobby Smith, and others of his boy friends. But after he had heard +all this there was another thing that naturally came to his mind. Mr. +Sherwood would not come back to the ranch without bringing Whitey some +sort of present, and his father was singularly silent about what this +was. In fact, he had not said anything about it at all. And it was after +supper, and Mr. Sherwood was unpacking his trunk, when he rather +carelessly said, "Oh, here's something I brought for you," and gave +Whitey a parcel.</p> + +<p>Whitey thanked his father, and undid the parcel, and he dropped the +things that were in it, and his eyes popped out, and for a moment he +could hardly breathe, he was so excited, for they were Boots!</p> + +<p>And when Whitey recovered a bit he rushed over and actually hugged his +father.</p> + +<p>Perhaps you would like to know why a pair of boots would cause all this +feeling in Whitey. For one thing, it was because he never had owned any. +In New York all the boys wore shoes, and when Whitey had come to the<a name="Page_69" id="Page_69"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 69]</span> +ranch he had worn them, too, until the soles of his feet had become hard +enough, like Injun's, for him to go barefoot, which he delighted in +doing.</p> + +<p>But in the late fall, and the spring, when it was colder, he again +followed Injun's lead, and wore moccasins. Buckskin moccasins, with +little bead decorations. In the cold of winter, when the snow was deep, +and when the big thaws came, Whitey wore heavy, moccasin-like +muck-lucks, made of buckskin, which laced high, nearly to his knees, and +over the tops of which hung the tops of heavy, woolen socks.</p> + +<p>These comprised Injun and Whitey's footwear for the seasons. But there +was one thing that Whitey envied the cowboys on the ranch their boots. +For you must know that there are two things on which a puncher spends +his money extravagantly—his boots and his saddle. Unless he happens to +be a Mexican—then he spends it on his hat, too.</p> + +<p>So the dream of Whitey's life, the pinnacle of his ambition, the idea of<a name="Page_70" id="Page_70"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 70]</span> +the tip-top of ecstatic happiness that lived in his brain +was—Boots. And now he had them. And they were beauties; with +tops of soft leather with fancy stitching, inlaid with white enameled +leather, and high heels, that a fellow could dig into the ground when he +was roping a horse. In short, they were regular boots, that any one +might be proud of. And they had been made to order for Whitey!</p> + +<p>It would be useless to attempt a description of how Whitey felt about +those boots. Shakespeare would have to come back to life to do that, and +I doubt if he could have done it. I <i>know</i> that Bacon could not. +Whitey's first impulse was to put the boots on, and go out and show them +to all the men in the bunk house. His next impulse was to save the +surprise till morning, when the decorations on the boots would show +better.</p> + +<p>But he put them on. And after his father had finished unpacking, Whitey +sat in the living-room with him, and it is to be feared that he listened +rather absent-mindedly to his father's talk. He would stretch out his<a name="Page_71" id="Page_71"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 71]</span> +legs and admire the boots. Then he would twist his feet about so that he +could get a good view of the high heels. Then he would double up his +knees, and fairly hug the boots. And if Mr. Sherwood noticed all this he +gave no sign. Probably he remembered the day he had his first pair of +boots. And that night, though Whitey did not sleep in the boots, he took +them to bed with him.</p> + +<p>In the morning Whitey restrained his impatience until breakfast-time, +then strolled down to the bunk house, wearing the boots. Several of the +men were there, just finishing the meal, and rolling their +after-breakfast cigarettes. Whitey sat down, sort of offhand and +careless-like, and to his pained surprise, no one noticed the boots. +Then he crossed his legs and leaned back, with his hands clasped behind +his head—and Buck Higgins noticed them.</p> + +<p>And Whitey certainly was gratified, for they attracted a great deal of +admiration and praise, and there was much discussion about them, and +feeling of the leather, and estimating how much they cost. After a while +Injun arrived. Now, Injun did not care about boots, though he might have +liked a pair had they been made of pink leather. But even Injun was +moved to admiration by these boots.</p><p><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 72]</span></p> + +<p>Then Whitey strutted around the ranch buildings and corrals for a while, +and the milch cows, and the horses and the pigs—all the stock, in +fact—had a good look at the boots. And Sitting Bull admired them so +much that he wanted to lick them, but of course that wouldn't do.</p> + +<p>Bill Jordan had an errand at the Junction and he drove Whitey and Injun +over with him. Al Strong's store was also the postoffice, and every man, +woman, and child that happened to be there at mail-time had a fine view +of Whitey's boots. That night, when Whitey went to bed, he was quite +tired from exhibiting them.</p> + +<p>The next day Whitey figured that about every human being and animal in +the neighborhood had seen his boots. Then he happened to think of the +Indians fishing on the river. I say <i>on</i> the river, for it was frozen +over, with its first solid covering of ice. Now, the Indians never fish +in the summer-time. Few white people know about it, but the Indians +don't like to fish. They only eat fish when they can't hunt much. When<a name="Page_73" id="Page_73"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 73]</span> +the Indian goes into camp for the winter, he has his provisions all +stacked to carry him through, but to be sure that these provisions will +hold out, he will eat just a little fish.</p> + +<p>And this is the Indian's mode of fishing. He puts up a tepee right out +on the ice, and puts a blanket inside the tepee. Then he cuts a hole in +the ice, and lies down on the blanket and industriously watches the +hole. You know that fish are very inquisitive, and when Mr. Inquiring +Fish comes along to see about that hole, Mr. Indian spears him just back +of the head, pulls him out, and has fried fish for supper.</p> + +<p>When Whitey beat it down to the river, to show his boots to a new +audience, he was followed by Injun and Sitting Bull. Trouble was +following, too,—Harrowing Trouble,—but Whitey didn't know it. On the +frozen river were about a dozen tepees, standing up something like big +stacks of cornstalks on a field of frosted glass. So there probably were +about a dozen Indians, lying on their stomachs, watching as many holes +in the ice.</p> +<p><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 74]</span></p> +<p>There was not one of those Indians that Whitey thought should miss +seeing those boots. In the first tepee his reception was very +gratifying. Little Eagle was the owner's name, and <i>he</i> didn't care much +about boots, but the decorations on these pleased his taste for the +gaudy, and his eyes sparkled as he grunted his praise.</p> + +<p>So it went around the little fishing village, until Whitey entered about +the eighth tepee, and that was where Trouble was right next to him. +Inside the tent it was dark. And Whitey didn't fall into the hole in the +ice—he walked into it. His life was not in danger, because he didn't +mind a little cold water, and the Indian lying there on his stomach, +with his eyes accustomed to the darkness, could see, and he quickly +grabbed Whitey by the shoulders and yanked him out—but, oh! the boots!</p> + +<p>They were crinkled and soaked and water-logged and shrunken. And it took +six Indians to get them off, two pulling on each boot, and two to hold +Whitey. And when they were off, Whitey borrowed a pair of moccasins, and<a name="Page_75" id="Page_75"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 75]</span> +raced to the ranch house, with Injun and Sitting Bull.</p> + +<p>Now, in the living-room of the Bar O ranch house in winter—and in every +other ranch house in that part of the country—was a big stove that held +a stick of cordwood three feet long. In fact, it held four or five such +sticks of cordwood, which, you can imagine, made a good fire. And +straight to this fire went Whitey. He was wet, and he was ashamed. And +he put the boots under the stove to dry, without anybody's seeing him. +And he didn't say anything to his father about it, because he was +ashamed. And he went to bed without saying anything about it.</p> + +<p>In the morning Whitey was up with the sun, and went to get his boots. +And, oh, ye gods! Why didn't the heavens fall? What once was a pair of +proud boots, looked like two little, brown wrinkled apples! It was a +tragedy in six acts. It was worse than that, for one can find words for +a tragedy. But why dwell on it?</p> + +<p>And while Whitey was getting the worst of the first, horrible shock, his +father came into the living-room, and not knowing why, Whitey ran, and +his father, not knowing why, I suspect, ran after him. Whitey was fleet<a name="Page_76" id="Page_76"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 76]</span> +of foot, and much smaller than his father, so he could make the stairs +better. And he ran up and down and around, now slamming this door, and +now slamming that one.</p> + +<p>And Whitey's father began to get angry. But Whitey had become a frontier +boy, and accustomed to standing his ground in the face of a superior +enemy—at least, when he couldn't run any farther. When he was finally +run down, he backed into a corner, lifted his f<a name="Page_77" id="Page_77"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 77]</span>ists to the proper angle, +and, in this boyish fighting attitude, said to his big, strong, +wonderful dad, "Don't you hit me!"</p> + +<p>If it hadn't been for his father's strong sense of humor, Whitey +probably would have been in for a sound trimming. As it was, his father +paused and looked at him sternly; then his piercing blue eyes began to +soften, and signs of his sense of humor began to appear about his mouth. +And he turned on his heel, and walked away, leaving Whitey to his grief.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>EDUCATION AND OTHER THINGS</h3> + + +<p>Winter dragged coldly by, saddened by the lessons of John Big Moose, and +brightened by an occasional hunting trip the boys took to the mountains. +Sitting Bull did not seem to justify Whitey's first idea of him; that he<a name="Page_78" id="Page_78"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 78]</span> +was a magnet for excitement. Apparently Bull was satisfied to lie by the +big living-room stove and sleep, except when the boys were going for +game. Then he was eager to go.</p> + +<p>"That there dog is like some folks," declared Bill Jordan. "He's +powerful smart, but he's got a lot o' false idees 'bout himself. He +ain't built for huntin' no more'n he is for runnin'. Why don't you take +him along onc't, an' show him his mistake?"</p> + +<p>So one day when the snow was light, and snowshoes were not needed, Injun +and Whitey took Bull to the hills with them, and he was mad with +delight. But all he did was to rush excitedly about and frighten the +game, except once, when Whitey had a good but hard shot at a rabbit. +Then Bull got between Whitey's legs and tripped him up, so that Whitey +missed the shot.</p> + +<p>The boys came back without any game, and apparently without convincing +Bull that he was no hunter, for the next time they started he was just +as eager to go as before.</p> + +<p>"You thought he'd be cured of wanting to hunt, but he isn't," Whitey +said reproachfully to Bill Jordan. "I don't think he's so smart, after<a name="Page_79" id="Page_79"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 79]</span> +all."</p> + +<p>"Smart!" exclaimed Bill. "Why, he's just nachally too clever t' give up. +He'd keep on tryin' till he did b'come a great hunter."</p> + +<p>This was the usual satisfaction Whitey got out of Bill's arguments, but +Bull went hunting no more.</p> + +<p>One of the boys' other diversions had to do with a Chinaman named Wong +Lee. Wong had succeeded the colored man, Slim, as cook at the Bar O. +Slim had thought the Montana winter too severe for his miseries, and had +gone South for good, and as Wong was a much better cook, no one felt +sorry. Wong was placid, industrious, and very amiable, but beneath all +this he must have had nerves, as I suppose Chinamen have, in common with +other people.</p> + +<p>He slept in a shack near the bunk house, and carried his industry so far +that at night he would do all the washing that was to be done at the +ranch house, for which he was paid extra. And here was the boys' chance. +Injun was like most other boys when it came to mischief, and Whitey<a name="Page_80" id="Page_80"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 80]</span> +taught him the ancient game of tick-tack. In case you don't know it, +I'll tell you how it's done.</p> + +<p>To make a tick-tack get a long string, the longer the better; meaning +the longer the safer. Then get a small fish-hook, and tie it to the end +of your string, and tie a little stone about eight inches below your +fish-hook. Select a dark night and the window of the person whose nerves +you wish to disturb. Then sneak up, and fasten the fish-hook to one of +the cross pieces of the window. Then go to the end of your line, and +hide behind a wagon or a post. Pull your string, and "tick-tack" goes +the stone on the window.</p> + +<p>Wong Lee took it all in good part. He had been a boy once, himself, +away off in China. And though Wong Lee never had played tick-tack, he +probably had played other, Chinese boy games that Injun and Whitey would +have been glad to know about, and Wong Lee was of such a disposition +that he probably would have told them all about it, had he and the boys +come to an understanding in the matter.</p> +<p><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 81]</span></p> +<p>Instead of that, when that irritating little sound got on his Chinese +nerves, Wong Lee would chase out in answer to the tick-tack, with his +pigtail standing straight out in the wind, and pursue the boys from +cover to cover. But he was game, and though he must have known who his +tormentors were, he never reported them to Mr. Sherwood or to Bill +Jordan.</p> + +<p>And so, with one thing and another, the winter finally merged into +spring, the soft rains melting away the snow, and giving the brown earth +its chance to turn to tender green. And the swollen river was dotted +with cakes of ice, among which the wild ducks dropped on their way South +where, it was to be hoped, Slim had recovered from his miseries. And, as +everybody knows, spring is a time that stirs boys and young men to +unrest.</p> + +<p>Perhaps you have noticed that when a fellow is just swelling up with a +desire to do something big in the world, some trifling little thing +comes along and knocks his ambition to splinters. When he is burning to +kill a bear, he has to go on an errand for his mother—or something like +that. Well, here was Whitey, with this spring feeling inciting him to +great deeds, instead of making him lazy, as it does some people, and he +went to the bunk house, followed by Sitting Bull. And there was Bill<a name="Page_82" id="Page_82"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 82]</span> +Jordan, with a letter in his hand, and something on his mind that he was +dying to tell, but would rather die than not take his time about +telling.</p> + +<p>So Bill proceeded to peddle out his news, a bit at a time. "John Big +Moose's goin' t' New York," was the first thing Bill said.</p> + +<p>"Hooray!" Whitey cried.</p> + +<p>"That's a fine way t' take th' news that you're goin' t' lose your dear +teacher," Bill said reproachfully.</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course I'm sorry that John is going away, but just think, +there'll be no more lessons," Whitey answered.</p> + +<p>"O' course," Bill said, and he looked at the boy in a very peculiar way.</p> + +<p>But Whitey was too excited to notice the look. "What's John going for?" +he asked.</p> + +<p>"Your father's sent for him," answered Bill. Mr. Sherwood's business had +again taken him to the big city. "An' now that this here gold mine's<a name="Page_83" id="Page_83"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 83]</span> +turnin' out so well," Bill continued, "an' John has some money, your +father don't think it's fair t' keep him here teachin' a couple o' kids, +when there's a big openin' for John right there in New York. An' it +seems your father's got John some job as a chemist, though goin' into a +drug store don't seem no big openin' t' me," Bill added thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"John isn't going to be a drug clerk," Whitey said, disgusted at Bill's +ignorance. Whitey knew something of the big Indian's ambitions, having +heard him discuss them with Mr. Sherwood. "Father probably has heard of +an opening in some college, where John can become an instructor in +chemistry."</p> + +<p>Bill didn't know what that meant, either, but, not wishing to display +his ignorance further, he said hastily, "Oh, that's diff'runt."</p> + +<p>"When's John going?" demanded Whitey.</p> + +<p>"Right off. Gonna drive him t' th' Junction to-day."</p> + +<p>"Then no more lessons!" cried Whitey. "We'll be off for a hunting trip. +I hear Moose Lake is just loaded with wild geese. Where's Injun? I must +run and tell him."</p> + +<p>"Wait a minit," cautioned Bill. "There's somethin' more. But first I +must tell you how s'prised an' pained you make me by showin' this here +dislike for learnin'."</p><p><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 84]</span></p> + +<p>"Surprised nothing," retorted Whitey. "Did you like it when you were a +kid?"</p> + +<p>"Nope," Bill confessed promptly. "But I'm dern sorry I didn't, now. You +ain't got no idea what a handicap a feller's under what ain't got no +eddication."</p> + +<p>Whitey thought that what Bill had just said had given him a pretty good +idea of the handicap, but he was wise enough to say nothing. Bill sat +down and began to roll a cigarette.</p> + +<p>"O' course, they's a lot of things in life that you can't learn outa +books," Bill said. "But th' feller with th' book-learnin' generally has +th' upper hand. There's one thing books never rightly teached no boy, +an' that's lookin' ahead. I've often wondered why they didn't pay more +'tention t' that, but mostly a boy has t' learn it for himself. If he +happens t' be born in the wilderness he just nach'lly has t' learn it, +or I reckon he'd die."</p><p><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 85]</span></p> + +<p>Whitey fidgeted about, knowing that Bill was on one of his favorite +topics, and wouldn't stop and tell the rest of his news until he was run +down.</p> + +<p>"Take Injun, f'r instance," Bill went on. "He's got a way o' figurin' +out things that's wonderful, an' once in a while that way o' figurin' +has saved his life. They's a highbrow word for that stuff, an' it's +'observation.' You just stick to that observation thing, kid, an' you'll +find it a heap o' use t' you in this country."</p> + +<p>Whitey knew of Injun's wonderful powers of observation which he had +often shown on the trail, but could not help thinking that some of his +red friend's cleverness was due to the lore inherited from his Indian +ancestors, with their knowledge of the wild and of the habits of its +beasts and birds. But Bill droned on while Whitey squirmed with +impatience, and presently a welcome interruption came in the person of +Shorty Palmer, who dashed into the room.</p> + +<p>"Say, Bill," Shorty cried, "you got th' new time-table?"</p> + +<p>"Sure," said Bill. "Last time I was to the Junction."</p> + +<p>"Well, didn't you notice that th' Eastern Express leaves two hours +earlier now?"</p><p><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 86]</span></p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"It does, an' you'll have t' burn up th' prairie t' make it, an' Buck's +got th' team all hitched, an' John Big Moose's just throwin' things into +his trunk, an' you'd best get a move on."</p> + +<p>"Jumpin' garter snakes!" cried Bill. "I never—"</p> + +<p>"Oh," Whitey interrupted, "this observation thing is great stuff. And +you just stick to it, and—"</p> + +<p>"Shucks, I ain't got no time t' argue with kids," said Bill, and +started for the door.</p> + +<p>"Hold on," called Whitey. "What was that other news you were going to +tell me?"</p> + +<p>"Nothin'," said Bill, "'cept your father writes that now John Big Moose +is goin', you an' Injun'll have t' go t' school at th' Forks," and he +hurried from the bunk house, followed by Shorty.</p> +<p><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 87]</span></p> +<p>Whitey sank down on a stool in despair. Gone were the dreams of +adventure, of wild geese and bears just wakening from their winter's +sleep. School! And with those few kids at the Forks!</p> + +<p>"What's the use of anything?" Whitey muttered dejectedly.</p> + +<p>And Bull, who at times was very sympathetic, looked up at him as much as +to say, "Nothing."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>INJUN TALKS</h3> + + +<p>That night, in the bunk house, Bill Jordan was holding forth to a select +few—Jim Walker, Charlie Bassett, Buck Higgins, and Shorty Palmer; all +old friends and true, who could dispute and quarrel with one another +without the serious results that would have attended such action on the +part of strangers.</p> +<p><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 88]</span></p> +<p>"Talkin' 'bout Injuns," said Bill, "all I don't know 'bout 'em you c'd +write on a hummin'-bird's finger-nail."</p> + +<p>"Hummin'-birds don't have no finger-nails," corrected Shorty Palmer.</p> + +<p>"Sure they don't," allowed Bill. "But you c'd write it on one if they +did."</p> + +<p>"They has claws," persisted Shorty. "B'sides, no hummin'-bird ain't +goin' t' stay still long enough for you to write on his claw."</p> + +<p>"I know that, too," said Bill. "That thing I was sayin' is what's called +a figger o' speech. Same as 'independent as a hog on ice,' or 'dead as +a door nail.' Ev'body knows them things ain't independent or dead. It's +just a fancy way o' expressin' yourself. Can't you give a feller credit +for no 'magination?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you got 'magination all right," Shorty agreed. "You ain't in no +ways hampered by facts. But, anyway, we wasn't talkin' 'bout Injuns."</p> + +<p>"No, but we was goin' to," retorted Bill, "for I was about t' d'rect th'<a name="Page_89" id="Page_89"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 89]</span> +conversation in them channels when you makes them ign'rant +interruptions."</p> + +<p>"Oh, go on an' talk, Bill," Jim Walker broke in. "Don't pertend that +Shorty, nor th' whole United States Army, c'd stop you if you wanted t' +chin."</p> + +<p>Thus urged Bill began his discourse. "What started my mind workin' on +this here Injun question was somethin' that come up to-day," he said. +"John Big Moose bein' gone, you know, Mr. Sherwood writes me that Injun +an' Whitey is t' go to school over to th' Forks. So on my way back from +drivin' John t' th' Junction I stops at that there temple o' knowledge, +as th' feller says, t' prepare th' mind o' Jennie Adams, what teaches +there, for th' comin' of this bunch of new scholards.</p> + +<p>"Y' all know Jennie, old Hog Adams's daughter. Th' one with th' wart on +her chin, that was engaged for matrimoney to Sid Gilman till one day +they was ridin' t'gether, an' Sid's cayuse slips into a gopher hole, an' +Sid falls off an' sprains his ankle, an' lets loose such a string o'<a name="Page_90" id="Page_90"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 90]</span> +cuss words that Jennie—"</p> + +<p>"Say, Bill," protested Buck Higgins, "'f you couldn't shoot no +straighter'n you c'n talk you'd be a mighty poor risk for a insurance +comp'ny. Nev' mind this here Jennie's history from th' time of th' +flood. Get down t' th' present day."</p> + +<p>"Well," Bill continued reluctantly, "I tells Jennie 'bout Injun an' +Whitey's bein' 'bout t' be added to her string o' pupils, an' what d'ye +s'pose she responds? That there ain't nothin' doin' with Injun. That +Whitey, bein' a paleface, is entitled t' absorb all th' knowledge he c'n +hold, but that Injun, bein' copper-colored, has got t' get along with +other brunettes of his kind, back in some school east of here, +'specially designated by a patern'l gov'ment."</p> + +<p>"Did she say all them words?" demanded Charlie Bassett.</p> + +<p>"Just like that," Bill replied. "'S though she knew 'em by heart. Must +'a' bin some circular, or somep'n' she'd learned aforehand."</p> + +<p>"Well, what d'ye think o' that?" Jim Walker exploded. "Think o' that +John Big Moose, an' all he knows, an' him bein' allowed t' learn folks +in some Eastern high school, an' that there Jennie Adams, what don't<a name="Page_91" id="Page_91"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 91]</span> +know enough t' tell time by a kitchen clock, not bein' puhmitted t' +learn Injun nothin'. It ain't right."</p> + +<p>Bill Jordan leaned back, well satisfied with the effect he had produced. +"'Course it ain't right," he said. "Th' reason for it is that th' +cemetery o' learnin' where John's goin' t' teach is a private +institootion, an' this here shack o' Jennie's is controlled by th' +gov'ment. I ain't no anarkiss, but—"</p> + +<p>"What's an anarkiss?" interrupted Buck.</p> + +<p>"A feller what's ag'in' th' gov'ment," explained Bill. "You can't make +me b'lieve that our Injun ain't as good as th' scholards at Jennie's +emporium. Take that potato-faced brother Jim of hers, f'r instance, +that's a coyote in 'pearance an' a rattlesnake at heart. Why, Injun's +a—a—prince of timber buck too compared t' him."</p> + +<p>Bill did not know what a Prince of Timbuctoo was, and neither did the +other punchers, but it sounded impressive, and served to vent his<a name="Page_92" id="Page_92"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 92]</span> +feelings against a law which affected his friend Injun—for as such +Bill, and all the men in the bunk house, regarded the boy.</p> + +<p>There may have been reasons why the Indian children were kept from +association with whites. But in the minds of these men of the plains, +who knew both the bad and the good in the red men, and the bad and the +good in the white men of that day and that country, the reasons were not +founded on justice. Furthermore, they were conceived by lawmakers far +away. So the cowboys vented their feelings against what seemed to them +rank injustice.</p> + +<p>"But t' get back t' what I know 'bout Injuns," said Bill, after the +discussion had gone on for some time. "What d'ye s'pose our Injun +thinks 'bout this here rule as says he ain't as good as that pie-faced +Jim Adams? He knows 'tain't right, same as we do, an' he thinks to +himself, 'Here's another thing I got t' put up with, an' if I rare up +an' make a row 'bout it, I'll get th' wuss of it, as my people always +has. So what'll I do? I'll lay low, an' say nothin', an' I won't give +them white brothers no chance t' see that they've hurt my feelin's. I'll +hide my hurt with my pride—one o' th' only things my white brothers has +left me.'"</p><p><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 93]</span></p> + +<p>There was silence for a moment in the bunk house. Then Jim Walker spoke. +"Well, Injun may think that," he said. "But whatever he thinks you won't +never really know. He's that savin' o' speech, like all Injuns."</p> + +<p>"They're savin' enough o' speech here, 'mongst us folks," Bill Jordan +said. "But with their own people they're great speech-makers."</p> + +<p>"G'wan," objected Buck Higgins. "Who ever heard of a Injun talkin' +much."</p> + +<p>"Yes, siree," Bill declared. "They're great talkers 'mongst folks they +knows and trusts. Why, at their pow-wows they're reg'lar orators. +Ev'body knows that what's had a lot t' do with 'em, same as me. John Big +Moose was easy with white folks, an' look the way he could spill +langwidge. 'Most as good as we all."</p> + +<p>The others silently agreed to this, thinking what a great advantage it +would be to John Big Moose in the Eastern college to talk as well as +they did.</p><p><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 94]</span></p> + +<p>"Our Injun boy could talk as well as John Big Moose, if he was usin' his +own speech, an' wanted to," continued Bill. "He's rather jerky now +'count of his not knowin' our langwidge very well, for one thing, an' +from bein' in th' habit of concealin' his thoughts from white men—like +all other Injuns—for another thing."</p> + +<p>Now you, who read this, must know by this time how well Bill Jordan +liked to tell things and to prove them—if he could; and if he couldn't +make the other fellow believe they were true, to think up something the +other fellow couldn't answer; and if he couldn't do that, to go away +before the other could think of an answer. We all have known boys or men +of this sort, and, being human, we don't like to have them assuming +that they know more than we do. That is, we don't like it all the time. +And this sort of feeling was stirring in that bunk house, at that +moment. And finally Charlie Bassett spoke.</p> + +<p>"Bill," he said, "you're allus tellin' us somethin' 'bout somethin' what +we don't know nothin' 'bout, with th' idee of gettin' us t' think you're +a pretty wise feller. Now, all this you've bin tellin' us 'bout Injuns +<i>sounds</i> reason'ble, but if you want us to really b'lieve it, you've got<a name="Page_95" id="Page_95"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 95]</span> +t' show us. Ain't that so, fellers?"</p> + +<p>The others, thus appealed to, nodded solemnly.</p> + +<p>"How'm I goin' t' prove it?" asked Bill, thus driven into a corner.</p> + +<p>"By gettin' Injun t' talk," Charlie answered. "An' furthermore I'll +betcha a can of peaches or a apple pie for each one of this gang, all +'round, that you can't prove it."</p> + +<p>Canned peaches are regarded as a great luxury in the West, or were at +that time, to say nothing of apple pies, and Bill considered the matter. +Moreover, his reputation was at stake, and that was a bigger thing to +him than peaches or apple pie either. After careful thought he spoke.</p> + +<p>"I'll have t' go you," he said, "but there's two conditions to this here +contest."</p> + +<p>"Give 'em a name," said Charlie.</p> + +<p>"Th' first is, that Injun's gotta be among friends."</p> + +<p>"We're all his friends," Charlie said. "Won't we do?"</p> +<p><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 96]</span></p> +<p>"Yes, just us an' Whitey, if he's along," Bill agreed. "The next +condition is, that I don't agree t' make Injun talk direct on no +subject. F'r instance, if I asks him what he thinks 'bout bein' barred +out o' that there school, I don't promise he'll tell me right out. He +may spring some tale or yarn that shows what he thinks; mebbe he will, +but I don't claim t' get no exact expression of his feelin's in th' +matter."</p> + +<p>"Them conditions goes," Charlie agreed, "don't they, fellers?"</p> + +<p>The "fellers" agreed that they did, and it now only remained to await +the coming of Injun. He was Whitey's guest at the ranch house that +night, the night of the last day of Whitey's freedom from school. As it +was early, no doubt the boys would soon appear at the bunk house, to +listen to the sort of Arabian Nights' entertainment that was afforded by +the tales of the cowpunchers.</p> + +<p>There was a momentary lull in the talk of the men, a lull in keeping +with the outer night, which was still and very dark. Presently a faint +light flickered across the southern windows of the bunk house, followed +by a low rumble in the northeast.</p><p><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 97]</span></p> + +<p>"Storm in th' mountains," volunteered Jim.</p> + +<p>Another moment of silence was followed by a brighter glare, as the sky +in the south caught the reflection of the northern lightning. The former +rumble was succeeded by a more distinct series of crashes, as though the +storm gods of Indian belief were warming up to their work.</p> + +<p>"Reck'n she's comin' this way," said Bill Jordan.</p> + +<p>There was the sighing of a gentle breeze through the cottonwoods, then a +glare that shamed the oil lamps, and, so fast that it almost might be +said to trip on the light, a crash that caused the men to turn and +regard one another, almost in awe.</p> + +<p>"Them mountain storms sure comes downhill fast," said Shorty.</p> + +<p>As though announced by the breeze a roar of wind tore through the trees, +and shook the bunk house windows. The darkness was split by vivid, +bluish-green flashes to which the thunder responded in an almost +constant cannonading. The door opened, and Injun and Whitey forced their +way in, then threw their weight upon it in the effort to close it<a name="Page_98" id="Page_98"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 98]</span> +against the force of the wind. Bill went to their aid.</p> + +<p>"Funny how th' wind allus swings 'round with them storms," said Bill, +when the door was closed. "Seems t' back up an' get underneath 'em, then +push 'em from behind."</p> + +<p>"We've missed the rain, anyway," gasped Whitey, sinking down on a bunk.</p> + +<p>"Not by much," said Bill, as the swish of a downpouring torrent sounded +on the walls and roof and hissed through the bending branches of the +cottonwoods.</p> + +<p>Gradually the thunder drew grumblingly away. The wind ceased to clamor, +and for a time the rain, relieved of the gale's force, fell straight in +a steady tattoo on the roof. Then it passed, and a slighter coolness of +the air, noticeable even in the closeness of the bunk house, was the +only token left of the storm's spurt of fury.</p> + +<p>"Them storms is like some folks' money; comes hard and goes easy," said +Shorty Palmer.</p> + +<p>"Comes quick an' goes quicker's more like it," corrected Bill Jordan.</p> + +<p>"Have it your own way," grumbled Shorty. "Not that I have t' tell you<a name="Page_99" id="Page_99"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 99]</span> +that, for you'd have it, anyway."</p> + +<p>Now that the momentary interruption of the summer tempest had passed, +the minds of the company turned to the subject of Bill and Charlie's +wager, with the object of it, Injun, sitting on a cracker box and gazing +solemnly at nothing in particular. The other men all looked expectantly +at Bill, who fidgeted a moment in his chair, then started, in what he +intended for a light, conversational tone.</p> + +<p>"Y' all ready for school to-morrow, Whitey?" Bill began, on his +roundabout attack.</p> + +<p>"Yeh," Whitey replied gloomily.</p> + +<p>"Too bad 'bout you, Injun. Kind o' disappointin', their barrin' you out. +Kind o' unfair, too."</p> + +<p>Injun's response to this was as broad a grin as he ever showed to the +world. "Me glad," he said. "No like school."</p> +<p><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 100]</span></p> +<p>This was rather a setback to Bill, who had expected to play on Injun's +feeling of resentment. He rolled a cigarette and planned a new line of +attack. He knew that all the punchers would be glad to see him fail to +make Injun talk, and this didn't make Bill any more easy in his mind. It +may have been pleasing to him to have worked up a reputation for knowing +more than the others, but this reputation was not without its drawbacks. +For one thing, it was hard to keep it up; for another, it filled his +friends with glee when he failed to keep it up. He puffed hard on his +cigarette, and thought harder.</p> + +<p>Whitey broke the silence. "Tell us a story, Bill," he suggested.</p> + +<p>"I ain't exactly got no story in mind," Bill replied. "We was talkin' +'bout folks, b'fore you an' Injun come, an' how they is apt t' be +unjust, 'specially in th' way o' makin' laws an' such, an' it kind o' +got me thinkin' serious; kind o' drove stories out o' my head."</p> + +<p>"Why, John Big Moose was talking about that the other day," Whitey +exclaimed, "and how hard it is for one body of people to understand and +sympathize with another, and about that sayin', 'Man's inhumanity to man +makes countless thousands mourn.' Of course, you know that saying. +Bill?"</p><p><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 101]</span></p> + +<p>"'Course," answered Bill. "My father was allus mentionin' of it."</p> + +<p>"Your old man was a blacksmith, wa'n't he, Bill?" Buck Higgins asked.</p> + +<p>"Sure."</p> + +<p>"Seems t' me 'twould 'a' bin more in the way o' sense if he'd talked +'bout man's unhumanness t' hosses," Buck said lightly.</p> + +<p>Bill ignored this, and got back to the serious side of the subject. +"It's somethin' t' make a critter think," he declared. "Take white folks +an' Injuns, f'r instance. They ain't never rightly understood each +other, 'cause they ain't never bin rightly in tune with each other, an' +that's another way o' sayin' they ain't bin in symp'thy. An' th' only +way they could get that way would be t' tell, outspoke, what they thinks +o' each other. Now they's Injun, here. He's bin our friend for some +time, an' we bin his, but no one ain't never knowed his <i>real</i> 'pinion +of us, an' I think it'd be some help in adjustin' matters all round if +we did."</p> + +<p>Shielding his mouth with his hand, Shorty Palmer turned to Buck Higgins, +and spoke in a hoarse whisper, that could be heard distinctly by<a name="Page_102" id="Page_102"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 102]</span> +everybody. "Bill's like one o' them big express trains you see at th' +Junction," Shorty hissed. "Takes him some time t' get started, but he +gets somewheres when he does."</p> + +<p>Bill tried to look as though he hadn't heard this, and turned to Injun, +with what was supposed to be an expression of brotherly frankness on his +face. "Just among friends, Injun, d'ye think white folks as a class +stacks up perty good?"</p> + +<p>Injun stared at Bill. "Huh," he grunted. "Mebbe some good, mebbe some +bad."</p> + +<p>"O' course," said Bill, "they's good an' bad 'mongst 'em, but I mean t' +stack 'em up against Injuns, as a whole tribe, see?"</p> + +<p>"Injuns same way. Mebbe some good, mebbe some bad."</p> + +<p>This did not seem to be getting anywhere, and Bill became more personal. +"Now, Injun, honest," he said, "don't you think your people are +underdogs in these here conditions the whites have forced 'em into, an' +that they got a constant grouch against most whites?"</p><p><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 103]</span></p> + +<p>"My people good people. Him see straight," Injun replied, with dignity.</p> + +<p>Bill was sorry now that he had started on this line of attack. He knew +that the Min-i-ko-wo-ju tribe, a branch of the Sioux or Dakotas, of +which Injun was a member, had been treated very fairly by Mr. Sherwood, +Whitey's father. That largely through the influence of Mr. Sherwood, +aided and abetted by John Big Moose, the educated Dakota, the +Min-i-ko-wo-jus had come in for their share of the recently discovered +gold mine. He also knew that gratitude was a strong factor in the Indian +character.</p> + +<p>But with all his boasted knowledge of his red brothers, what Bill did +not know was what Injun was thinking of, and that was something +unconnected with his white brothers, or their justice or injustice to +his kind. It was something induced by the stillness of the night, +following the storm. Thoughts of another night, when Injun was not in a +long, narrow bunk-house room, surrounded by booted cowboy friends, but<a name="Page_104" id="Page_104"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 104]</span> +in a tepee, dimly lighted by a central fire, around which squatted his +serious-faced, copper-hued kinsmen, smoking their long pipes, and +telling of their deeds and mishaps.</p> + +<p>And when his mind was fixed on a subject, Injun—like other Indians—was +not to be deflected by the thoughts of others. Bill might talk and talk +of justice and injustice, or about cows or cartridges; Injun's mind +would stay put, and when he spoke, if it was two hours afterwards, it +would be of that night in the tepee.</p> + +<p>But it was not that long before the silence that had fallen on the men +was broken. Bill was trying to think of another line of argument that +would induce Injun to speak at length. Whitey, who knew Injun better +than any one else, was looking at him, and realizing that he had +something on his mind. "Why don't you tell us a story, Injun?" Whitey +asked.</p> + +<p>There was another long pause in the bunk house, and nothing could be +heard save the ticking of the alarm clock that was Wong's special<a name="Page_105" id="Page_105"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 105]</span> +property, on which he relied to give him his three a.m. call to +get the punchers' breakfast ready by sunup. And then Injun spoke, he who +rarely talked, save in monosyllables.</p> + +<p>"When owl sleep; when thunder don't beat drum; when wind don't make +noise like big whistle; when trees stand straight up and don't bend; +when everything quick is in hole; when Great Spirit he make sign and +everybody him sleep—then I hear my papa tell story about my mamma's +brother; how he get 'um fingers worn off on end. My mamma's brother him +great buck; call him 'buck' when him brave, before him made Chief.</p> + +<p>"My mamma's brother him know white man scout, great friend my mamma's +brother. Him talk Indian talk, just like Sioux. My mamma's brother +friend him work for army; him watch when Indian go on war path. Him good +man. Him like Indian. Him know Indian no bad.</p> + +<p>"My mamma's brother friend him say to my mamma's brother him like to +bring his friend, White Chief, to Indian war dance. Him say White Chief +he no tell what he see. My mamma's brother he say no: White Chief, with +much ribbon on clothes, have crooked tongue. My mamma's brother friend<a name="Page_106" id="Page_106"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 106]</span> +he say White Chief he no tell; give word before Great Spirit. My mamma's +brother then he say come."</p> + +<p>As the clipped sentences fell in soft gutturals from Injun's lips his +face remained expressionless, except for his eyes, which gazed back into +the dim, smoke-laden tepee and into the face of his father, a great +story-teller of a race of great story-tellers; a survivor of the age-old +days when the deeds and legends of all men were made history by the +voice alone. And the men, their wager forgotten, and Whitey, too, leaned +forward and saw the tepee and saw Injun's uncle talking to the scout, +whom he trusted, and who trusted the White Chief.</p> + +<p>In what followed, Injun left some of the details to the imagination of +his hearers, or perhaps thought that they knew of them. Of how, before +the great war dance, the chiefs of the tribe assembled in conclave in +their council tent. And before these chiefs, who sat as a sort of jury, +appeared the young men of the tribe. And each young Indian told of his<a name="Page_107" id="Page_107"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 107]</span> +brave deeds, performed since the last war dance, and according to these +deeds the chiefs decided whether the young man was worthy to become a +chief.</p> + +<p>He needed no witnesses; his word was sufficient—for the Indian spoke +only the truth. And the descendant of a chief was held more worthy of +honor than another, for brave blood flowed in his veins. But after each +young man was deemed worthy, he must prove his bravery at the dance. +From a center pole hung a number of rawhide thongs. Through the breast +or back of each young brave two slits were cut, and a stick or skewer +was passed through them, and a thong tied to each end of the skewer. +Then the braves danced around the pole, leaning back and supporting +their weight on the skewer, and when this weight tore the skewer from +the flesh, the braves were deemed worthy to become chiefs. But should +one give up, or faint from pain, he was deemed unworthy. And the torture +suffered by all was great—but the torture borne by those through whose +backs the skewers were passed was greater.</p> +<p><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 108]</span></p> +<p>"White Chief and scout come to Indian war dance," Injun continued. "At +dance, when braves make talk and tell how they do things what make 'em +chief, my mamma's brother he tell how him ride on prairie and see two +white men. Him ride to them quick to show him friend. White men say +Injun bad. White men shoot at my mamma's brother. My mamma's brother him +shoot at white men. Him kill white men. My mamma's brother him made +chief, after him dance with stick through breast until stick break.</p> + +<p>"Scout, my mamma's brother friend, and White Chief they go 'way. My +mamma's brother friend him say to White Chief, 'You see now why you no +tell. Injun him good, no blame. White men they bad, want kill Injun.'</p> + +<p>"White Chief him say, 'No, Injun bad. Me tell.'"</p> + +<p>"Him go back and—"</p> + +<p>The door of the bunk house opened suddenly and a cowboy stalked in, a +lean, dark man, rather short and slim, with eyes of that peculiar light, +slaty gray that have a staring effect; apparently no depth to them. +These, with heavy overhanging brows and an inclination to sneer, gave +him a forbidding appearance. His hat and slicker glistened with water. +At his entrance Injun ceased speaking abruptly.</p><p><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 109]</span></p> + +<p>"Gee, I got soaked in that rain," said the newcomer. "Stopped at th' Cut +on my way back from th' Junction. Th' railroad hands got paid, to-day, +an' they're raisin' cain. Wisht I'd stayed there, 'stead o' gettin' +soaked."</p> + +<p>"I wish you had, too," Bill Jordan murmured to himself, unheard by the +other.</p> + +<p>This puncher, Henry Dorgan, was a man who was vaguely disliked on the +ranch, with nothing in particular on which to hang the cause of the +feeling. It was characteristic of him, for one thing, that he had no +nickname. In a country where almost every one's name was familiarly +shortened into Hank, or Bill, or Jim, or was changed to Kid, or Red, or +Shorty, he remained Henry—not even Harry.</p> + +<p>He threw off his hat and slicker, stamped to shake off the moisture that +clung to his boots, sat down, and prepared to make himself at home.</p> + +<p>"Go ahead, Injun," said Jim Walker. "You was just at th' most +interestin' part."</p> + +<p>Injun rose, walked to a bucket in a corner, poured himself a dipper of +water, and drank calmly. Then he returned, sat down and looked straight +ahead of him. There was a painful tension, of which Dorgan did not seem<a name="Page_110" id="Page_110"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 110]</span> +to be aware. Buck Higgins tried to dispel it.</p> + +<p>"Perceed, Injun," he said. "We're all a-waitin' on you."</p> + +<p>Without embarassment, Injun continued to say nothing. Bill Jordan began +to show signs of nervousness, which finally broke into speech.</p> + +<p>"Had anythin' t' eat, Henry?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Nope. Too busy drinkin' an' things, at th' Cut," replied Dorgan, who, +however, showed no signs of intoxication.</p> + +<p>"Better go out t' th' kitchen, an' rustle yourself somep'n'," Bill +suggested.</p> + +<p>"Wong'll get crazy if I monkey with his grub," objected Henry.</p> + +<p>"I'll take care o' Wong. G'wan, you don't wanta be hungry," Bill said.</p> + +<p>"I c'd do with some beans an' coffee," Dorgan allowed, and took himself +off.</p> +<p><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 111]</span></p> +<p>After he was gone, there was another period of silence. It was so +unusual for Injun to talk at all, and the effort to start him again +having failed, it seemed now to occur to everybody that it probably +would be better to let him alone until he got in the mood again. +Presently Whitey saw Injun's eyes take on their former faraway look, as +though they were gazing into his father's tepee fire, or into the red +faces of his kinsmen.</p> + +<p>"What did the White Chief do when he went back?" Whitey asked softly.</p> + +<p>"Him go back and get plenty soldiers," responded Injun. "And come get my +mamma's brother, and tie him on pony, with him face looking at pony +tail. My mamma's brother him lose much blood where stick break through +chest. Him almost died when get to Fort. White Chief put him in log +calaboose. Him stay there long, long time; mebbe so twenty, thirty +moons.</p> + +<p>"Then him dig dirt in floor with hands, and cover up when they bring him +bread and water—and he hide his hands all the time, fingers so much +bleed. Then when dark and no moon, him dig out last dirt, him come up +outside. Him run sixty mile, him come my father, him tell my father."</p> +<p><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 112]</span></p> +<p>"My father he say to our people, 'Now, we fight, and we fight heap!'"</p> + +<p>Injun paused for a moment, as one considering and about to utter +judgment. "White man bad. Injun he no bad," he said.</p> + +<p>Injun's story was concluded. He rose and walked from the bunk house.</p> + +<p>There was a moment's hush broken by Jim Walker. "Who in thunder d'ye +s'pose that White Chief was?" he demanded. "Gee! We sure butted into +some real Injun history."</p> + +<p>"That's what I'm thinkin'," said Bill Jordan. "An' seein' as how Injun's +uncle was old Rain-in-the-Face, an' seein' as how th' old man's fingers +was all stubbed off at th' ends, an' seein' as how Lonesome Charlie +Reynolds, th' greatest scout what ever lived, was a great friend of th' +Injuns, an' spoke their langwidge, an' seein' as how he was scout for +General Terry, up at old Fort Buford, an' seein' as how that's where th' +Seventh Cavalry was quartered, an' seein' as how Captain Tom Custer was<a name="Page_113" id="Page_113"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 113]</span> +always hated by th' Sioux, an' by old Rain-in-the-Face in partic'ler—by +golly, boys!—"</p> + +<p>Bill paused, as he and the men were impressed by the important point to +which his line of argument was leading, then went on excitedly: "We only +have t' reason deflectively t' put our fingers on th' button what caused +th' doggonedest Injun fights this country ever knowed!"</p> + +<p>"It begins, gee whiz! it begins—we all are all right, boys! It begins +in '75, with Injun's tribe. An' in '76, General Custer an' Captain Tom +Custer an' two hundred an' sixty-one o' their men was all wiped out. An' +them Injuns kep' right on fightin' till '81, when John Gall, th' big +Sioux Chief, surrenders at that big fight in th' snow, when it was +fifty-two below, an' them Injuns was fightin' in their skins, with no +coverin' but a blanket.</p> + +<p>"Just think of it, boys. An' sittin' right here in this bunk house, +years an' years after, us cowpunchers get th' real cause o' th' whole +rumpus, which them Washington folks has bin figurin' out for years, an' +couldn't do it none whatever. Didn't I tell you all when a Injun talks +he says somethin'?"</p> + +<p>There was no disputing this, and the men looked solemn as they<a name="Page_114" id="Page_114"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 114]</span> +considered the series of great tragedies and the chain of circumstances +which had led up to them. Then, as the impression made on Bill Jordan +began to fade, and thoughts of his own importance to take its place, he +turned triumphantly to Jim Walker.</p> + +<p>"Well, did I make Injun talk, an' do we get them peaches?" Bill +demanded.</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> make him talk!" Jim returned scornfully. "All you did was t' make +him shut up. Whitey made him talk."</p> + +<p>"G'wan," Bill retorted. "Didn't them suggestions o' mine 'bout white men +an' Injuns start him thinkin' 'bout that bad White Chief hombre? An' +didn't I get rid o' Henry Dorgan, 'cause Injun's distrustful of him, an' +wouldn't chin with him 'round?"</p> +<p><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 115]</span></p> +<p>"'F y'ask for my opinion, I don't b'lieve none o' you made him talk," +said Shorty Palmer. "I think he just—"</p> + +<p>"I didn't ask for your opinion," Bill interrupted. "No feller c'n tell +me nothin' 'bout Injuns—"</p> + +<p>But if this bunk house argument were followed to its end I should have +to write another book. Perhaps you can guess who paid for the peaches.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>FISH-HOOKS AND HOOKY</h3> + + +<p>After breakfast the next morning when Injun and Whitey came out of the +ranch house, Whitey was heavy-hearted. The thought of going to that +school at the Forks was the cause of his depression. It was like some<a name="Page_116" id="Page_116"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 116]</span> +sort of penalty one must pay for being a boy. Injun was to escort Whitey +to the school, as an act of friendship—as one might go to another's +funeral.</p> + +<p>Sitting Bull was sleeping peaceably on the veranda. Sitting Bull had no +regard for the man who said that "early to bed and early to rise makes a +man healthy and wealthy and wise," or he never had heard of him. Sitting +Bull always slept late. There were other rules that boys must follow to +which Bull paid no attention. He did not chew his food carefully, as +every one knows that boys should. There were times when Whitey envied +Bull, and this first day of school was one of them.</p> + +<p>But when the boys started for the corral to get their ponies, Bull +roused himself and expressed a wish to go with them. He had a mistaken +idea that he could keep up with the horses for nine miles, and it was +with some difficulty that Whitey got him to give it up.</p> + +<p>"He don't know what he's missing," Whitey said sadly, as he and Injun +turned from the disappointed Bull and walked reluctantly to the corral.</p><p><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 117]</span></p> + +<p>It was a beautiful day, too. Did you ever notice that the first day of +school always is beautiful? Injun and Whitey's ponies made short work of +the nine miles of road that skirted the foothills and led to the Forks, +the spirited animals seeming to drink in the bracing morning air that +swept down from the mountains as though it were a tonic, which indeed it +was.</p> + +<p>The Forks was a spot at which a road that led down from the mountains +joined the road to the Junction. The mountain road was little more than +a trail, seldom traveled, and almost overgrown with grass, and where it +joined the other stood the shack which was used as a schoolhouse. This +shack had been built by some early homeseeker, who had long ago +abandoned it to seek other pastures. It was old and discouraged-looking, +and patched in spots with pieces of tin and boards. As a temple of +learning it was not an inviting-looking place.</p> + +<p>The pupils evidently had assembled in the shack, for tied in the shelter +of some maples near by were four cayuses and two weary-looking mules. +There were eight scholars, as Whitey knew, so he guessed that the mules +carried double. Injun seemed much more cheerful on this occasion than<a name="Page_118" id="Page_118"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 118]</span> +Whitey, who dismounted and tied Monty near the other animals. Then, +before entering for the sacrifice, he tiptoed over to the shack and +peeped into the window. He tiptoed back to where Injun sat calmly on his +pinto. There was a look of horror on Whitey's face.</p> + +<p>"Girls!" he whispered.</p> + +<p>Bill Jordan had not told Whitey that some of Miss Adams's pupils were of +the fair sex. He had left that as a pleasant surprise. And there were +just two things in life that Whitey was mortally afraid of—one was +girls and the other was school.</p> + +<p>Some persons regard the Indians as a cruel and heartless race. I do not +hold with this opinion, but I am bound to state what Whitey's friend +Injun did now. He grinned—actually grinned. Whitey gave him a sad, +reproachful look, and with his package of lunch under his arm, slouched +into the schoolhouse.</p> +<p><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 119]</span></p> +<p>It is needless to follow Whitey into this seat of learning. If this were +a record of the torments and horrors he underwent during his boyhood +days, it might be well to describe this period at length. But suffice it +to say that Jennie Adams, the teacher, was a young woman who, if given a +little time to think, could tell you, without using a paper or pencil, +how much six pounds of butter would cost at twelve cents a pound. Also, +that the girl pupils, of whom there were four,—those who rode the mules +double,—had a habit of tittering, also of leaning over close to each +and making whispered remarks about Whitey.</p> + +<p>A week of this did not add to Whitey's thirst for knowledge, which was +not very strong at best, and it was just a week from this first day +that he was again riding toward the schoolhouse, and something +happened. It was another bright morning, and Whitey had reached a spot +where the road branched up into the foothills to avoid a marsh, when he +noticed signs of excitement in his pony, Monty. These signs would have +been stronger had the wind been blowing the other way, and had Monty's +nose made him aware of the exact danger that lurked near. As it was, his +ears, which were much keener than Whitey's, caught sounds of some<a name="Page_120" id="Page_120"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 120]</span> +disturbing presence, and Whitey had difficulty in keeping him in the +road.</p> + +<p>At a sharp turn, Whitey and Monty were greeted by a roar that was deeper +than that of any automobile horn you ever heard, a roar that had menace +behind it, and that came from a large brown bear which had risen on its +hind legs and was advancing into the road with both front paws extended +wide, as though with the intent of embracing both Whitey and Monty.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="img3-4" id="img3-4"></a> +<img src="images/img3-4.jpg" alt="Advancing into the Road with both Front Paws Extended." +title="Advancing into the Road with both Front Paws Extended" /> +<br /> +<h3>Advancing into the Road with both Front Paws Extended</h3> +</div> + +<p>Monty did not wait for any guiding rein to turn him. He wheeled on a +space about as big as a cigar-box, and hit the trail for home, and for +some time he and Whitey gave a fair imitation of a runaway train on a +down grade. All Whitey could do was to lie low on Monty's neck, digging +his moccasins into Monty's ribs, for fear he would change his +mind—which he didn't.</p> + +<p>And neither Whitey nor Monty knew that that roar came from a mother<a name="Page_121" id="Page_121"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 121]</span> +bear, and that back of the bear was a small cub, with a round, funny +little stomach, industriously combing the bushes for berries, and +regarding life as one round of pleasure. There was no need for them to +know that. Whitey had had experiences with bears, as you may remember. +If wireless had been invented, he might possibly have been willing to +use it as a means of introduction, but in no way he could think of at +the moment was he willing to meet a bear on its native heath.</p> + +<p>That settled it. No school that day. Couldn't expect a fellow to go to +school when he had to run into bears on the trail. What was an old bear +doing near the ranch, anyhow? Didn't seem right. When Monty had toned +down his headlong trip away from that bear, or thought he was at a safe +distance, Whitey found himself near the river, and idly turned Monty +toward its banks. Might as well take a little ride. Fellow didn't learn +much at that school, anyway. And so, after the ways of boys and men, +Whitey made excuses for not doing what he didn't want to do.</p> + +<p>With his mind somewhat at ease, Monty ambled along the shore of the +Yellowstone, with Whitey enjoying the scenery as much as his conscience<a name="Page_122" id="Page_122"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 122]</span> +would let him, and his conscience getting weaker every minute. And +presently, at some distance, he saw a small huddled-up figure sitting on +the bank. Closer inspection proved this figure to be pink, and still +closer inspection revealed it to be Injun. Wondering what Injun was +doing in that neighborhood, Whitey approached, and was surprised to find +that Injun was fishing.</p> + +<p>Knowing that Indians never fish except through necessity, Whitey was +puzzled. As he drew nearer, Injun turned and regarded him, betraying no +surprise at Whitey's being there; at his not being in school. Whitey +dismounted and sat near his friend.</p> + +<p>"What are you fishing for, Injun?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Fish," Injun replied seriously.</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Whitey. "I mean what do you want to catch the fish +for?"</p> + +<p>"Gum," spoke Injun briefly.</p> + +<p>"Gum?" demanded the bewildered Whitey. "You can't make gum out of fish."</p> + +<p>Injun said nothing at all. Whitey thought that perhaps he had a bite, +but he hadn't. He just didn't ooze information. It had to be dragged +from him. So Whitey proceeded.</p> + +<p>"Please explain about this fishing for gum," he said politely.</p><p><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 123]</span></p> + +<p>"Gum him chew," Injun replied.</p> + +<p>"Oh, chewing-gum!" cried Whitey. A light dawned on him, for he knew that +Injun was very fond of chewing-gum. So was Whitey. "You trade the fish +for gum."</p> + +<p>"No trade; sell 'em; get much gum."</p> + +<p>This was the first commercial instinct that Whitey had ever known Injun +to show, and he looked at him admiringly. At that moment Injun got a +bite. He did not betray any of the excitement a white boy does on such +an occasion. He solemnly pulled in his line, and when it was almost in, +a good-sized pickerel squirmed off the hook, and flopped back into the +water. And now Injun showed no disappointment. He seriously examined the +worm on his hook, to see that it was intact, then cast the line into the +river again.</p> + +<p>Whitey watched him in silence. Injun got another bite, and the same +operation was repeated, except that the fish that escaped was larger +than the other. Injun patiently rebaited his hook. "Biggest one him get +away," he grunted.</p> + +<p>Whitey knew something about fishermen and the stories they tell: that it<a name="Page_124" id="Page_124"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 124]</span> +is always the biggest fish that escaped. But in this case it seemed to +be true, for strung on a willow twig was Injun's catch, about six small +pickerel.</p> + +<p>"How long you been fishing here?" Whitey asked.</p> + +<p>"Since sunup."</p> + +<p>"And that's all you've caught?" Whitey indicated the string of fish.</p> + +<p>"Um."</p> + +<p>"Let's see your hook," Whitey said, as another pickerel was pulled +almost to shore, and then flopped back into its native element.</p> + +<p>When Injun displayed the hook, Whitey saw that it was one of the little +ones they had used in fastening the tick-tack to Wong's window. "Why, +this is too small for pickerel," exclaimed Whitey. "It's for perch. You +ought to have a bigger one."</p> + +<p>"Yes, me know," said Injun.</p> + +<p>Again Whitey was impressed by Injun's patience. There he had sat for<a name="Page_125" id="Page_125"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 125]</span> +several hours, watching those big fish return to the Yellowstone and +safety. Whitey knew that he never could have stood it. Finally he +questioned him.</p> + +<p>"If you knew that the big fish would fall off that hook, and that they +are just waiting to be caught, how could you stand just getting the +little ones?" Whitey said. "They're not worth much."</p> + +<p>"Mebbe after time big fish him swallow hook, then me get him," answered +Injun, which was a pretty long speech for him, and explained many +matters.</p> + +<p>As Whitey sat watching Injun waiting for an accommodating and greedy +pickerel to come along, a great idea was born to him—a fishing +partnership between him and Injun.</p> + +<p>And that was why, if Whitey could have been closely watched, one would +have seen him sneaking around the ranch barn every morning, just before +it was time to start for school, and slipping things into his pockets. +And on examination these things would have been seen to be fishing-lines<a name="Page_126" id="Page_126"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 126]</span> +and hooks of the proper size for pickerel.</p> + +<p>And that is why, for about four days a week, Injun and Whitey sat +dangling their feet in the Yellowstone River, catching large flocks of +pickerel, which they peddled to neighboring ranchmen at two bits a +half-dozen. And that is why they were always well supplied with +chewing-gum.</p> + +<p>Now, it is not my purpose to defend or excuse this conduct of Injun and +Whitey's, but simply to record it. If you are looking for a moral in +this story, you may find it in what followed on the heels of this +fishing partnership. In the first place, no boy without money may +display things which cost money without attracting attention, followed +by suspicion. Gum costs money, and the chewing of it is a very apparent +action.</p> + +<p>Soon Bill Jordan was saying to Jim Walker: "Where d'you s'pose them kids +get all that gum?"</p> + +<p>Jim was answering, "Down t' th' Junction."</p> + +<p>"But they ain't got no money," Bill was objecting.</p><p><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 127]</span></p> + +<p>Then Buck Higgins was sauntering up and remarking, "Say, Sid Griggs, +over t' th' Diamond Dagger, was tellin' me, t'day, how Injun and Whitey +sells him herds o' fine pick'rul at six bits a throw."</p> + +<p>"Why don't they bring some home? When do they ketch them pick'rul? +That's where they get th' cash!" Bill Jordan was exclaiming, in a rather +disconnected manner, thus showing that the putting of two and two +together is fatal to wrongdoers.</p> + +<p>Then Bill called on Miss Jennie Adams, at her temple of learning, and +found that Whitey had spent only a week there, and confirmed +his—Bill's—suspicion that school hours had become fishing hours.</p> + +<p>Bill Jordan was big and strong enough to lick Whitey, but he felt that +he had not the moral right to do so, and he was greatly puzzled. He +realized that, as you may lead a horse to the water but you can't make +him drink, so you may lead a boy to school but you can't make him study. +Most of Bill's own school hours had been spent in hunting, as he didn't<a name="Page_128" id="Page_128"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 128]</span> +care for fishing. Thus, if Bill lectured Whitey, the boy could throw +Bill's own ignorance of book-learning in his face.</p> + +<p>The more Bill thought over this matter the more undecided he became, and +finally he saddled his horse and rode down to the Junction, and resorted +to what was, for him, a very unusual action. So later in the day Mr. +Sherwood received the following telegram, in his New York office:</p> + +<p>Whitey wont learn nothin. Ketches pickrul. What will I do?</p> + +<p>William Jordan</p> + +<p>You will notice that this message took exactly ten words—which was +evidence of more thinking on Bill's part.</p><p><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 129]</span></p> + +<p>Bill waited patiently at the Junction, and late that night received the +following answer:</p> + +<p>Put the boy at such a hard job that he will be glad to resume his +studies.</p> + +<p>Sherwood</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>A HARD JOB</h3> + + +<p>The next day, as Whitey—all unconscious of the plot against +him—returned from the affairs of his fishing partnership, he was met by +Bill Jordan.</p> +<p><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 130]</span></p> +<p>"Whitey," said Bill, "I got somep'n' for you t' do, an' I'm 'fraid it'll +take you out o' school for a while."</p> + +<p>Whitey looked sharply at Bill for a trace of suspicion or sarcasm, but +Bill's face was as blank as a Chinaman's.</p> + +<p>"'S very important," Bill continued, "an' I think your father'd consider +me justified in takin' you away fr'm your lessons." Having studied this +matter all out beforehand, Bill was using larger words than usual. "I +got a letter for t' be delivered t' Dan Brayton, up at th' T Up and Down +Ranch, 'bout some business o' your father's. Really, I ought t' go +m'self, an' see Dan pussonally, but I ain't got time. Can't spare any o' +th' men, 'count o' th' roundup's comin' on. Don't see nothin' t' do, +except t' make you th' messenger."</p> + +<p>Whitey was delighted. "Where is the T Up and Down?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"'Bout a hunderd an' fifteen miles no'thwest o' here, t'other side o' +Zumbro Creek," Bill answered.</p> + +<p>"Good!" cried Whitey. "I'll take Injun, and—"</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't do that," Bill objected. "Dan hates Injuns, an' he'd sure be +rambunctious 'bout this one."</p><p><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 131]</span></p> + +<p>"All right," Whitey agreed, rather reluctantly. "If I start early +enough, Monty and I ought to make it some time to-morrow night."</p> + +<p>If Whitey had been noticing Bill's face at that moment, he would have +seen a rather peculiar smile cross it, but he wasn't. Nor did he suspect +anything the next morning, when he met Bill at the corral before dawn.</p> + +<p>"That Monty hoss o' yours seems sort o' lame, this mornin'," said Bill. +"Reck'n one o' th' other cayuses must 'a' kicked him, or somep'n. Dunno +as he c'd stand th' trip."</p> + +<p>And, sure enough, Monty limped slightly as he moved about the corral. +Whitey did not know that a hair tied around a horse's leg, just above +the hock, will make the animal limp, and will not be noticeable, nor +that as a part of Bill's scheme Monty had been so treated. So Whitey was +worried about his pony, but Bill assured him that Monty would probably<a name="Page_132" id="Page_132"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 132]</span> +be all right in a day or so—when it was too late.</p> + +<p>"Pshaw, I'll have to ride a strange horse!" Whitey said dejectedly.</p> + +<p>"I bin thinkin'," said Bill, "what with our bein' kinda short on stock, +just now, an' th' boys needin' all their strings for th' round-up, an' +everythin', it might be a good scheme for you t' go in th' stage. Be +sort of a change for you. You c'd ride as far as Cal Smith's ranch, an' +he'd lend you a hoss t' take you on t' th' T Up and Down."</p> + +<p>Again the unsuspecting Whitey was delighted, as every Western boy was, +in those days, to ride on the old-fashioned but swift-moving +stage-coaches that were still the main means of communication between +many places in that sparsely settled country.</p> + +<p>At six o'clock Whitey was waiting in the road, with Bill, and when the +coach appeared, and was halted, was hoisted up to a seat beside the +driver; a seat of honor that did not happen to be occupied that trip. +Messenger boys and telephones were unknown on the Frontier at that time.<a name="Page_133" id="Page_133"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 133]</span> +Even the telegraph lines were limited to the course of the big railroad +that pointed its nose from St. Paul to the Pacific. So Whitey, with the +important letter sewed inside his shirt, thereby became the first +messenger boy known to the history of the West.</p> + +<p>And he surely enjoyed seeing the driver wield his long whip, and capably +handle the six reins that controlled the six spirited horses. And going +down grade Whitey would have to put his arm around the driver's middle, +because his legs were not quite long enough to reach the dashboard, and +if the body of that old-fashioned stage-coach had hit him in the middle +of the back, Whitey would have beaten the horses down the hill.</p> + +<p>Everything went well for ninety miles, and at a certain trail the +driver pulled up and said, "Well, son, here's where you have t' wear out +your moccasins. There's your trail, bearing off t' th' right. Follow it +for twenty-five miles, an' you'll be where you want t' go."</p> + +<p>"Twenty-five miles!" gasped Whitey. "Do you mean to say that I have to +walk twenty-five miles?"</p> + +<p>"Sure," said the driver. "If you keep goin' good an' lively th' rest o' +th' day, you c'n hit th' Zumbro before dark, an' just one mile this side<a name="Page_134" id="Page_134"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 134]</span> +o' th' Zumbro is Cal Smith's ranch. He'll take care o' you overnight, +an' you c'n go t' th' T Up and Down in th' mornin'."</p> + +<p>"B—but I didn't know I had to walk," Whitey protested.</p> + +<p>"Reck'n you do, unless you c'n ketch a jack-rabbit an' ride him," the +driver answered.</p> + +<p>"I thought the ranch was right on the line of the stage road," Whitey +said weakly. "Bill Jordan didn't say anything about walking."</p> + +<p>"Well, Bill's a funny cuss, an' mebbe he kept this for you as a sort o' +s'prise," the driver allowed, with a grin. "Good-bye. Giddap!" And the +coach whirled away, in a cloud of dust, leaving Whitey standing in the +lonely road, looking off over the lonelier prairie.</p> + +<p>But nothing was to be gained by that, and he started along the trail, +which really was a little-used wagon track. And as he walked he thought<a name="Page_135" id="Page_135"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 135]</span> +about Bill Jordan, and his conclusions were none too pleasant. He did +not suspect that this was part of a deep-laid plot of Bill's. Rather he +thought that, as the driver had said, this was one of Bill's jokes, and +he could fancy Bill and Jim Walker and Buck Higgins and the others +chuckling over the trick, and Whitey planned how he would get even with +Bill when he returned. He little guessed how long it would be before +that return, and how many events would intervene to drive thoughts of +revenge from his mind.</p> + +<p>And Whitey trudged on and on, and the walking was very bad, for there +had been a succession of heavy rains, almost cloud-bursts, that had made +the road soggy. And for several miles the trail led through rocky hills, +and there the walking was even worse, for the rains had washed the +earth out of the trails, leaving a series of sharp stones that certainly +were hard on moccasin-clad feet. And the harder the trail was, the +harder became Whitey's opinion of Bill Jordan and his jokes.</p> + +<p>Darkness comes late in that northern country, and it was dusk when<a name="Page_136" id="Page_136"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 136]</span> +Whitey had another unpleasant surprise, for he came to the Zumbro, and a +sight met his eyes that would have made almost any grown-up stand back +and look a lot. She wasn't a creek, she was a river; no, she wasn't a +river, she was a rearing, roaring, raging torrent, owing to the rains +and floods that had filled the banks to overflowing.</p> + +<p>And this wasn't the worst of it. Where was Cal Smith's ranch, a mile +this side of the Zumbro? The driver had told him about that, so it +couldn't have been another of Bill Jordan's jokes. Whitey looked back, +and saw a line of hills, and realized that the ranch lay behind them, +and that he had passed it. And sorrowfully he retraced his steps.</p> + +<p>They say that the last mile of a long walk is the worst, and it +certainly proved so in this case, for it was dark when Whitey turned off +into a side road and the lights of Cal Smith's ranch house met his view.</p> + +<p>There may have been more welcome sights to Whitey than the yellow gleams +of those window lights, but he could not remember them, as he limped<a name="Page_137" id="Page_137"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 137]</span> +toward the house. Even the sharp barking of a dog, that was stilled by a +call from an opening door, sounded good to him. And when he was in the +house, where he was welcomed by big, genial Cal Smith, and seated at a +table in the kitchen, devouring ham and eggs and home-made bread and +pie, and drinking hot coffee, provided by good-natured, motherly Mrs. +Cal—why, it was almost worth the tramp to meet such a reception at the +end of it.</p> + +<p>And friendly and hospitable as were Mr. and Mrs. Cal, there were other +and greater attractions in that household for Whitey. There were five +young Smiths,—five boys, three older and two younger than, Whitey,—and +not a girl in sight. In that company Whitey forgot all about being +tired. A new boy, that knew stories, was meat and drink to them—and +five boys, that knew stories that were new to Whitey, were meat and +drink to him.</p> + +<p>Their sleeping quarters were the garret, and while a lantern swung from +a beam, and Mr. and Mrs. Cal were asleep, and the boys were supposed to +be asleep, those kids just wrote and rewrote a history of the West that +would make all the tenderfeet in the world stay at home, and forever<a name="Page_138" id="Page_138"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 138]</span> +hold down the population of the Frontier.</p> + +<p>And the smallest boy, named Cal after his father, had a hard time +keeping awake, but was bound to do it if it killed him; and the biggest +boy, named Abe after Abraham Lincoln, probably knew more about wild +animals than any boy in the world; and the smallest boy never had killed +any animals, except a stray mole or two, that happened to get out in the +daytime, by mistake, but he was <i>goin' to</i>—and—well, there was so much +to be told, and it had to be told so fast, that no shorthand writer that +ever lived could have put it all down.</p> + +<p>But finally, no matter how interesting the company, sleep will come to +healthy boys, and just before that time came, and could not be put off +any longer, they happened to be talking about dreams. Abe said that if +you would tie a rope around your neck, and tie it to a beam, just before +you went to sleep, you would sure dream of a hanging. And, of course, +Whitey had to try it.</p> +<p><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 139]</span></p> +<p>He tied the rope around his neck, he tied the other end around a beam, +and he went to sleep. There were six boys in that bed, and there was a +whole lot of crowding, and Whitey was sleeping on the outside. And he +didn't have to dream about any hanging, because he came so near the real +thing. I don't have to tell you how it happened. Bill Jordan's letter +came mighty near not being delivered. However, all ended happily, and +save for rubbing that part of his anatomy where he wore a collar after +he was grown up, Whitey was all right.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>THE T UP AND DOWN</h3> + + +<p>The next day Cal Smith said that a joke was all very well, but +twenty-five miles was far enough to carry it, and he staked Whitey to a +horse to make the rest of the trip with, Whitey to return the horse on +his way back. When they reached Zumbro Creek it hadn't gone down a bit,<a name="Page_140" id="Page_140"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 140]</span> +except to go down stream, and it was doing that like the dickens. It +certainly was a very bad-tempered-looking creek, but Cal Smith wasn't +afraid of it.</p> + +<p>He had brought along all his sons, and a couple of ranch hands, and +instructed them to stand by with ropes, while he took Whitey about a +quarter of a mile up the creek, and the two of them plunged in. Cal +Smith was not going to let any kid try to swim a horse across that creek +by himself.</p> + +<p>It was quite a sight to see all those Smith boys standing in a line on +the bank. With the biggest one, Abe, at one end, and the smallest one, +Cal, at the other, and the rest of them standing according to their +sizes, they looked like a flight of steps. And little Cal was too small +to be of any use, but he didn't know that, and some one had given him +the end of a lariat to hold, and he clutched it, and looked as anxious +and important as any one.</p> + +<p>All went well with Cal Smith and Whitey until they got to about the +middle of the creek, and then, zowie! the full force of the current hit +them, and they went down the stream as though they were a couple of<a name="Page_141" id="Page_141"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 141]</span> +feathers. But the little range ponies were just as game as Cal Smith, +and they kept fighting that stream as though they were humans, and kept +edging over and edging over until they finally got a footing and +scrambled out on the other bank, a full quarter of a mile below the +ford. So Zumbro Creek had beat them a whole half-mile down stream, on +that trip across.</p> + +<p>"So long, son," said Cal Smith. "You've only got about twelve miles to +go to reach the T Up and Down, and you'd better stay there a couple of +days before you start back, to give this creek a chance to learn how to +behave itself."</p> + +<p>Then Cal Smith rode back a half-mile up the stream to make the return +trip, and Whitey watched, and the flight of steps of Smith boys watched. +And when Cal landed safely, and Whitey waved at them all from a +distance, as he rode away, he felt, as I think you will feel, that it +was no wonder Western men had the reputation of being big-hearted, when<a name="Page_142" id="Page_142"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 142]</span> +a man like Cal Smith would take all that trouble for a boy he never had +seen before.</p> + +<p>The T Up and Down was a rather small ranch, boasting not over a thousand +head of cattle, but its manager, Dan Brayton, proved to be a very large +man. That is, he was large around, for he was not tall. He must have +weighed nearly three hundred pounds, and when Whitey first saw him, he +at once wondered how he ever got on a horse, and then Whitey reflected +that it sure would take a mighty strong horse to buck with Dan on it.</p> + +<p>When Whitey arrived, Dan was in what he called his office, a small room +all fitted up with saddles and bridles, and boots and spurs, and belts +and guns, and—oh, yes; there was a little desk almost hidden in the +litter, and Dan Brayton was seated at it, his face all wrinkled in the +effort to solve some figures written on a piece of paper.</p> + +<p>Dan received Whitey cordially, but seemed surprised to hear that he was +the bearer of an important letter from Bill Jordan. He held the letter +in his hand and looked at it critically, as people do who are not in the +habit of receiving many letters, and he asked:</p> + +<p>"How is Silent?"</p> + +<p>"Silent?" inquired the puzzled Whitey.</p><p><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 143]</span></p> + +<p>"Sure, Silent," replied Dan. "That's what we allus called Bill Jordan +back in Wyomin'."</p> + +<p>"Why, he talks all the time," said Whitey.</p> + +<p>"That's th' reason we called him Silent," Dan answered, chuckling.</p> + +<p>Whitey did not know that Bill Jordan hated this nickname, and had done +his best to leave it behind when he moved from Wyoming, and that when he +came to Montana he only got rid of it by licking several cowpunchers who +tried to tack it onto him there. But he answered that Bill was very +well. When Dan had looked the letter up and down, and behind and +before, and over and back, he finally opened it and read it.</p> + +<p>But before he had finished it, he was attacked by a violent fit of +coughing and choking, and became almost purple in the face. Whitey +feared that he might be about to have a fit of apoplexy, which he had +heard that stout people are subject to, but Dan gasped out something +about going to get a drink, and hurried from the room, and was gone a<a name="Page_144" id="Page_144"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 144]</span> +long time.</p> + +<p>Even then Whitey did not suspect anything. He was so pleased with the +journey—barring the twenty-five-mile walk—and with the strange +experiences he was having, that his mind had no room in which to harbor +suspicious thoughts of Bill Jordan. When Dan returned, he seemed better, +though his face was a trifle red. He apologized to Whitey, saying that +he was subject to such "spells." Then he inquired how Whitey got along +on his trip to the T Up and Down.</p> + +<p>Whitey described his journey, and Dan seemed much concerned about +Whitey's having had to walk the twenty-five miles, and couldn't +understand how Bill Jordan had made the mistake of supposing that Cal +Smith's ranch was on the stage road. And when Whitey told him that the +driver thought Bill was playing a joke on him, Dan shook his head +solemnly, and seemed almost about to have another spell, and allowed +that Bill suttinly wouldn't play no joke o' that kind.</p> + +<p>Whitey had thought that most fat people were jolly, and was surprised to +find Dan Brayton so serious. But he thought maybe it was the letter that +made him so, for when he looked at it, he wrinkled up his forehead, and<a name="Page_145" id="Page_145"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 145]</span> +coughed behind his hand, and seemed to be considering it very weightily. +At last he spoke.</p> + +<p>"This here letter's very important," Dan said, "an' I don't wonder Bill +wouldn't trust none o' them fool punchers with it. An' 'course, Bill +didn't c'nfide its insides t' you, knowin' how important your father +takes all them important matters o' his."</p> + +<p>Whitey wondered if Dan didn't know any other long word besides +"important," but he said nothing, while Dan thought and thought about +the letter, and finally spoke again.</p> + +<p>"I bin thinkin'," he said, "that I'll have t' c'nsider this here matter +'t some length, 'fore decidin' on no course o' action. You don't mind +stayin' overnight, do you?"</p> + +<p>Whitey replied that it had been his intention to remain at the T Up and +Down for a day or two, if it was agreeable to Dan, so that matter was +settled.</p> +<p><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 146]</span></p> +<p>"Th' ain't much t' see 'round here, th' country bein' kind o' flat an' +uninterestin', an' I reck'n, bein' rather tired, you wouldn't mind just +settin' here an' readin', while I go an' c'nsult with my foreman," Dan +said, and went away and presently returned with a big thick book, which +was very heavy, and gave it to Whitey. "This here's my fav'rut book," +Dan continued, "an' is very absorbin'. Set in my chair there, an' read +y'self t' death, 'f you feel like it," and Dan took himself off.</p> + +<p>So Whitey sat in Dan's chair, which happened to be the only chair in the +room, and was extremely uncomfortable, being all sagged down on one +side, on account of Dan's weight. The book proved to be a +several-years-old copy of the Congressional Record, containing the +speeches made before Congress at that time, and in addition to being +heavy, it was more than dull. Whitey couldn't understand how Dan found +it "absorbin'." Dan certainly must be a serious-minded person, despite +his fat. And yet, from over near the bunk house, Whitey heard loud +laughter coming from several men. He reflected hopefully that perhaps +the hands were not so solemn as Dan Brayton.</p><p><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 147]</span></p> + +<p>But this hope was ill-founded, for later, when Dan took Whitey to the +bunk house, he found all the punchers who were there were reading +serious-looking books. Whitey supposed that "like master, like man," +they must be taking after Dan Brayton. He did not know that some of +those cowboys couldn't read at all, and if he had looked close enough he +might have seen that some of those who could read were holding their +books upside down.</p> + +<p>Whitey's stay at the T Up and Down turned out to be as dull as the +Congressional Record. There was an old-fashioned melodeon in the +living-room of the ranch house, and it was very much out of tune. One of +the punchers could play, and he played, and the others sang hymns, and +sang them very badly, and when they had finished the hymns, they started +on doleful songs like "The Cowboy's Lament," and "Bury Me On the Lone +Perare-e-e."</p> + +<p>These seemed to be great favorites with the punchers, and Whitey +wondered at it. They were getting less popular with him every minute. +Afterwards he learned what may have made them please the men; that +almost all the songs sung on the ranges are written by the cowboys +themselves, and they may be dismal because of being composed during<a name="Page_148" id="Page_148"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 148]</span> +lonely night rides.</p> + +<p>One puncher called "Little" Thompson, who was high and narrow in +build—shaped something like a lath, with a face something like an +undertaker's—sang at length. First a doleful ditty that went like this:</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Oh! my name it is J.W. Wright, I came from Tennessee.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There was a killin' in th' mountains, th' sheriff got his, ye see.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I left my wife an' babies, them kids I loved so well,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' I'll find a grave on th' lone prairee,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh! pardners, ain't it hell?"</span><br /></p> + +<p>After this had dragged out its weary length he got an encore, and +responded with this gem:</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"We came up over th' long trail,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Three thousand cattle strong.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ned Saunders needed a hair cut,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fer his hair was too darned long.</span><br /></p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Oh, th' night was dark an' stormee,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' the Injuns round did yell,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So we herded into a canyon,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' th' sons-o'-guns come like hell.</span><br /></p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Ned lost his hair, he didn't care,</span><br /><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 149]</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fer he had lots t' spare,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, te-tumity tum-tum,"—and so on.</span><br /></p> + +<p>There were at least a hundred verses of this last, each verse more +deadly dull than the one before, and Little was very conscientious; he +didn't slight any of them. Long before he was through, Whitey envied the +fate of Ned Saunders. But the evening was only mortal, it had to end, +and at last it did.</p> + +<p>Whitey must have shown signs of wear, for as they parted to go to bed, +Dan Brayton said to him, "Cheer up, it may rain to-morrow," and it did!</p> +<p><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 150]</span></p> +<p>Now, if there was anything more depressing than the T Up and Down when +the weather was fine, it was that same ranch when it rained. How Whitey +got through that awful day he never really knew. The most cheerful thing +that happened was during dinner, when Dan Brayton told a long yarn about +a brother of his, who had small-pox and fleas at one and the same time, +and, as Dan said, "was more t' be pitied than scorned." And this might +have been a joke, though no one laughed. But at last evening came with +another programme of dirges, then night with its blessed sleep.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>FELIX THE FAITHLESS</h3> + + +<p>To Whitey's intense relief the following morning was clear, and he +realized, with delight, that at last he would be able to get away from +the T Up and Down. He had never been so tired of a place in his life. It +was almost worse than school.</p> +<p><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 151]</span></p> +<p>After breakfast Dan Brayton took Whitey into his office, and while +Whitey sat on a saddle, Dan slouched in his saggy chair and talked +business.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure glad you bin able t' stay a coupl'a days," he said. "It musta +bin a pleasant change for you, an' it's give me a chanst t' think over +this here important business o' your father's. I've writ a letter for +you t' deliver, t' my friend Walt Lampson, o' the Star Circle, down +so'east o' here a piece, for you t' take t' him. Y' see, we can't fill +all your dad's r'quir'munts, so I'm callin' on Walt t' sort o' help out +with th' balance."</p> + +<p>Dan looked impressively at Whitey, who didn't understand much of what +he was talking about, and didn't care about anything he was to do, he +was so glad to get away from the T Up and Down.</p> + +<p>"This'll take you out of your way a bit," Dan went on, "but you won't +have t' cross th' Zumbro, an' I'll send back that hoss you borrowed from +Cal Smith, by one o' the hands. An' I'll lend you one o' my nags t' take<a name="Page_152" id="Page_152"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 152]</span> +you as far as Willer Bend, where you c'n get another mount. Little +Thompson'll go that far with you, an' from there on th' goin's +straight."</p> + +<p>So, on the borrowed horse, and with the letter sewed inside his shirt, +Whitey set forth with Little Thompson, the tall, thin, solemn cowboy who +had sung the dismal songs. And glad as he was to leave, Whitey regretted +that he did not have a more cheerful companion. For Little's idea of +entertainment was to talk about funerals.</p> + +<p>He seemed to have enjoyed going to them greatly, and described each +individual one at length. Never before had Whitey known what a subject +for conversation funerals could make. Little dwelled on the burial of +each one of his immediate family, then passed on to his distant +relatives, then to his friends, then to his acquaintances. Whitey's +nerves were pretty steady, as you know, but after about four hours of +this, Little got him so fidgety that he thought he would fall off the +horse. Finally he thought Little had changed the subject, and breathed a +sigh of relief.</p> +<p><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 153]</span></p> +<p>"Drink's a awful evil," Little announced solemnly. "They was a friend o' +mine, one o' them two-handed drinkers, what was down to Bismarck, an' +got in th' c'ndition what liquor perduces, an' this friend o' mine was +standin' on th' sidewalk, an' 'long comes a funeral."</p> + +<p>"Here it is again!" muttered Whitey, with a groan.</p> + +<p>"An' this friend o' mine," Little continued, "sees this here funeral, +an' bein' in th' c'ndition he's in, he thinks it is a percession, an' he +waves his hat an' cheers, an' he gets urrested."</p> + +<p>Little looked sternly at Whitey as though to drive the moral of this +story home, and to warn him never to drink and cheer a funeral. But at +this moment "Willer Bend" hove in sight, and the talk turned to other +channels.</p> + +<p>The Bend was a relief in more ways than one, for it was a beautiful spot +on the sharp turn of a narrow creek, whose banks were overhung by +weeping-willows, the green of their leaves made vivid by the recent +rain. One Chet Morgan, a nester, lived here. Nesters—or small +farmers—were not usually popular in the early days of the Western<a name="Page_154" id="Page_154"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 154]</span> +ranges, as they had a way of fencing in the springs, or water-holes, to +provide irrigation for their crops. But there was plenty of water in +that country, so Chet was welcome to all of it he wanted.</p> + +<p>While Whitey sat in the doorway of the small shack, Little had a long +talk with Chet, near the stable, and Chet seemed to be nodding his head +in agreement to everything the puncher said. They then rested awhile and +had dinner with the nester, and after that Little rode away, leading +Whitey's borrowed horse. There seemed no reason for Whitey's staying any +longer, and Chet again went to the stable, and returned leading what is +called a jack, "jack" being short for "jackass."</p> + +<p>"Here's your mount, son," said Chet, "an' if you'll keep t' th'—"</p> + +<p>"Am I to ride <i>that</i>?" Whitey demanded, pointing at the jack.</p> + +<p>"Sure," Chet replied. "Both of my hosses has glanders, but this jack's +all right. I've rid him offen. You'll find him gentle an' perseverin' +an' good comp'ny. Mebbe he does go a mite faster toward home than away +from it, but he allus gets somewhere. His name's Felix, after a uncle o' +mine what—"</p> + +<p>Followed a personal history of Chet's uncle, to which Whitey did not +listen. He was thinking of the figure he would cut arriving at the Star<a name="Page_155" id="Page_155"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 155]</span> +Circle on Felix, and hoped he would get there at night. Chet returned to +the subject of the jack, to whose back a blanket was strapped.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry my saddles won't fit him," said Chet, "but you'll find +sittin' on this blanket as comf'tbul as your mother's rockin'-chair, an' +you've only sixty mile t' go."</p> + +<p>"Sixty miles!" gasped Whitey.</p> + +<p>"Thassall. Now you keep t' that road, with them hills t' your right, an' +when you get t'—"</p> + +<p>Chet described at length Whitey's route to the Star Circle Ranch. Sadly +Whitey mounted Felix and set forth. Again the road proved little but a +grass-grown wagon track through the rolling plain edged by the gray +hills. And soon it seemed to Whitey that Chet had been over-enthusiastic +when he said that Felix's back was easy as a rocking-chair. At first it<a name="Page_156" id="Page_156"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 156]</span> +might have seemed so, but after awhile it felt more like a rail fence.</p> + +<p>And Whitey discovered peculiar traits in Felix. He constantly wanted to +turn to the right, and had to be pulled back, and he was cold-jawed. And +once in a while he would stop short, and when Whitey urged him on, would +start in a despondent way, with his head down and his ears flopping, and +would have to be kicked or whipped to be urged to do anything faster +than a walk. It was all very discouraging.</p> + +<p>Perhaps you never have seen a horse or a jack attached to the end of the +pole of one of those old stone grinding-mills, around which he marches +and marches, while the grain is ground between the whirling stones in +the center. That was Felix's regular job, which accounted for many of +his peculiarities—but Whitey never knew about it.</p> + +<p>Among the interesting things about animals is their sense of time. Many +of them seem to be as accurate as clocks and some of them as useful as +calendars. One dog, in particular, comes to my mind, whom his master +used to bathe on Sundays. And when this custom was firmly fixed in<a name="Page_157" id="Page_157"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 157]</span> +his—the pup's—mind, he would go away on Friday night and stay away +till Monday morning. He got to be the dirtiest dog in town.</p> + +<p>And the easiest time for an animal to tell is the time to stop work and +eat. Felix was very clever in that regard. At about six o'clock the +unsuspecting Whitey dismounted to stretch himself and ease the strain of +jouncing up and down on that rocking-chair that had come to feel like a +ridge-pole. Naturally his eyes turned away from Felix, to whom he was +beginning to take a personal dislike.</p> + +<p>Whitey's eyes were brought back with a jerk by the soft thud of little +hoofs on the prairie, for Felix was beating it back toward Willer Bend, +with a speed that astonished his late rider. Whitey started after him +instinctively, but he soon realized that that was useless, and he stood +and watched, while Felix became a blurred spot in the distance. Whitey +didn't know that it was time to quit for the day at the +grinding-mill—and it would not have done him any good if he had.</p><p><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 158]</span></p> + +<p>But he knew that it was lonely on the prairie. And that he had come only +about a third of the way to the Star Circle Ranch. So he supposed he +must be in for another walk, for he wouldn't go back to Willer Bend for +that Felix, not if he died for it. He started determinedly on his +course. He might meet some one who would give him a lift. Anyway, it was +going to be a moonlight night, and wouldn't be so bad; and walking +wasn't much slower than riding Felix, and was far more comfortable.</p> + +<p>So Whitey trudged and trudged until dusk came. Then he sat down and ate +some of the food he had brought with him. Then darkness came, and a big +moon poked its head up over the eastern horizon, and rode up into the +sky, where it began to get smaller and more silvery, and to flood the +prairie with its light. And Whitey started, and it wasn't so bad to +tread the soft road, and to hear the hum of the insects, and to feel the +gentle night breeze against his face, and it would be something to tell +about afterwards.</p> +<p><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 159]</span></p> +<p>Whitey did not know what time it was when he sat down on a hummock to +rest. And he must have fallen asleep, for after a while, out of some +vague country that seemed like the mountains near the Bar O Ranch, a +great giant came rushing down toward him. And the giant had a head like +Felix's, but on top of it was a big yellow light—like those lamps +miners wear on their heads—that grew brighter and brighter, and the +giant roared louder and louder, until he woke Whitey up.</p> + +<p>Whitey rubbed his eyes, then pinched himself to make sure he was awake, +for the roaring still sounded in his ears, and he looked around and saw +two little red and green lights disappearing in the distance. And then +he understood that he must have sat down near the track of the +railroad, for those lights were on the end of a t<a name="Page_160" id="Page_160"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 160]</span>rain, and the big +yellow light on the giant's head must have been the engine's headlight.</p> + +<p>Well, the road followed the railway for a distance, and it couldn't be +such an awful way to the Star Circle Ranch. Should he go on, or should +he sleep some more? He might catch cold from the dew, but he could put +on his slicker, and—he was awfully tired.</p> + +<p>He yawned, he nodded, he was sound asleep before he knew it.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>A FOOL'S ERRAND</h3> + + +<p>When Whitey arrived at the Star Circle Ranch, at about ten o'clock in +the morning, he was still a very tired boy. The Star Circle was a much +larger ranch than the T Up and Down, with a much smaller manager, for +Walt Lampson, who was also part owner of the place, was not much taller<a name="Page_161" id="Page_161"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 161]</span> +than Whitey, and he was serious-looking, too—didn't look at all like +Cal Brayton.</p> + +<p>After Whitey had delivered his letter to Walt Lampson and had eaten some +breakfast, which the cook had rustled for him, he began to tell Walt of +his adventures in coming from the T Up and Down, and he was surprised +when Walt roared with laughter. This attracted some of the cowpunchers, +and they roared, too. Whitey had to repeat the part about Felix going +home. It seemed strange to Whitey that Cal Brayton who looked so merry +should be so solemn, and Walt Lampson who looked so solemn should be so +merry.</p> + +<p>After sleeping for about twelve hours at a stretch for three nights +Whitey might be said to be a trifle rested and able to look around and +take an interest in his surroundings. And he began to discover things +about the character of the men on the Star Circle Ranch. They were given +to loud laughter, but he noticed that most of this laughter was at the +misfortunes of others. And they were always playing jokes on one another +and cutting up tricks; but beneath this playfulness there seemed to be a +sort of fierceness—something like the ferocity that lurks beneath the<a name="Page_162" id="Page_162"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 162]</span> +play of a tiger.</p> + +<p>He had plenty of time for these reflections and feelings, as Walt +Lampson did not seem to be in a hurry about attending to Mr. Sherwood's +business, and Whitey caught Walt and the men looking at him in a +peculiar way, when they thought he was not noticing them. On the third +day after his arrival—an unpleasant, lowering day, for that time of the +year, with a cold wind—Walt spoke thus to Whitey:</p> + +<p>"I'm havin' some stock cut out, t'day, t' send to your dad. How'd ye +like t' go out on th' range an' take a look at it?"</p> + +<p>"Is that the business Bill sent me on?" asked Whitey.</p> + +<p>"Partly," Walt answered. "What d'ye say? You might as well do that as +loaf around here."</p> + +<p>"I'll go," said Whitey.</p> + +<p>"All right. You c'n go with Hank Dawes. He's startin' pretty soon, an' +he'll get you a hoss."</p> +<p><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 163]</span></p> +<p>It was some relief to Whitey to be galloping over the prairie, though +Hank Dawes was not the man he would have chosen as a companion. Hank's +cruelty to his horse turned Whitey against him. Whitey had seen many +animals treated unfeelingly, but he never could understand how a man +could enjoy torturing one, as Hank seemed to. Finally, after an outburst +on Hank's part that included quirting and spurring and swearing, Whitey +could hold in no longer.</p> + +<p>"If you'd treat your horse better he'd behave better," he said angrily. +"You ought to know that."</p> + +<p>For a moment Hank looked blankly at Whitey, then burst out laughing. He +could not understand any one's having consideration for a horse, and +the boy's anger struck him as being funny. Whitey turned from him in +disgust, baffled by such a lack of understanding and feeling.</p> + +<p>The writer knows many men in the West, and, having been born and raised<a name="Page_164" id="Page_164"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 164]</span> +there, naturally thinks Westerners the finest men in the world. But for +him to deny that there are good and bad among them would be idle. As +idle to deny that some of them were cruel to their horses. Among these +the Indians and Mexicans bear the worst reputations with those who are +supposed to know. But, for the sake of truth, the author wishes to say +that he found the Indians uniformly kind to their horses. And as for the +Mexicans, not only were they always kind and considerate to their +mounts, but they were among the greatest horsemen in the world.</p> + +<p>Whitey and Hank rode for a time in a silence broken only by Hank's +occasional profane mutterings at his patient horse, then Whitey descried +two objects moving toward him from the west. At first he mistook them +for two horsemen, then discovered that one horse was being led, then +that the rider was Injun, and the led horse was Monty. With a whoop of +astonishment and joy Whitey galloped toward them.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Injun, what's all this?" yelled Whitey when within speaking +distance, so glad that he was almost ready to embrace his friend.</p> + +<p>Injun, as usual, showed no surprise, but there was a gleam of welcome in +his eye. "Monty, him stolen," he said. "Me find him."</p><p><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 165]</span></p> + +<p>Whitey wormed Injun's story from him, in jerky sentences, while Hank +Dawes rode up and looked on, and listened indifferently. It seemed that +two days before, at the Bar O Ranch Monty had "turned up missing." +Injun, who knew Monty's hoofprints as one friend would know the color of +another's eyes, had taken it upon himself to follow them. They had led +him a long chase, ending at a night camp, many miles west of the spot +where he and Whitey met.</p> + +<p>Injun had tied his pony some distance from the camp. This that he might +not whinney a greeting to Monty. Then Injun had crept up on the +camper-thief, and waited patiently until "him snore heap." Then Injun +had quietly extracted Monty from that camp, and silently faded away +into the night. He was now on his way to the Bar O.</p> + +<p>"Didn't you see who the thief was?" asked Whitey.</p> + +<p>"Him fire out. Me 'fraid make light," said Injun, unknowingly giving a +hint of the time he must have visited at the camp.</p> + +<p>Monty was showing his joy at meeting Whitey, who was patting the pony's +neck.</p> + +<p>"This isn't my saddle!" Whitey cried suddenly.</p><p><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 166]</span></p> + +<p>"Him Bill Jordan's saddle," said Injun, grinning. It seemed to appeal to +Injun's peculiar sense of humor that the clever Mr. Jordan should have +had his saddle stolen.</p> + +<p>"Did Bill suspect any one?" inquired Whitey.</p> + +<p>"Guess heap, can't tell," Injun replied. "Henry Dorgan, him leave +Monday," Injun added darkly, plainly willing to connect the man he +disliked with the theft.</p> + +<p>Whitey hardly thought that Dorgan would risk a return to the ranch for +Monty, though he always had admired the pony. If Dorgan had stolen +Monty, it was pleasant to think that he was now wending his way across +the plains on foot.</p> + +<p>Another idea occurred to Whitey. "Why don't you stay with me, Injun?" he +demanded. "Then we can ride back to the Bar O together."</p> + +<p>Injun grinned his agreement to the idea, not saying that he had thought +of it first. So Whitey transferred his person to Monty, and, leading the<a name="Page_167" id="Page_167"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 167]</span> +Star Circle horse, he and Injun and Hank Dawes continued on their way. +And Mr. Dawes was allowed to ride ahead while Whitey told Injun what had +befallen him since leaving the Bar O Ranch, and of his present errand.</p> + +<p>Injun cast a knowing eye at the sky. "No cut out cows t'day," he said. +"Heap storm comin'."</p> + +<p>"What's the difference?" Whitey asked. "Maybe we can ride night herd. +It'll be great fun."</p> + +<p>Riding night herd was not Injun's idea of fun, but he was so glad to be +with Whitey again that he made no objection. He seldom made objections, +anyway. It occurred to neither of the boys that after Injun's long +pursuit of the horse-thief, it would be a hardship for him to ride all +that day and possibly that night. And, of course, Injun wasn't hungry. +He had not been fool enough to start out on a long chase without +providing himself with food.</p> +<p><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 168]</span></p> +<p>So the boys rode on. Even had they known into what they were riding it +is unlikely that they would have turned back. Had Walt Lampson known of +the coming peril he would not have been at the Star Circle, laughingly +telling his men of sending Whitey on a wild-goose chase, that would end +with his spending a night in the saddle, facing a blinding storm. +Lampson and all the men he could summon would have been heavily armed, +dashing at full speed toward the threatened herd.</p> + +<p>Buck Milton, the range boss, made a better impression on Whitey than any +other man he had seen at the Star Circle. He was tall, blond, sinewy. He +was thoughtful and serious, and not ill-natured. He looked like a man +who could take a joke which he might not understand any too well, and +put up a fight in which he would prove a deadly factor. In short, he +was a character you would look at twice, and Whitey was surprised to +find him in the Star Circle outfit.</p> + +<p>Hank Dawes handed Buck a letter, which Whitey took to be instructions +from Walt Lampson, and Buck read it, talked to Hank a moment, and when +Buck rode over to where Whitey waited with Injun, he was smiling.</p> + +<p>"There won't be no cuttin' out t'day," he said. "Too late, for one +thing, and for another it's goin' t' storm. You boys like t' stay with<a name="Page_169" id="Page_169"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 169]</span> +th' herd t'night? Be kinda rough."</p> + +<p>"Why, yes. We'd like it immensely. It'll be a sort of adventure," Whitey +replied.</p> + +<p>"Well, some folks might call it that," said Buck. "You might stick along +with me." And he and the boys rode off together.</p> + +<p>You must know of the old, old enmity that existed between the cowmen and +the sheepmen of those early days of the Western ranges. In the +neighborhood in which Whitey found himself, this enmity was particularly +bitter, for more and more had the sheep been encroaching on the plains +that the cattlemen regarded as their own. And t<a name="Page_170" id="Page_170"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 170]</span>he reason for this +enmity: once the white-coated flocks had passed over the land it was +dead as a feeding-ground for cattle.</p> + +<p>So little wonder that the cattlemen thought of the sheep as pests or +vermin, and considered their owners as deadly foes, and in turn were +regarded as foes by the sheepmen. The cattlemen were in possession of +most of the ranges, and possession was nine points of the law in a +country in which there was little law, except that of the gun.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>THE STAMPEDE</h3> + + +<p>Along the banks of the Yellowstone, where it wended its snakelike course +to the Missouri, wandered the massive herds of the Star Circle, and +around them rode the cow waddies, the few outriders, keeping their +charges from straying, and ever watchful for the dreaded sheep, which<a name="Page_171" id="Page_171"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 171]</span> +had of late sprung up like buffalo grass, and, as Buck Milton expressed +it, "in a country that God had made for cows."</p> + +<p>And over the range in like peace grazed the enemy; white-fleeced, soft +and downy as doves, and as harmless and innocent. Of all weapons ever +used in warfare the strangest, these living emblems of innocence. It was +a warfare fought far from the public eye. The men who fought the cattle +were little like those bull-fighters of Spain who responded to the +applause of thousands. They acted in the dark, if they could, and for +hire, and yet they may have had hearts—but those who hired them surely +had none.</p> + +<p>And all unconscious of coming danger the boys rode with the few +herders, or by themselves, near the wandering cattle. The storm had held +off while twilight faded, but now the sky was cloud-curtained, and the +night fell inky black and silent save for sounds from the herd. The soft +thudding of hoofs, the occasional low-voiced note, possibly of a cow to<a name="Page_172" id="Page_172"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 172]</span> +its young, seemed to blend into a murmur, strange and fascinating to +Whitey, commonplace and tiresome to the men of the range.</p> + +<p>Then the storm began to send signals of its approach from air and sky. +First the hushing of the wind, then the pale glares from the distant sky +where the earth's edge joined it, then the rumble of thunder, growing in +volume with the brighter, green flashes of the lightning—all familiar +enough to Whitey, but now giving him a thrill because felt in strange +surroundings. The nervous stirring of the mass of beasts near by added +to the boy's thrill, for a coming storm was never to be taken calmly by +the hulking, helpless brutes.</p> + +<p>And when the rush of wind and the crashing of the coming tempest +sounded, and the herders were renewing their watchfulness, another storm +was breeding that they did not dream of. For over beyond, in a gully, +the sheepmen were gathered. And each man carried a white garment, like +those you may have seen pictured as worn by the old raiders of the +South—the Ku-Klux Klan. They were waiting only for the lightning to<a name="Page_173" id="Page_173"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 173]</span> +become blinding, the thunder to become deafening.</p> + +<p>And when the electrical storm was at its height, you will know what +happened when those white-clad figures went among the thousands of +range-bred beasts, guarded by a pitiful handful of men. For range cattle +are accustomed to a man only when he is mounted; then he is a part of +his horse. It is dangerous for him to go among them on foot; then he is +a strange animal. Many a cowboy has dismounted, rescued a steer from the +mire—and had to run for his life. Thus were those white-clad figures +doubly monstrous and terrifying to the herd.</p> + +<p>You may have thought that the cowboy wears his revolver for protection +against his human enemies, but it is rather for a protection of the +cattle against themselves in that strange panic known as a "stampede." +Whitey and Injun, riding near the edge of the herd, and bowing against +the fury of the storm, did not need Buck Milton's hoarse shouts of +warning to make them swing aside. They were helpless to aid in diverting +the mass of maddened animals that swung toward them, and galloping their<a name="Page_174" id="Page_174"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 174]</span> +horses to a point of safety, they turned in their saddles and viewed the +strange sight.</p> + +<p>Lighted by the almost continuous flashes of the lightning, the +bellowing, thundering herd crashed by.... Far behind it, and in safety, +were the white figures of the men who had caused the panic, sneaking off +into the night. They had been seen by the Star Circle riders, but there +was no time to think of them now. At the head of the herd, Whitey could +see two men, their horses set at a mad run. Buck Milton was one, and the +other a dare-devil young fellow named Tom, who was Buck's closest +friend.</p> + +<p>And as Buck and Tom rode, Whitey could see them firing their guns +almost in the faces of the foremost maddened steers. They were trying to +divert the leaders, and thus turn the herd until it would circle in its +course, and finally the entire mass of beasts would be running round and +round, in a course known as "milling." And there Whitey learned the real +use the cowboy has for his gun.</p><p><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 175]</span></p> + +<p>What was going on beyond, Whitey could not see, and he could hear +nothing above the uproar of the storm, and the clamor of the stampede, +except the faint cracking of the guns of Tom and Buck. As Whitey held +the almost fear-maddened Monty in check, the wild-eyed steers, with +lowered heads and panting sides, sped by. At their head Whitey saw Tom +swing nearer toward the leaders, then he saw Tom no more. There were two +dangers to be feared in that mad race; if a steer fell, the others would +trip over it, and many of them would die; if a man were caught in the +rushing mass, it meant sure death.</p> + +<p>Morning came, with the sun graying the low clouds, from which fell a +cold drizzle; a setting drear enough for the scene the boys were to +witness. A handful of gaunt men, sad but determined, their spent, +drooping horses near by, stood facing a shallow grave scooped out of the +prairie. Near it lay a blanket-covered figure that the dreaded stampede +had crushed into a shape of which Whitey feared to think.</p> + +<p>As the cowboys lowered the shape into the grave, Buck Milton turned his<a name="Page_176" id="Page_176"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 176]</span> +head away for a moment. Then he said simply, "Tom was my pardner for +nine years." And again, after a pause, "And who's goin' t' tell his gal +over on the Little Divide?"</p> + +<p>There seemed no need for words just then, for after their grief for +their friend the men's faces showed the turn of thought to his +murderers, the sheepmen. Whitey never had seen the intent to kill come +into men's faces before. It was grim, but not repulsive, for in a way +there was justice in it. And poor Tom, who yesterday had been less than +a name to Whitey, had now become the central figure in a tragedy.</p> + +<p>But no one could have told what Injun thought. He, who came of a race +that held vengeance above most things, looked on, seemingly unmoved.</p> + +<p>Followed busy days on the Star Circle, during which Walt Lampson +probably forgot the existence of Whitey and Injun. It was doubtful to +the boys that he even noticed them when they rode back to the ranch +house, after the funeral of Buck's friend Tom. Whatever thoughts of<a name="Page_177" id="Page_177"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 177]</span> +revenge were cherished by Walt and Buck had to be held in check while +the stampeded herds were rounded up from the many-mile radius of prairie +over which they had strayed.</p> + +<p>To do this the entire force of the Star Circle was needed. Divided into +parties the men rode north, east, south, and west for a distance of +about twenty miles. Then they trailed round and round, in a great, +narrowing circle that took in that wide radius, and as the cattle were +met, in bunches or small herds, they were gathered and driven into a +common center until they formed one great herd.</p> + +<p>Whitey and Injun managed to go with Buck Milton's men, as Whitey liked +Buck better than any of the other punchers, but the death of Tom had +left Buck in a gloomy mood, and he spoke but little, either to the men +or to the boys. The others were loud in their oaths and threats of +vengeance; Buck was silent—and somehow, Whitey could not help feeling +that Buck was the most dangerous enemy the sheepmen would have to deal +with.</p><p><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 178]</span></p> + +<p>This round-up lasted a full week. During it Walt Lampson had found time +to consider his course of action against the stampeders of his herd. So +when Whitey and Injun returned, they found that the Star Circle was to +be involved in one of the scourges of the time—a range war.</p> + +<p>If you had been there would you have wanted to stay and see the thing +out? The answer is so simple that you know what Whitey and Injun wanted +to do. But Whitey knew that hardened as Walt Lampson was, he would not +allow the boys to accompany the coming expedition against the sheepmen, +so Injun and Whitey did what you probably would have done, and what +Br'er Rabbit did—they lay low. And Walt either forgot to send them +home, or thought that they would stay at the Star Circle while the war +was on.</p> + +<p>For two days after the round-up nothing was done at the ranch, beyond +the oiling of guns, and consultations among the men. Walt Lampson seemed +to be waiting for something. On the third night there was a meeting in +the ranch-house living-room. A meeting which Whitey and Injun attended +unseen, by the simple method of hiding. It may have been wrong to<a name="Page_179" id="Page_179"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 179]</span> +listen, but it was worse to die, and Whitey felt that he surely would +expire if he didn't know what was going on. Injun had no scruples at +all.</p> + +<p>A traveler might have thought that all trails led to the Star Circle +Ranch, that gloomy night, for from every point of the compass came +riders, alone, by twos, and by threes. Desperate, hard men, who had used +their bodily strength to conquer the elements and to build up their +herds, as mine-owners use machinery to crush the gold out of the ore. +For this war of the sheep against the cattle was a common war, and it +was to be fought to a finish in that country.</p> + +<p>So that was what Walt was waiting for, thought Whitey as he looked into +the living-room from a crack in the office door, held slightly ajar. Had +Whitey been in a criminal court during the last appeal of opposing +counsel, he would have seen in the jury box no more thoughtful, set, and +determined faces than those assembled in that ranch-house room.</p> + +<p>The decision this court reached was: to catch the culprits and hang +them; to drive their sheep over the hills into the deepest canyons to +die by thousands; to hunt out the hiding owners, and let Colt guns be<a name="Page_180" id="Page_180"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 180]</span> +both judge and jury. Merciless and hard it seems, doesn't it? But those +were merciless and hard days, when "only the strong survived."</p> + +<p>"There's just one man I ever knowed who could do this work right," Walt +Lampson said. "The greatest two-handed man with a gun that ever was +born, an' a fool jury sent him to the pen, five years ago, for brandin' +a few calves."</p> + +<p>"You mean Mart Cooley," said another ranchman. "There was only one of +him. But he done two years at Deer Lodge, an' nobody's ever seen him +since."</p> + +<p>"Guess again," Walt replied. "I heard o' him. He's been down in the +Chinook Country. An' what's more I've got word o' Mart, an' he's comin' +here t'night."</p> + +<p>Walt's words caused a sensation, and while it is subsiding I may as well<a name="Page_181" id="Page_181"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 181]</span> +explain that in those frontier days there was a vast stretch of mesa or +prairie known as the Chinook Country, because of the unseasonable, warm, +and soothing winds that blew there. You may have read Bill Jordan's tale +about these winds, in the first Injun and Whitey story. They would melt +the snow, and cause the cowmen to start out their feeding herds, only to +be caught by the northers, that brought the bitter, perishing cold, and +killed the stock by thousands. On account of this uncertain condition +the Chinook Country was avoided in the early days, save by those who +located there for <i>reasons</i>—which no one was ever known to question. +And in this desolate place Walt Lampson had heard of Mart Cooley, and +from there he had lured him to the Star Circle Ranch.</p> + +<p>Whitey waited, almost breathless, for the thrill that was to come at +his first sight of the "bad man" of the West; the "two-gun man" who has +long since passed into history, but was then a factor of the troublous +times.</p> + +<p>And you might like to hear a word or two about the ways he handled his +gun, for he had more than one way. But first, the way he didn't handle<a name="Page_182" id="Page_182"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 182]</span> +it. Ordinarily, when you are shooting at a mark with a pistol, you cock +the weapon, close one eye, and gaze along the barrel with the other +until the sight is in line with the mark, and, holding the pistol +steady, pull the trigger. That was what the gunman didn't do.</p> + +<p>He sighted his weapon much as you throw a stone—by judging with his +eye. He filed off the sight, so it wouldn't catch in the holster And he +didn't use the trigger at all. That, too, could be taken off. Let us say +that he was using both guns. He drew them from their holsters with +marvelous speed. As he did so, he flipped back the hammers with his +thumbs, and allowed them to fall on the cartridges, thus firing the +first shots. The remaining shots were fired by working the hammers in +the same way, and the actions caused an up-and-down movement of the +guns. Seems a funny way to fire a revolver, doesn't it? But it wasn't +funny for the man who was in front of the bad man.</p> + +<p>He had another way of not leveling the gun at all, but firing from his +hip, the revolver being held there, and the hammer worked with the +thumb. Another and very expert way was to fire from the holster, not<a name="Page_183" id="Page_183"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 183]</span> +taking the gun out at all. This was remarkably quick and deadly.</p> + +<p>But the strangest way of all, that was sometimes used at close quarters, +was called "fanning." The gun was held at the hip, the first shot fired +with the thumb-hammer movement. The gunman spread out the thumb and +fingers of his other hand, and quickly drawing them across the hammer, +one after another, they fired the shots with lightning rapidity. You +would be surprised at the speed with which shots can be fired in this +way. Try it sometime—with an empty gun.</p> + +<p>Whitey, waiting behind the living-room door, had heard in bunk-house +talk of these various ways in which the bad man proved himself an +artist with his gun—had to prove himself one, if he wanted to remain +alive. But when Mart Cooley, the most deadly man of that kind in the +West, entered the living-room and faced the ranchmen, Whitey did not get +his thrill—at first. For Mart was not a very large, nor a very +fierce-looking person, as he stood sidewise to Whitey, and talked to the +others.</p><p><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 184]</span></p> + +<p>Not often does crime fail to leave its mark on a man. The mouth, the +chin, the forehead; some feature usually shows traces of it. And when +Mart Cooley turned and Whitey saw his eyes, he got his thrill. They were +a hard, light, steely gray, and they looked out from lowered lids, oh, +so steadily. Months of brooding in the prison had helped to harden +Mart's eyes, that had needed no help in that way; brooding over +imaginary wrongs, for he thought his arrest an injustice. Other men had +stolen a few cows, and got away with them, but Mart was made to suffer, +and came to think himself a victim.</p><p><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 185]</span></p> + +<p>Out in the barren waste of the Chinook Country, lonely and gloomy, Mart +had planned vengeance. But against whom? No one man could fight the +Government. Failure was sure to come, and it meant death or +worse—further imprisonment. In time Mart had come to regard all +humanity as his enemy. Thus does crime and solitude twist the mind of +man. Mart was ripe for a killing. And these men were offering him a +chance.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>THE CATTLE-SHEEP WAR</h3> + + +<p>Next morning before dawn a determined and desperate band of men rode +from the Star Circle Ranch, under the leadership of Mart Cooley. Whitey +and Injun were wise enough not to show themselves, Whitey fearing not +only that they would be forbidden to go, but that they would be sent +home. This would be mortifying, to say the least. But if he were not<a name="Page_186" id="Page_186"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 186]</span> +forbidden—well, we all know the kinds of excuses with which we ease our +consciences.</p> + +<p>While this was going on in Whitey's mind, Bill Jordan was sleeping at +the Bar O. But had Bill known whither his joke on Whitey was leading the +boys, it is likely that he would not have slumbered so peacefully.</p> + +<p>So they waited until the warlike expedition had disappeared on the +rolling prairie, and then they followed at a distance. And that was +easy, for Injun could have tracked that mass of horses' hoofprints in +his sleep.</p> + +<p>Most of the time Injun and Whitey were out of sight of the cattlemen. +So in order to make this story run right along, it is necessary to tell +what happened to the men while the boys were absent, all of which Injun +and Whitey heard about afterwards.</p> +<p><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 187]</span></p> +<p>It was well along in the forenoon when in the distance a mass of moving +dots, with moving specks on its outskirts, indicated a flock of sheep, +and spurring their horses to a gallop the men dashed toward it. And I +regret to say that when the flock was reached, the gallop did not end. +The men rode straight through that bleating, panic-stricken mass, on the +edge of which two hysterical collies vainly tried to exert control of +their charges. The cattlemen were looking for the shepherd.</p> + +<p>Some distance beyond the flock, or where the flock had been, for the +sheep were now rushing across the plain, was a two-horse, canvas-topped +wagon, with a stove-pipe protruding through the top at the back. For +your sheepherder does not sleep on the ground like the cowboy, but +prefers a sheltering wagon. When the men reached this shelter, there +was no one in sight. As they reined in, one of the leaders called, "Come +out of there, you black-hearted dog!"</p> + +<p>There was no response. Twenty guns were drawn from their holsters. There +was a moment's pause, and the guns were raised. But the curtains of the +wagon were drawn, and a figure appeared and descended to the ground. The<a name="Page_188" id="Page_188"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 188]</span> +guns were held suspended in the hands of their surprised owners—for +they faced a woman.</p> + +<p>The lynching party drew the line at killing the woman—though she did +not know that—but they did not draw the line at making her talk. She +was a half-breed, and she spoke English very badly, but with a gun +thrust in her face, she spoke enough.</p> + +<p>And from what the frightened creature gasped out, and from what Mart +Cooley figured in his mind, this is what was learned: Knowing that the +cattlemen would seek revenge, but would first round up their scattered +herd, the sheepmen had had time to act. They had driven almost all their +sheep to the home ranch of the big owners, thinking they could be +protected better there. They had gathered all the men available, and +these were at the ranch, awaiting an attack. The woman's flock was too +far away to be driven in, and she had been left in charge because the +sheepmen had thought that the cowmen would not harm her.</p><p><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 189]</span></p> + +<p>With this knowledge gained, the party wasted no more time on the woman +or on her scattered sheep, but started off for the bigger game. When +Injun and Whitey arrived on the spot, the woman had nothing more to say. +She possibly felt that she had talked enough. Besides, she was busy +smoking a pipe and waiting for the clever dogs to gather the scattered +flock. But the ground was like the page of a book to Injun, and he read +there, much better than the woman could have told him, that the sheep +had been scattered, and the direction in which the men had gone.</p> + +<p>Donald Spellman, the manager of the sheep ranch, was a clever, daring, +and resourceful man. His ranch house was situated at the head of a +narrow canyon, or coulee, that led up into steep, barren hills down +which no horse could go. Into this pocket he had the sheep driven by +thousands. Across the narrow entrance his men had built a heavy +barbed-wire fence that was not visible from the foothills. In the +daytime the pass could be defended from the ranch house. At night, with +the sheepmen stationed in the hills, an attempt to break through that +wire fence would be more than dangerous. And this was the situation +against which Mart Cooley led his determined band.</p><p><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 190]</span></p> + +<p>It was at the end of a hard day's ride, and, late afternoon, when the +cattlemen arrived in sight of the enemies' stronghold. They had circled +the plains to the west, and ridden down in the shelter of the hills, to +avoid coming within rifle range of the house. These western hills were +rocky, and at their end a growth of firs, scrub oak, and brush gave the +lynchers shelter. They were four or five hundred yards from the house, +which was in plain view.</p> + +<p>Mart Cooley, Walt Lampson, Buck Milton, and a couple of ranchmen stood +in this natural screen and took in the situation.</p> + +<p>"Sheep must be up in that coulee," said Walt.</p> + +<p>"Sure," Mart replied. "They c'n wait. That there house is sure in a good +spot. If it'd bin planned for a fort it couldn't be better." He stood +and silently regarded the house, his eyes narrowed more than usual. "How +many men d'ye s'pose they've got in there?" he asked finally.</p> + +<p>"Reck'n they could scrape up 'bout twenty-five, in th' time they've +had," Walt answered.</p> +<p><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 191]</span></p> +<p>"An' some o' 'em shepherds, an' rotten shots, an' they's fifty o' us," +Buck put in. He was eager for action.</p> + +<p>"Well, I come here t' fight, an' I'm paid for it," said Mart Cooley. +"But if we go after 'em in th' open an' th' daylight, they'll get a lot +of us. We'll wait till night."</p> + +<p>"Suits me," said Walt Lampson. "I don't want no sheepman t' get me."</p> + +<p>There was a puff of smoke from the house, and a bullet whined over the +men's heads. They dropped to the ground. The lynchers raised their +rifles and emptied them, but not at the house. Back of it and to the +left was a raised water tank, and into the lower part of this the shots +were directed. As the men wormed their way back through the scrub, and +around the hill, thin streams of water began to trickle from the tank.</p> + +<p>"If we have t' stick 'round awhile, we'll leave 'em some thirsty, +anyhow," said Walt.</p> + +<p>Volleys of harmless shots had followed their creeping course, for at<a name="Page_192" id="Page_192"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 192]</span> +five hundred yards it is hard to hit an object on the ground—especially +when it is protected by scrub.</p> + +<p>Under cover of the steep hills the cattlemen waited for night. There was +no sign of attack from the hills. Evidently the sheepmen were keeping +their forces in the house during the daylight hours. After a brief +twilight the night fell, cloudy and very dark. And Mart Cooley had +formed another plan.</p> + +<p>One of the men knew the lay of the canyon. Its only practical outlet was +that guarded by the sheepmen. But a short way up the canyon there was a +spring in the hills, which found its outlet in a narrow stream that +ended in a small waterfall at the edge of a cliff. Mart figured on his +force entering the canyon, stampeding the sheep, and driving them over +this waterfall. It was as simple as it was cruel, but you may have +noticed that it takes clever people to think of simple things, and Mart +Cooley was proving almost as clever with his mind as he was with his +guns. For Mart also figured on the effect on the sheepmen's nerve when<a name="Page_193" id="Page_193"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 193]</span> +they found their herds gone, and their water from the tank giving out.</p> + +<p>Under cover of darkness Mart led about fifteen men around the hill, +which they skirted, and, giving the ranch house a wide berth, made their +way toward the mouth of the canyon. There was only one thing to guide +them on their course. Where the western hills raised their heights +toward the sky, their outline showed darker than the surrounding night. +From this wall of black, Mart's force steered a diagonal course that +would lead to the center of the canyon's mouth. Once in the canyon, out +of range of the house and among the sheep, lanterns and fires would +provide light enough for the men's purpose.</p> + +<p>It is not likely that there was an idea of poetic justice in the mind +of Mart Cooley; a thought that in stampeding the sheep he was repaying +the sheepmen in their own coin for stampeding the cattle, repaying them +with the death of the victims added as interest.</p> + +<p>The plan seemed to be working out easily—too easily. Then, from one of +the foremost rider's mounts, came the shrill neigh of a horse in pain,<a name="Page_194" id="Page_194"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 194]</span> +and the thudding of the animal's hoofs as it shied violently, for it had +collided with the barbed wire fence. This was Mart's first intimation +that there was a fence, but he had no time to think that he had been +matched in cleverness by Donald Spellman, for things began to happen.</p> + +<p>First came the sound of a cowbell. At intervals along the lower strands +of barbed wire bells had been hung. Next came a volley of shots, from +the hills, which had been sought by the sheepmen under the cover of the +night. They were firing toward the sound of the bells. The firing was +not well-directed, but it was steady and dangerous.</p> + +<p>It is doubtful whether the attackers could have cut their way through +the fence, handicapped as they were, but they had no chance to try, for +just then a third thing happened. A cloud-obscured moon had been +climbing the eastern hills, and at that moment the clouds parted and the +entire valley was bathed in moonlight.</p> + +<p>The light was peaceful and beautiful, but it brought a deadly effect. +Not only did it reveal the cattlemen to their enemies in the hills, but<a name="Page_195" id="Page_195"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 195]</span> +to those in the distant ranch house, as well. The cracking of rifles was +almost continuous in that fatal triangle, in which the sheepmen formed +two points, and the cowmen the tragic third.</p> + +<p>As the trapped fifteen rushed their mounts toward the shelter of the +western hills, drawing farther away from their eastern enemies, they +were forced to a nearer approach to the ranch house, to run the gantlet +of its concealed sharp-shooters. A galloping horse, with its rider, does +not offer an easy mark; fifteen of them, the objective of twenty rifles, +form a better target. And when Mart Cooley's followers reached the +shadows of the farther hills, they did not number fifteen, but eight.</p> + +<p>It was into this party of flying horsemen that Injun and Whitey were +carried bodily. As darkness had come on, the boys had ridden cautiously +in the tracks of the advancing party. They had been attracted by the +sound of the shots, and approached as near as they dared, to witness the +battle. They were near the corner of the hill when the terrified horses<a name="Page_196" id="Page_196"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 196]</span> +dashed toward them, and to avoid being run down they had spurred their +ponies ahead and were swept along with the flying riders.</p> + +<p>Well, Mart Cooley had made the mistake of not figuring on the cleverness +of Donald Spellman, and the result of this was not only to make him +furious with himself, but to add to his, and to all the other men's +desire for revenge. All thoughts of starving the enemy out were lost, +absorbed in a lust for killing. The excited men paid no attention to the +boys. It is doubtful if they even saw them.</p> + +<p>Mart took his forty-odd men back to the firs and scrub oaks at the lower +point of the western hills, and there they stretched out in the brush, +and prepared to bombard the ranch house. The moonlight was now Mart's +friend instead of his enemy. The sheepmen were divided. Those on the +hills would come in range of the cattlemen's rifles if they attempted to +cross the moonlit valley, and in the meantime they were harmless.</p> +<p><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 197]</span></p> +<p>A number of volleys were fired into the house, not at the windows, but +beneath the window ledges. When men are besieged in a house they must +fire from the windows, kneeling by them. Several of the cattlemen's +bullets tearing through the wooden wall of the house had caught these +kneeling figures, and the fire from the place, never accurate, began to +weaken. Mart had another purpose in view, but of that he said nothing. +Possibly he was mortified by the failure of his sheep raid.</p> + +<p>Knowing Injun and Whitey as you do, you can imagine that they got as +near to this dangerous situation as they could. No one ordered them back +because no one noticed them. But they fired no shots. The wish to kill +any man, no matter how vile, filled no part of Whitey's young life. It +would be hard to answer for Injun. Hard to tell what the blood of all +his fighting forefathers was prompting him to do.</p> + +<p>But Injun couldn't fire a shot if he wanted to. You may remember the +Winchester that had been presented to Injun at the Bar O Ranch. He had +left the gun at home. Injun knew nothing of the modern silencer, but he +had one of his own—his bow and arrows. When he had started out in +pursuit of the horse-thief, whom he supposed to be Henry Dorgan, Injun<a name="Page_198" id="Page_198"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 198]</span> +had carried these. No explosive gunshots for him. He expected to have to +work silently.</p> + +<p>While most of the men had their eyes and the sights of their guns fixed +on the house, Mart Cooley kept his eyes on the sky. But despite this +Mart noticed that no shots came from two figures near him, and looking +closer he saw the crouching Whitey and Injun, the latter with his bow +and arrows. Mart was about to speak to them, when a cloud crossed the +moon. Mart gave vent to an oath of satisfaction and started forward. +Then he thought of something, came back, and grasping Injun by the arm, +dragged him forward with him.</p> + +<p>It was a large cloud that obscured the moon, so there was a long period +of darkness. Whitey stayed where he was. He wondered whether Mart Cooley +would come and drag him forward, and rather hoped so. He wondered +whether this darkness would give the men on the hills a chance to join +their fellows in the ranch house. And Whitey also wondered where Buck +Milton was. He hadn't seen him with the party. But Buck was lying out<a name="Page_199" id="Page_199"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 199]</span> +there on the plain; that is, the mortal Buck was. The other Buck was +probably with his friend Tom.</p> + +<p>At last Whitey's curiosity could hold him back no longer, and he crept +forward to the front line of men, keeping well to one side. They had +ceased firing, the house was dark. And the sheepmen there had ceased +firing too. Their only marks had been the flashes of the cattlemen's +guns, and those showed no longer.</p> + +<p>All the men were hushed, as though in expectancy. Whitey peered into the +darkness, as they were doing. The cloud's ragged edge showed at the +lower half of the moon, and the ranch house could be dimly seen. From +halfway between it and the men a small light appeared, flickered for a +moment, then rising in the air described a graceful half-circle and +alighted on the ranch house roof. Another, another, and then others +followed. Injun was firing lighted arrows.</p> +<p><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 200]</span></p> +<p>The moon came forth, and a volley of shots was poured from the ranch +house toward the spot from whence the arrows had come. A volley from the +cattlemen penetrated the walls of the house. Whitey trembled for Injun, +out there in No Man's Land. He need not have trembled, for that young +person was safely crouching behind a boulder.</p> + +<p>For the first time Whitey noticed that a breeze was stirring. Just as in +the night when you light a match a breeze springs up to put it out, so +now wind seemed to come to fan those burning arrows on the ranch house +roof. Whitey watched, chilled but fascinated. The men around him were in +the whirl of a fight. He was a spectator; one who saw other men being +forced out of a trap to their deaths. The arrows burned like tinder. +Whitey did not know that they were soaked in oil, brought along for the +purpose of firing the house.</p> + +<p>There had been no rain for a week, so the roof was dry, and soon narrow, +snake-like lines of flame began to creep across it. Whitey thought of +the feelings of the imprisoned sheepmen, knowing what was going on<a name="Page_201" id="Page_201"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 201]</span> +overhead, but helpless to prevent it. It seemed that they surely must +make some effort. Both sides had ceased firing. Then an idea occurred to +Whitey. Why did not the sheepmen escape from the back of the house? A +volley of shots from the other side of the valley seemed to answer the +question. Under cover of the darkness Mart Cooley had sent half his men +to a point that commanded the rear of the ranch house. Their shots +sounded continuously for a moment and told a plain story. The sheepmen +had tried to escape from the back, and had failed.</p> + +<p>These shots told another story. Why were they not answered from the +hills? Because the hill men had joined their fellows in the ranch house. +All were cooped up there, making their choice of deaths; by fire or by +bullets. Anything would be better than the fire. Why didn't they do +something? Whitey found himself growing impatient with these doomed men +whom he never had seen.</p> + +<p>Something was stirring on the ranch house roof and glittered +occasionally in the moonlight. The cattlemen watched it intently. It was +the head of an axe, forcing its way through from beneath. The cattlemen +laughed. When the wielded axe had formed a sufficient opening, the head +and shoulders of a man appeared in it, and his hands followed, +supporting a bucket of water. Twenty of the attackers' rifles were +directed toward the roof, but at an order from Mart Cooley they were +lowered. Mart raised his rifle, fired a single shot, and the man's +figure disappeared through the opening, the bucket falling from his<a name="Page_202" id="Page_202"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 202]</span> +hands and pitching down over the edge of the roof.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="img4-4" id="img4-4"></a> +<img src="images/img4-4.jpg" alt="The Man's Figure disappeared through the Opening, the Bucket falling from his hands" +title="The Man's Figure disappeared through the Opening, the Bucket falling from his hands" /> +<br /> +<h3>The Man's Figure disappeared through the Opening, the Bucket falling from his hands</h3> +</div> + +<p>"Now they know what kind o' shootin' t' expect when they come out," said +Mart.</p> + +<p>So Whitey knew why Mart alone had fired. It was to add to the fears of +the sheepmen—if that could be done. Anyway, no other man appeared at +the opening in the roof.</p> + +<p>Whitey watched the flames creep up and down the roof, growing higher as +they stole along. He saw them flicker over the eaves, lap the walls of +the house, and finally clasp it like a red, flaring robe. But Whitey did +not think of the fire in those terms, but as a thing of horror, of +death.</p> + +<p>You, who have followed the adventures of Whitey, know that he had been +in situations in which he was threatened with death. But then he had +been upheld by excitement; by the necessity of protecting himself. And +he had even faced death, but then he had come on it unexpectedly, in the<a name="Page_203" id="Page_203"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 203]</span> +case of the hanging train robbers. This was a different matter; waiting +to see men burned out and shot down. And it is small wonder that +Whitey's nerves quivered, that the burning house began to dance before +his eyes, and that he buried his face in his arms, to shut out the +sight.</p> + +<p>It is unlikely that Walt Lampson had thought of Whitey, until he chanced +to see this action. Then he spoke, and not unkindly.</p> + +<p>"You'd better get back there behind the hill, kid," Walt said. "This +ain't no place for you."</p> + +<p>And so Whitey rose, and returned to where Monty was tethered, and he +was not ashamed of the fact that he stumbled as he walked. But Injun +still crouched out behind the boulder. There was no quivering of his +nerves. The only fear he might have had was that if he returned he would +be sent to the rear; and he was too wily to take a chance. So most of +what followed was seen by Injun, and heard about by Whitey.</p><p><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 204]</span></p> + +<p>There came the time when the surviving sheepmen could no longer remain +in the house. Like a wise leader, Donald Spellman divided his forces, +and ten crouching figures emerged from the front of the house, and ten +from the back, and were outlined against the flames, as they scurried +away. How they were harried and followed and shot down would not make +pleasant reading, and what happened to those who were captured it is not +necessary to write, as you will remember what the cattlemen had sworn to +do at their meeting.</p> + +<p>After this, if there had been any who doubted Mart Cooley's skill as a +gunman, they doubted no longer. And it was the misfortune of Donald +Spellman to come under Mart's aim. Or perhaps it was his good fortune +to be mortally wounded by a bullet, instead of ending his life as did +the captives. But Spellman had something to say before he died, and he +said it to Walt Lampson.</p> + +<p>"You got us," he gasped, "an' you got us right. An' I only got one thing +to tell you, an' to tell you quick. I didn't plan that cattle stampede. +It was a dirty trick."</p> + +<p>"Who did?" Walter asked eagerly.</p><p><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 205]</span></p> + +<p>And Spellman answered that question with the last words he ever spoke.</p> + +<p>It was at this time that Injun, still crouching behind his boulder, saw +something like a miracle—a dead man coming to life. The man had fallen +at the first volley, and the fight had swung past him. And now he rose, +and stole hastily on his moonlit way. Injun watched solemnly. He had no +mind to give a warning, and probably get shot for his pains. He might +even have admired the trick, if he had not had a closer view of the +runaway, who was Henry Dorgan.</p> + +<p>When Injun discovered this, he was solemn no longer. He reached for his +bow, but there was no arrow to fit in it. The last had been shot at the +ranch house. Injun watched Dorgan disappear into the night, and said +bitter things—in the Injun language.</p> + +<p>So ended the last of this engagement in the cattle-sheep war, except for +one incident. The cause of it all was still to be dealt with—the sheep. +And here was another picture that Whitey fortunately missed. A tragic +picture, seen from the hills at dawn, as the white, panic-stricken +creatures, crowding, bleating, and complaining, were forced through the +canyon to the bed of the narrow, shallow stream<a name="Page_206" id="Page_206"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 206]</span>, on their way to the +opening in the cliffs, through which the brook fell in a tiny waterfall +over the edge of the precipice. These innocent instruments and victims +of the greed and passions of man!</p> + +<p>These things happened, my friends. Let you and me, and all of those who +love America and the West, send up a silent prayer to the Creator that +they are of the past, that they may never happen again—to leave such +harrowing pictures in the minds of men.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>"MEDICINE"</h3> + + +<p>The sun was shining on the Star Circle Ranch. Whitey sat in the doorway +of the bunk house, and listened to the talk and laughter of two or three +idle punchers inside. Two days had passed since the tragedy. Though the +laughing cowboys had not forgotten it, it was already a thing of the +past; "all in a day's work." For it was like that in the West, in those +times—death one day, laughter the next.</p><p><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 207]</span></p> + +<p>Another being sat in the sunshine near the distant Bar O Ranch house; +squat, bow-legged, his face wrinkled with anxiety and expectancy, he +looked longingly off at the dusty road along which Whitey had gone, +waiting and hoping for his friend's return. Thus sat Sitting Bull, +forgotten but not forgetting.</p> + +<p>Injun approached Whitey, from the direction of the Star Circle Ranch +house. In his hand was an object which he regarded gravely as he walked. +Two grunted words at a time he used in telling Whitey the meaning of +this object.</p> + +<p>The ranchmen had thought that Injun's services on the night of the +fight deserved some reward. A messenger had been sent to Jimtown, and +had returned with the reward, which had just been presented to Injun. It +was a stickpin, a large imitation emerald, in a solid gold setting, to +be inserted in one's necktie, the latest thing in fashion in a country +where few men wore ties. Whitey looked at the pin, and, glad of the<a name="Page_208" id="Page_208"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 208]</span> +chance, he laughed and laughed. Injun did not laugh. He liked the +stickpin. He was proud of it.</p> + +<p>Louder sounds of merriment in the bunk house attracted Whitey, and, +leaving Injun to gloat over his treasure, Whitey joined the men inside. +It may have been that they, too, were glad to have laughter help them to +forget the dangers and tragedies of the times. One of them had just told +a story—which might have been a story in both senses of the word. +Knowing that a yarn usually comes with a cowboy, or a cowboy usually +comes with a yarn, Whitey sat down and waited.</p> + +<p>I have written that most of the mirth on the Star Circle was aroused by +the troubles of others, but that was not true of all of it. On a +cracker box sat a dreamy-eyed, short, fat puncher; almost too fat for +his job. His nickname was "Single." He had been married five times. So +you can see that Single was a man of experiences. Furthermore, he was +always willing to talk about them. He gazed thoughtfully at Injun, who, +out in the sunlight, was still admiring his stickpin.</p> + +<p>"The two funniest things in th' world t' me is mules an' Injuns," Single +said.</p> + +<p>"Injuns don't never say or do nothin' funny," retorted a sour-looking +puncher.</p> + +<p>"I mean queer, odd," Single replied.</p> +<p><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 209]</span></p> +<p>"What do you know 'bout Injuns?" demanded the other.</p> + +<p>"What do I know 'bout 'em!" snorted Single. "My third wife was a +half-breed."</p> + +<p>"Gosh, Single!" another puncher broke in. "I knew you'd had plenty o' +wives, but I never knew you'd had no half wives."</p> + +<p>"Th' wa'n't nothin' halfway 'bout her," Single replied bitterly, "'cept +th' breed." He seemed lost in gloomy thought, and fearing that he would +not talk at all, Whitey spoke.</p> + +<p>"That was an inappropriate present to give Injun," he said.</p> + +<p>"An inawhat?" asked Single, whose education had been neglected.</p> + +<p>"Inappropriate. I mean it was something you wouldn't think he'd like," +Whitey explained hastily.</p> + +<p>"I dunno," Single answered. "You can't never tell 'bout a Injun. He +looks stuck on that there present now," and he nodded toward Injun, who +was devouring the stickpin with his eyes. "Mebbe he thinks it's<a name="Page_210" id="Page_210"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 210]</span> +med'cine," Single went on.</p> + +<p>"Medicine!" exclaimed Whitey.</p> + +<p>"Sure—good luck," said Single. "An' if he does, you couldn't pry it +off'n him with a steam dredge."</p> + +<p>It had not occurred to Whitey that Injun was superstitious. He never had +talked about it—but he never talked much about anything. And an +Indian's "medicine" is superstition, pure and simple. He cherishes some +object that he has come upon under conditions that make him think it +lucky. Sometimes the medicine man of his tribe performs a rite over this +object, and that gives a sort of religious flavor to it, making it +almost sacred in the owner's view. His belief in it is tribal; has come +down from his forefathers. It is very hard to shake an Indian's faith in +his medicine.</p> + +<p>While Whitey was recalling these facts, which he had heard about, +Single's eyes were narrowing—looking inside his head, one might say, to +find there a story that fitted in with Injun's interest in his gift.</p><p><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 211]</span></p> + +<p>"Speakin' o' my third wife's half brother," Single broke out, at last.</p> + +<p>"What kind o' fambly was that?" interrupted the sour puncher. "Thirds, +an' halfs, an' things. Sounds more like 'rithmetic than a fambly."</p> + +<p>"It was harder'n 'rithmetic," Single replied darkly. "This here half +brother o' my wife's was a Cognowaga" (Caughnawaga).</p> + +<p>"Gee, what a fambly!" groaned the other, but Single did not heed him.</p> + +<p>"An' his name was Sam Sharp," Single went on. "'Course that wasn't his +real name. He was a sportin' gent, an' that was his sportin' name. He +was one o' them all-round fellers. Run! Say, he c'd make a jack-rabbit +look like a fly in a tub o' butter. He c'd jump higher'n this here roof, +an' vault twic't as high. An' them big shots an' weights that they +put—I'd hate t' tell you how far he c'd put 'em. You wouldn't b'lieve +me."</p> + +<p>"We don't b'lieve you, anyhow," muttered one of the boys, but Single +didn't seem to hear. He was wrapped up in his story.</p> +<p><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 212]</span></p> +<p>"He'd throw th' discus from here down t' th' corral."</p> + +<p>"What's a discus?" asked a puncher.</p> + +<p>"It doesn't matter, but he c'd throw it," said Single. "An' he was +champeen of America; not only that, but champeen of th' whole world."</p> + +<p>Now, it didn't make much difference whether Single's story was true or +not. One didn't have to believe it to enjoy it. He aimed to astonish, +rather than to be truthful. But these statements were too much for the +imagination of his hearers—or rather for their lack of it. He was +greeted by a chorus of hoots and yells of disbelief, that developed into +a volley of boots and spurs and cans and anything that could be thrown, +and he was fairly driven from the room.</p> + +<p>And the odd part of it was that Single was only a little ahead of his +time. For there was an Indian boy living then who afterwards did things +as hard to believe, so marvelous that I must tell about him.</p> + +<p>His name is Jim Thorpe, and he is a Sac and Fox Indian. His running<a name="Page_213" id="Page_213"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 213]</span> +record for one hundred yards is ten seconds. For one hundred and twenty +yards, with three-feet-six-inch hurdles, fifteen seconds; running broad +jump, over twenty-three feet; running high jump, over six feet. He put a +sixteen-pound shot over forty-three feet, and a fifty-six pound weight +in the neighborhood of twenty-eight feet, and made a pole-vault of over +twelve feet. He ran a half-mile and a mile at great speed.</p> + +<p>When the Olympian Games were held in Sweden, and all the champion +athletes of the world took part, it was the ambition of each to win one +event, or even to run one-two-three in it. There were five events in the +Pentathlon and ten in the Decathlon. <i>Jim Thorpe won them all</i>.</p> + +<p>He won the all-round championship of America a couple of times, a feat +paled by those he accomplished in the Olympian Games. He is the greatest +football player that ever lived, and one of the greatest Major League +baseball players, drawing a large salary from one of the clubs, and +playing yet. And if you don't believe me, all you have to do is to look +at the sporting-records.</p> + +<p>Whitey was greatly disappointed when Single was driven out of the bunk<a name="Page_214" id="Page_214"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 214]</span> +house. He wanted to hear the rest of that story about the third wife's +half brother. So Whitey went after Single, and tried to coax him to come +back.</p> + +<p>And the other punchers were sorry that they had been so hasty, for they +wanted to see how far Single's imagination would carry him.</p> + +<p>Whitey had heard an old yarn about a parrot in a mining camp. A magician +was giving a performance at the camp, and after every trick the miners +would say, "I wonder what he's going to do next?" One of them was +smoking, a spark fell in a keg of powder, and blew the camp away from +that place. The parrot landed a quarter of a mile off, most of his +feathers gone, his cage was a wreck. And, peering out, he asked, "I +wonder what he's going to do next?"</p> + +<p>That was the way it was with those cowpunchers, and they joined Whitey, +and finally smoothed over Single's feelings, and coaxed him to continue +his story—which he wanted to do, anyway.</p> + +<p>"Well, this here Sam Sharp had his faults," Single continued, when he +was settled again in his seat. "For a feller that c'd move so quick he<a name="Page_215" id="Page_215"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 215]</span> +was s'prisin' lazy; so lazy he'd trip over his feet gettin' out o' his +own way. An' drinkin', an' gamblin'!—say, I won't take your time +tellin' you all th' things he liked. All you had t' do was t' ast +yourself was a thing wrong. If it was, Sam liked it.</p> + +<p>"Bein' a champeen, o' course Sam had a manager what made money out o' +Sam's stunts, for both o' 'em. This manager was a white man named +Gallager, an' his life was made a burden, for he had t' train Sam for +them there stunts, an' Sam didn't cotton to trainin' nonesoever. When he +oughta be doin' it, he'd be off dancin', or drinkin', or pokerin', or +somethin'. An' Gallager got sicker an' sicker of such doin's.</p> + +<p>"Well, bein' a Injun, Sam had a med'cine. It was a twig. Where he got +it I don't know, but it was firm fixed in Sam's nut that he couldn't run +without that there twig was tucked inside his shirt. An' that twig was +s'posed t' work both ways. For when Sam was runnin' 'gainst another +feller, he'd put th' twig down in one of th' other feller's footprints, +an' Sam thought that kept th' other feller back.</p><p><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 216]</span></p> + +<p>"Now, this here twig was one o' Gallager's greatest troubles. For Sam +was always losin' it, or leavin' it behind, an' him or Gallager havin' +t' go after it, an' races was havin' t' be held back, or put off, for +Sam wouldn't run without that twig. So Gallager hated it.</p> + +<p>"Along comes a time when Sam is stacked up t' meet a corkin' good +runner. An' Sam was off gallivantin' 'round at dances, an' worse things, +an' not trainin' none whatever. An' Gallager says t' himself, 'Here's +where I cure that Injun of th' twig habit.' You see, Sam was that soft +from loafin', he couldn't have beat a mud turtle up a hill, so Gallager +figgers Sam'll likely lose th' race, anyway, an' it'll be worth it t' +get clear o' that infernal twig. So Gallager lets Sam stay soft.</p> + +<p>"Along comes th' day o' th' race, an' Gallager hadn't done nothin' or +said nothin', an' Sam runs an' loses, an' after it's all over Gallager +goes t' him.</p> + +<p>"'Got your twig?' he says.</p> + +<p>"'Uh,' grunts Sam.</p> + +<p>"'Stick it in th' other feller's footprints?'</p> + +<p>"'Uh.'</p> + +<p>"'Got it in your shirt?'</p> + +<p>"'Uh huh,' says Sam, an' pulls out th' twig.</p> + +<p>"'Well, you didn't win, did you?' says Gallager.</p><p><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 217]</span></p> + +<p>"'Um, um,' says Sam, lookin' at th' twig.</p> + +<p>"'Then th' twig's no good, is it?' asks Gallager, lookin' Sam firmly in +th' eye, an' Sam returnin' th' look.</p> + +<p>"'NO!' says Sam, an' he throws th' twig away."</p> +<p><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 218]</span></p> +<p>The cowpunchers did not believe this story. They did not think that an +Indian can be cured of his medicine. But I know it is true, for I knew +the Indian.</p> + +<p>It might not be amiss to state here that there is another Indian alive +to-day, who was a baby in arms when Sam Sharp lived, who ran in and won +thirty-eight Marathon races, when no one else in the world ever finished +first, second, or third in over three. His name is Tom Longboat.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>"THE PRIDE OF THE WEST"</h3> + + +<p>Whitey wandered over to the Star Circle Ranch house. He wanted to see +Walt Lampson, who had paid little attention to him since the night of +the fight. Whitey was getting tired of staying at the Star Circle, and<a name="Page_219" id="Page_219"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 219]</span> +thought Walt might be ready now to ship the cattle to the Bar O, and +thus give Whitey something to do.</p> + +<p>Walt was not in the living-room, which was a large, untidy place that +also served as an office. There was a great, flat desk in one corner, +and lying on it—among some dusty papers, reports and stock books—was a +six-gun, with its belt and holster, a silver watch, a knife, and other +odds and ends. These were the property of poor Buck Milton, waiting till +they were claimed, or would be disposed of.</p> + +<p>Whitey looked at them sadly. Near the watch lay a crumpled and soiled +piece of paper, and as Whitey glanced at it his own name caught his eye. +Surprised, he picked the paper up and read it through before he +realized what it was—Bill Jordan's letter to Dan Brayton, of the T Up +and Down, the letter Whitey had delivered. It ran:</p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Friend Dan</span>—</p> + +<p>Whitey Sherwood, the kid what fetches this here letter, is tired uv +school. He had ruther fish. This here letter is sposed to be on +importunt business uv his dads, the owner uv this here ranch. The +business is to make Whitey tireder out uv school than what he was in it. +I started the ball rollin. Kin you keep it goin?</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Hopin this will find you the same</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 20em;">Yours truly</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 20em;">Wm Jordan</span><br /> +</p><p><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 220]</span></p> + +<p>There were two notations in pencil at the bottom of the letter. One +read:</p> + +<p>Walt—Im passin the kid along to you. Get busy.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 20em;">Dan</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>And the other, Buck's:</p> + +<p>Dont kill this kid but come as near to it as you kin.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 20em;">Walt</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>A great light broke in on Whitey. So this was the meaning of it all? the<a name="Page_221" id="Page_221"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 221]</span> +twenty-five mile walk to Cal Smith's house; the singular conduct of the +men at the T Up and Down; the nester's lending him that jack Felix, that +he knew would run home and leave Whitey alone on the plains; and Walt +Lampson's sending him out on the range, in the face of a storm. And as a +sort of high peak in his mountain range of troubles Whitey remembered +Little Thompson's talk about funerals. Whitey buried his head in his +hands and groaned at the thought. He had dreamed of funerals ever since. +He determined to make a will and put in it that Little Thompson should +not be allowed to come to his (Whitey's) funeral.</p> + +<p>They had passed him along from one to another, making a fool of him, and +laughing behind his back all the time. He knew how rough cowmen often +were in their fun, and the only wonder was that they hadn't treated him +worse. He supposed that they would have done so had his father not been +a ranch-owner. So! they probably thought he was something of a +molly-coddle. He was angry enough, but this thought made him +angrier—that he hadn't been treated worse. Which goes to show what a +reasonable thing anger is!</p> + +<p>Whitey went out, sat down behind the cook's shack, and gave way to<a name="Page_222" id="Page_222"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 222]</span> +gloomy reflections. He reviewed his past life for quite a way back, and +everything in it seemed to be wrong. He wanted to do big things, and he +always was just missing them. If he had been earlier when he followed +those train robbers, he might have warned the people on the train, and +been a sort of hero. If, if, if—oh, what was the use?</p> + +<p>But it certainly is bitter to think you might make yourself a hero, and +find that some one else has made a fool of you. Whitey remembered a +saying that the first time a fellow is fooled it is the other fellow's +fault—and the next time it is his own. They wouldn't fool him again. +He'd do something big yet. He'd show them!</p> + +<p>The first thing to do was to find Injun. The next thing to do was to +leave that Star Circle Ranch. Whitey hated it there, anyway. And the +next was a thing not to do—not to go back to the Bar O, and have Bill +Jordan and the others laugh at him. The first thing proved easy, and +Whitey proceeded to tell Injun his troubles.</p> + +<p>"Huh," said Injun. "Better'n him school."</p><p><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 223]</span></p> + +<p>"I know it's better than school," said Whitey, annoyed, as we always are +when we seek sympathy and get facts. "I'd rather do 'most anything than +go to that awful school. But what I object to is being made a fool of." +He was suffering from mortification, which is a sort of ingrowing anger, +and the more it sunk in, the angrier he got.</p> + +<p>And here was the plan he unfolded to Injun; the plan to get even with +Bill Jordan. They would go to Moose Lake, in the foothills of the +mountains. You may remember that on the southwestern shore of this lake +was a cabin, which had been the scene of some of the boys' former +adventures. They would make this cabin their headquarters. Bill Jordan +never would suspect that they were there. They would live by fishing +and hunting, which were good at that time of year. As for other +provisions, Whitey had some money, and they could buy them at Jimtown, +on the way. No one knew them there. Whitey even planned getting a +message to Bill Jordan that he, Whitey, was dead. Bill would feel pretty<a name="Page_224" id="Page_224"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 224]</span> +sorry then, at the result of his silly trick. And when Whitey thought +Bill was sorry enough, he would return, and advise Bill never to be so +silly again. You see, he was in a very savage mood. He would get over +that, but he didn't realize it then.</p> + +<p>As Injun heard these plans, he considered them. He was very well +satisfied where he was. There had been fighting there, there might be +more, and he liked fighting. Fishing and hunting were all very well, but +he'd had a lot of them in his young life, and they were no novelty. It +was like asking a sailor to go for a sail, on his day off. And Injun +couldn't fully understand Whitey's wanting to do all these things. But +do you think he voiced his objections to them? He did not. For in one +way Injun was like a faithful dog he accepted things he didn't +understand. So one liked his loyalty more than one pitied his ignorance.</p> + +<p>No one paid any attention to the boys when they rode away from the Star +Circle Ranch. They might be going hunting, or just for a ride, for all +the ranchmen knew or cared. They struck off toward the northwest, in +which direction lay Jimtown, with Moose Lake far beyond, nestling in the +foothills of the Rockies.</p><p><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 225]</span></p> + +<p>It was a beautiful day, with the haze of fall shrouding the distance, a +hint of brown tingeing the prairie grass, the sun a bit milder with its +rays and paler in its face than in midsummer. And the old sun seemed a +trifle lazy, as if lying back awaiting the frost that would nip the +rolling mesa, to be followed by the gales that would sweep across it, +then by the whirling blizzards that would hold the plains in their +frigid grasp. Yes, it was a beautiful day—a day on which it was very +hard to stay mad.</p> + +<p>Creeping across the northern distance the boys saw two wagons. Evidently +they had come from Jimtown. Wagons are as interesting sights on a +prairie as they are uninteresting in a city, so the boys shifted their +course slightly that they might investigate. And these were the rarest +wagons that crawled across the plains, for they carried a show!</p> + +<p>During the many months that Whitey had been in the West only one show +had come to the Junction, and that at a time when Injun and Whitey had<a name="Page_226" id="Page_226"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 226]</span> +been hunting in the mountains. Lives there a boy with soul so dead that +he does not hunger for a show? I leave you to answer that, and to guess +how hungry Whitey was for one.</p> + +<p>But if you have in your mind any big, gilded wagons, with pictures of +beautiful women on their sides, and drawn by many prancing white horses +with red plumes on their heads, get that vision right out of your mind. +These were "prairie schooners," covered with old, weather-beaten canvas, +creaking along on wheels on which mud had long taken the place of paint, +and drawn by mules!</p> + +<p>And the only things to indicate their character were letters painted on +the old canvas sides, where they drooped between the wooden arches that +supported them; letters which read: "The Mildini Troupe. Pride of +the West." And that was enough. For everybody in that part of +Montana knew the Mildinis. They came once a year—if nothing happened to +prevent.</p><p><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 227]</span></p> + +<p>There were three in the company—Mr. Mildini, who was short and fat, and +had a twinkle in his eye, and had been born Murphy; Mrs. Mildini, who +was slim and sharp-featured, and whose eyes were bright, without any +twinkle in them; and Signor Antolini, who was of medium height and +rather thin, and had a nose like a hawk, and had been born on Mulberry +Street, in New York City. Two thirds of this troupe remained the same, +year after year, but sometimes Signor Antolini was Signor Somebody Else.</p> + +<p>This doesn't seem to offer much chance for entertainment, does it? To +Injun it was a wonderful troupe. To Whitey, who had been to all sorts of +entertainments in the East, it was a novelty. Perhaps it would be bad +enough to be good. Anyway, it was a show. Thoughts of revenge against +Bill Jordan could be abandoned for the time being. They would have to +wait. Meanwhile, Injun and Whitey would follow the show.</p> + +<p>Mr. Mildini, who drove the first wagon, was very friendly, and smoked a +pipe. Signor Antolini, who drove the second wagon, was also friendly,<a name="Page_228" id="Page_228"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 228]</span> +and smoked cigarettes. Mrs. Mildini, who slept in the first wagon, +expressed no feelings at all. That wagon contained the trunks and +chattels of Mildini and wife, and in it they made their home. The other +wagon held the instruments and properties of the show, the cooking +utensils, and the bed of Signor Antolini. It was all very simple, and +very fascinating, when you thought of it, to be traveling around the +country in the sunshine, pausing at different places to entertain +admiring audiences.</p> + +<p>Where were they from? From Jimtown, where they had showed the night +before. And where bound? To the Hanley Ranch, a big wheat ranch, about +twenty miles east. It was threshing-time there, and there would be +plenty of men to make an audience. Mr. Mildini meant plenty from his +point of view. A settlement of five houses looked good to him.</p> + +<p>Oh, yes, Whitey knew the Hanley Ranch. It was fourteen miles west of the +Bar O. Oh, no, Mr. Mildini didn't mind their riding along with the +troupe. He was glad of the company. They could have dinner with them, +too, if they liked. And perhaps they wouldn't mind helping with the +stock, if they didn't make the ranch that day, and had to camp.</p> + +<p>Sometimes they had trouble with the wagons; they were old. Sometimes +they got stuck in the mud. You never could tell. Yes, the show business +was fascinating, but very uncertain. Mr. Mildini wa<a name="Page_229" id="Page_229"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 229]</span>s chatty and not a +bit stand-offish, as one might think a talented person would be.</p> + +<p>So, when that old fall sun sank down toward the west, it outlined two +shabby wagons, crawling along the lonely prairie. Near one rode an eager +white boy, occasionally leaning over and drinking in the wisdom that +fell from the lips of a little Irishman; near the other, a pink-shirted +Indian lad, stolid and silent, but in his breast burning the fever that +stirs every boy who is going to a show.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3>WONDERS</h3> + + +<p>Perhaps if you were born in, or have visited, a great Eastern city you +have sat in an enormous amphitheater, a fifth of a mile in length, with +tiers and tiers of private boxes, and rows and rows of seats. In the<a name="Page_230" id="Page_230"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 230]</span> +sawdust arena you have seen three circus rings, a performance going on +in each; acrobats, bare-back riders, trained animals, what not; and +around the edge of it all a procession of clowns, doing their merry +stunts. And you have craned, strained, and twisted your neck, trying to +take it all in. And that is your idea of a show.</p> + +<p>In such a place sat Whitey, for that was what a show recalled to his +mind, but when he opened his eyes, and came away from that mind circus, +he was in a very different place.</p> + +<p>Large it was and barren, with rough-boarded sides; with lofts, and +stalls, and racks, and farming implements crowded into corners, and an +earthen floor, and—well, perhaps you have seen a big Western barn, +which answers the purpose of housing many things and animals. Such was +the setting in which the Mildini Troupe performed; the Pride of the +West!</p> + +<p>Each individual of the audience sat on whatever he, or she, could get to +sit upon; a saddle, a blanket, a box, a rare chair or two. Perhaps that +audience would have proved to you almost as interesting as the +performance, for it was made up of many sorts of men that the threshing<a name="Page_231" id="Page_231"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 231]</span> +had brought together—farm-hands, cowpunchers, store-keepers, +blacksmiths, bartenders, hold-up men, but no sheepherders. Sheepherders +were not welcome among threshers, nor in any other Western community. Of +women there were two—the wife of the foreman of the ranch, and one who +helped her.</p> + +<p>No person on the ranch was absent, for before the performance the +Mildinis had given a sort of sample of their talent; of what all were to +expect. A tight-rope had been stretched across the Yellowstone River, +and on this, clad in pink tights, balance-pole in hand, Signor Antolini +had walked, high over the more or less raging flood.</p> + +<p>Do you ever tire of shows? I hope you don't. I don't, and offhand I +can't think of many people who do. So I'll assume that, with Injun and +Whitey, you'd like to see a bit of this poor little troupe's efforts, +which were pathetic in a way, though no one thought of that.</p> + +<p>Whitey had been wondering what particular talents Mr. Mildini was master +of, and he found that they were many. He could and did dance, sing, and +tell comic stories in a number of dialects, all convulsing. But tricks<a name="Page_232" id="Page_232"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 232]</span> +were the crowning wonder of Mildini's performance, though he called them +"feats of magic."</p> + +<p>I'd hesitate to tell you the things he could take out of a silk hat; +live rabbits, endless strips of colored paper, jars of imitation +goldfish, and many other useless articles. It is true that the silk hat +was his, no one in the audience having been able to produce one, when +requested to do so but it was passed freely among the crowd to be +examined; to convince doubters that there was no "deception." Endless +eggs could Mildini take from his mouth, ears, hair, or from the mouth, +ears, or hair of any "gent" in the audience.</p> + +<p>And every one, from store-keeper to hold-up man, wondered and laughed +and was pleasantly deceived. And after one of the most difficult tricks, +when a puncher said, "I wonder what he's goin' t' do next?" the people +near Whitey were puzzled when he burst into laughter.</p> + +<p>Then there was Mrs. Mildini, who, it seemed, was "Mademoiselle Therese,"<a name="Page_233" id="Page_233"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 233]</span> +who not only could draw enchanting melodies from a violin, but could +make it speak in the language of various barnyard creatures, such as +geese, chickens, pigs—oh, almost anything. And the music she could +extract from one string—"one string, mind you, ladees and gentlemun!" +It was marvelous.</p> + +<p>It is true that she introduced an element of sadness in the evening when +she played "Home, Sweet Home," and "Way Down upon the Swanee River," +reducing even the bartenders and hold-up men almost to tears. But +possibly a touch of the serious lends a pleasant contrast to merriment.</p> + +<p>There remained Signor Antolini, who was the "World's Greatest +Contortionist," and who certainly could contort in a manner to shame an +angleworm: could twist his slim body into knots that it would seem +almost impossible to untie; and could pass it through a hoop through +which any sensible person would be willing to bet it couldn't go.</p> + +<p>Whitey had cause to remember this talent of the Signor's, for in after<a name="Page_234" id="Page_234"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 234]</span> +days when Whitey tried to pass <i>his</i> body through a small hoop, it +didn't pass. It held Whitey firmly, in a very painful position, all +twisted up like that. And as no one happened to be near, it was some +time before Whitey's yells brought Bill Jordan, who cut the hoop in two, +and instead of applauding, laughed.</p> + +<p>And last of all came a little play in which the "entire company" took +part, a comic little play, in which Signor Antolini was a professor who +was going to teach Mrs. Mildini to be an actress. But they were +constantly interrupted by Mr. Mildini, who was a funny darky, all +blacked up. And then it appeared that Mr. Mildini could play on many +instruments; one of them a long spoon, which he used as a flute. There +was no end to that man's talents. And to think he had been so friendly +and chatty with Whitey on the plains!</p> + +<p>Well, once in a while it's a good thing to forget that you ever were a +"city fellow," and saw wonderful performances, and to be able to enjoy a +simple show like this. And I suppose the world is a better place for the +Mildinis in it, who travel through rough countries, and for a little +while make people forget the hardships of their lives; lives sometimes +touched by tragedy.</p> + +<p>That's the way Whitey felt about it when, for the last time, the troupe +had left the small raised platform that had been built at one end of the +barn to represent a stage, and had retired to t<a name="Page_235" id="Page_235"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 235]</span>he stalls, which served +as dressing-rooms.</p> + +<p>The men of the audience were leaving, and most of their faces held +traces of the pleasure the Mildinis' efforts had given them; others had +returned to their usual hardness. Among the last was one the sight of +whom caused Injun to grip Whitey's arm so forcibly that he almost cried +out with pain as he was drawn back into the shadows and Injun pointed +out Henry Dorgan.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h3>THRESHING-TIME</h3> + + +<p>Injun was a being who ran more to feelings, or instincts, than to +reasons, and like many persons of that kind his instincts often ran<a name="Page_236" id="Page_236"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 236]</span> +truer to form than the reasons of others. While Dorgan was not a likable +man, he was not one whom everybody would distrust; he did not have the +word "villain" printed on his face. Yet Injun thought he was one, and if +asked for his reasons probably could not have told them.</p> + +<p>You know that Injun suspected Dorgan of taking Whitey's pony, and now +Whitey learned for the first time that Injun had seen Dorgan stealing +away from the sheep ranch on the night of the war. Whitey wondered why +Injun had not told him this before, but it was not Injun's way to tell +everything he knew, even to Whitey. That was one of Injun's charms.</p> + +<p>No one ever had suspected Dorgan of being a sheepman. He might have been +at that ranch as a mere visitor. Injun thought he went there on foot, +after Monty had been taken away from him. It is well known that in the +Old West horse-stealing was considered about the worst crime a man could +commit, not only because of the value of the horse, and a man's being so +dependent on it, but because the horse helped to steal itself, as all +one had to do was to get on it and ride away. It never would do to<a name="Page_237" id="Page_237"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 237]</span> +accuse Dorgan of the crime without pretty good proof.</p> + +<p>Of course, it made Whitey wild to think of any one's stealing Monty, and +as he and Injun stood in a corner of the barn, and talked the matter +over, they decided on the following course: they would stay at the +Hanley Ranch for a while; Dorgan had not seen them. If he ran away when +he did see them, that would be an indication of guilt, but no proof. But +if Dorgan stayed on, the boys might be able to get some proof of his +guilt. He was a dangerous man to deal with; that made it all the more +interesting. If they had known how dangerous Dorgan really was, they +might have considered the matter more seriously.</p> + +<p>The next morning the Mildini Troupe went on its way across the lonely +prairie, and Whitey watched the departure with regret. He would have +liked to travel farther with that troupe.</p> + +<p>The owner of the Hanley Ranch seldom came there. He lived in the East, +leaving the affairs of the place entirely in the hands of a manager +named Gilbert Steele. It was a common saying in that part of the country<a name="Page_238" id="Page_238"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 238]</span> +that "Gil Steele was as hard as his name." He was an ambitious and an +active man, and regarded every dollar wrung out of the ranch for its +owner as a sort of triumph for himself.</p> + +<p>There are men who are successful only when working for others; whose +every independent effort is a failure. Steele was such a man, and that +made him bitter, but none the less energetic. He acted not only as +manager, but as foreman of the ranch, which included two sections, +twelve hundred and eighty acres. And he had many enemies.</p> + +<p>Perhaps you have wondered at that queer audience in the barn, and why +threshing-time should bring it together. In those days in the West +threshing-time was an era of prosperity, and twenty-five or thirty men +would band together and buy a threshing-machine. They owned plenty of +horses, and they would go from ranch to ranch with this machine, and +thresh the grain. Now, this threshing-time being of short duration, it +drew into it men whose occupations were entirely different at other +times of the year. Hence, the bartenders, hold-up men, cowpunchers—whom +it would be fatal to ask where they came from—the blacksmiths, and the +store-keepers.</p> + +<p>Gil Steele had been at the Bar O, so Whitey was known to him, and he<a name="Page_239" id="Page_239"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 239]</span> +supposed that the boy had come merely to see the show. So Gil was rather +surprised, the next morning, when Whitey asked for a job for himself and +for Injun.</p> + +<p>"What do you want to work for?" Steele demanded. "Your father's got +plenty o' money."</p> + +<p>Whitey's real reason was that he wanted to be among the men to watch +Dorgan, but he equivocated—which is a pretty way of saying that he told +a white lie.</p> + +<p>"Bill Jordan thinks I'm a softy," Whitey replied. "He's trying to make +it so hard for me that I'll be glad to go back to school. And I want to +show Bill that I'm not afraid of work." You see, there was enough truth +in this to keep Whitey's conscience from aching.</p> + +<p>"All right," said Steele. "More hands mean quicker work and more money. +But I never heard of an Injun wanting to work before."</p> + +<p>"Tame Injun," Injun said solemnly, which was as near a joke as he ever<a name="Page_240" id="Page_240"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 240]</span> +came in the years Whitey knew him.</p> + +<p>This work came under the head of what a fellow doesn't really have to +do, and everybody knows the difference between that and labor that a +fellow does have to do—about the same difference that there is between +work and fun. The threshing-machine was run by horse power. You remember +Felix, the jack that Whitey rode across the prairie, and Felix's job of +turning the little grinding-mill? The horses had the same sort of job, +except that there were teams of them, revolving around a central pivot, +that furnished the power that worked the great machine in whose maw +sheaves of wheat were fed, to come out as grain.</p> + +<p>Injun and Whitey's jobs were to hold the sacks into which the grain +fell. And there they worked, from sunup to sundown, in the heat, and the +dust from the chaff, with never a murmur. They were happy because it +<i>wasn't</i> work, it was an adventure, with expectancy and danger in it. +And Gil Steele was happy, because he was practically getting the work of +two men for the pay of two boys.</p> + +<p>The sleeping quarters in the Hanley Ranch were altogether taken up by<a name="Page_241" id="Page_241"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 241]</span> +the extra help required to feed the threshers. So the threshers +themselves occupied tents, and it was in one of these that Whitey and +Injun were bedded, much to their joy. It fitted in with their plans to +watch Dorgan, and see if they could learn something that would confirm +their suspicions of him.</p> + +<p>So far Dorgan had been an utter disappointment. Not only had he +refrained from beating it, but he had greeted the boys pleasantly when +they met. As far as outward appearances went, Dorgan might have been a +Sunday school superintendent. Had he been one at heart, there would be +no more story for me to tell.</p> + +<p>But there were times when Dorgan could be forgotten. With a crowd like +that gathered on the Hanley Ranch, you can imagine the yarns there were +to spin in the long evenings, with nothing to do but spin them. Perhaps +some of the tales those men didn't dare to tell—the secrets hidden +behind their hardened faces, the faults, the crimes, the horrors that<a name="Page_242" id="Page_242"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 242]</span> +could have been revealed—these might have proved more thrilling than +the stories that came forth; but that is something that neither you, nor +Whitey, nor I will ever know.</p> + +<p>The tales that were told there had the proper setting, and if you have +thought much about stories you know what that means. You tell a ghost +story late at night, seated before a fireplace in an old country house. +The only light comes from the flames of the dying fire logs that flicker +as the wind howls down the chimney; the only sounds, the beating of the +rain on the walls and roof, and—during the creepy pauses in the +yarn—the creakings that a lonely house gives out in the night hours. +Tell that same story on a sun-lighted June morning, in the orchard, +when the trees are all in blossom. Oh, boy! you know the difference.</p> + +<p>One night when Whitey had been to the ranch house on an errand, he +returned to the tent to find a disturbance going on. Dorgan, who slept +in another tent, was a visitor. Somewhere he had obtained liquor; under +its influence his pleasant manner had fled, and he was picking on Injun.<a name="Page_243" id="Page_243"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 243]</span> +The dislike that Dorgan concealed during his sober moments had reached +the point at which he demanded that Injun be put out of the tent. It was +a place for white men, not for Injuns. Injun was not afraid of Dorgan, +and had no idea of leaving, so Dorgan was going to put him out. Injun +wasn't going to let Dorgan put him out.</p> + +<p>At this moment Whitey arrived. What would have happened to an unarmed +boy against a drunken, armed man or to two unarmed boys, for Whitey +started to interfere, is something else we never shall know, for a +cowboy put in his oar.</p> + +<p>You know that a cowboy remains a "boy" until he is old enough to die. +This one was sixty, he wasn't a typical puncher at all. He had a thin, +hawk-like face, steady gray eyes, rather long hair which also was gray +like his moustache and goatee. He had been a soldier and an Indian +fighter, and he looked it. As Dorgan lurched toward the boys, who stood +tense, with flashing eyes, and prepared for resistance, this cowboy +stepped between, and spoke to Dorgan.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't do that if I was you," he said, and he spoke in a sort of +drawl, but there didn't seem to be any drawl in his cool, gray eyes. In +spite of his condition Dorgan appeared to realize this, for he paused<a name="Page_244" id="Page_244"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 244]</span> +uncertainly. "I don't hold myself up as no defender o' Injuns," the old +puncher went on calmly, "but I've had a bit o' truck with 'em, fer an' +ag'inst, I'm some judge of 'em, an' I reck'n this one c'n stay right +here."</p> + +<p>Dorgan began to stiffen a little and his fingers clutched, as one's will +when one thinks of reaching for a gun. The other man had a gun, too, but +he made not the slightest movement toward it, and he spoke even more +quietly than before.</p> + +<p>"If I was you," he repeated, "bein' in th' c'ndition you're in, I'd beat +it. You may have objections for t' state, thinkin' this ain't none o' +my business, an' you c'n state 'em now—or f'rever hold your peace."</p> + +<p>Dorgan looked around the tent, as if for moral support, but didn't find +any. A singular quiet had fallen on the place; a sort of disconcerting +quiet. A warning ray of sense must have come into Dorgan's fuddled brain +as he looked again at the old puncher, for without a word he stumbled +out into the darkness.</p><p><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 245]</span></p> + +<p>"That was mighty fine of you," Whitey said warmly, but the old man +didn't seem to hear him.</p> + +<p>He sat down and built a cigarette, and when it was lighted began to +drawl between puffs. "There's a lot o' folks that don't know nothin' +'bout Injuns, that has a lot o' 'pinions concernin' 'em," he said. "They +say you've got t' live with a feller t' know him, but that ain't so. You +c'n find out a lot by fightin' him. That's how I got my feelin' for +Injuns, an' it's th' kind you have for a good fighter."</p> + +<p>The incident with Dorgan seemed to have passed from his mind, though +Whitey had lived long enough in the West to know that tragedy had +lurked near. The old puncher leaned back, his hands behind his head, and +puffed clouds of smoke into the air. He looked at the smoke as though he +saw pictures in it. Then he carefully threw the cigarette down and +ground his heel into it. As the other men had remained silent while he +was talking to Dorgan, they remained silent now.</p> +<p><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 246]</span></p> +<p>He was a product of an epic time in the West, a time when the others had +been boys. Naturally a quiet man, he had had little to say. He also was +known as a dangerous man, and when a quiet and dangerous man seems +inclined to talk, it is sometimes worth while to wait. Instead of +speaking, he rolled another cigarette, and again looked into the smoke.</p> + +<p>But presently the old puncher awoke from his dream and looked at the +surrounding faces, some coarse, some wicked, but all attentive, all +plainly inviting him to talk.</p><p><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 247]</span></p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, a feller that was in th' Seventh Cavalry, in th' old days, +got a good many lessons 'bout Injuns," he began. "An' if you like, I c'n +tell you some things 'bout th' biggest Injun fight that ever happened +in these parts, 'cause I was there."</p> + +<p>So he told the story, and I shall leave out the questions with which it +was interrupted.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h3>THE STORY OF THE CUSTER FIGHT</h3> + + +<p>"You know my bein' with Major Reno is why I'm able t' tell this story, +'cause all th' Old Man's outfit—'Old Man' bein' what we called General +Custer—was wiped out.</p> + +<p>"Us soldiers didn't know all th' ins an' outs o' what was goin' on, but<a name="Page_248" id="Page_248"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 248]</span> +we did know that th' Old Man was a whole lot dissatisfied. There'd bin a +lot o' talk 'bout him havin' gone t' Washington, an' havin' a talk with +President Grant, at which interview, so 'twas said, th' President'd told +him th' first duty of a soldier was obedience, but we didn't know +nothin' 'bout that—whether 'twas true or 'twasn't true. All we knowed +was that he was away a long time, an' when he come back he sure had fire +in his eye.</p> + +<p>"General Terry was in command at old Fort Buford, an' when th' Injuns +broke out, he was in command of all th' soldiers in that part of th' +country. General Phil Sheridan was his chief, but we never seen him.</p> + +<p>"Well, when the Injuns broke loose, Terry he thought as it was th' +spring o' th' year, it was a good time t' get 'em. So 'bout th' first o' +June, '76, all th' get-ready stuff was gone over, an' all th' good-byes +was said with them as had famblies, an' we was loaded onto th' steamer +Far West, an' headed down th' old Missouri.</p> + +<p>"When we got to th' mouth o' th' Yellowstone it was June twenty-first.<a name="Page_249" id="Page_249"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 249]</span> +We unloaded. An' General Terry says t' our Old Man—don't forget we just +called him that; General Custer was only thirty-eight years old—Terry +says, 'You take your Seventh men an' scout ahead an' let Charlie +Reynolds go ahead o' you.' 'Cause everybody knowed that Charlie Reynolds +savvied Injuns an' Injun ways better'n any white man that ever +lived—him that was known as 'Lonesome Charlie.'</p> + +<p>"An' Terry he says t' Custer, our Old Man, 'When you get t' th' Little +Big Horn country you wait for me, as I'm travelin' heavy. I'll be four +days makin' it.'</p> + +<p>"An' again says Terry t' our Old Man: 'If you see any Injuns in force, +halt an' stay there till I come up, but don't start any fight unless +they force it on you, an' if they do force it on you, fight on th' +defensive'—which, as you all know, is backin' up. 'Fight on th' +defensive till I come up with you, an' then we'll give 'em hell.'</p> + +<p>"Our Old Man he said, 'You bet,' an' we left.</p> + +<p>"General Custer he was in command, and Colonel Benteen an' Major Reno +was his officers. After doin' twenty or thirty miles in th' saddle, we<a name="Page_250" id="Page_250"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 250]</span> +was sure a s'prised bunch o' rookies when we didn't stop. We didn't +stop. No, siree! We kep' right on a-goin'. We didn't stop when we hit +forty miles, nor sixty miles, nor eighty miles. It was ninety miles from +where we left Terry when th' Old Man said, 'Coffee an' biscuits,' an' +believe me, we wanted 'em bad.</p> + +<p>"We'd bin in th' saddle for twenty-two hours, an' if you don't think +that's ridin', try it sometime. The hosses was all in. My hoss—'Long +Tom' I called him—he layed down as soon as I off-saddled him, an' stuck +his face into his nose-bag an' eat layin' down. First time I ever seen a +hoss do that.</p> + +<p>"Charlie Reynolds, he was ahead, an' he come back an' had a pow-wow +with th' Old Man an' Reno an' Benteen, an' we seen 'em workin' th' field +glasses overtime. 'Course, we didn't know what was bein' said, or what +was goin' on. All we c'd see was that they was mighty excited like. All +except Charlie. He musta had his say an' then stopped—Injun like. +'Cause Charlie, he was just a white Injun.</p> + +<p>"I got Lieutenant Hodgson to let me have a peep through his glasses.<a name="Page_251" id="Page_251"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 251]</span> +After a ride like that, in a Injun country, a regular c'n be quite on +speakin' terms with his officers, an' when I looked through them glasses +what I seed didn't mean much t' me. 'Way off, down by th' river, was +some tepees an' stuff layin' 'round, just like it was a Injun camp. +That's what it looked like t' me, an' that's what I found out afterwards +was what it looked like t' th' Old Man.</p> + +<p>"Benteen an' Reno, they wasn't expressin' much opinion, as they was +expectin' t' stay right where they was an' wait devel'pments, like Terry +said they was t' do, but th' Old Man, he said, 'Attack!' An' right there +was where Charlie Reynolds come in.</p> + +<p>"He says that th' Injun village was a decoy; that he c'd tell by th' +stuff, th' buffalo robes an' all, that was layin' 'round; that there was +eight thousand fightin' Injuns in that part of th' country, an' that it +was a safe bet that seven thousand nine hundred an' ninety-nine was +layin' right in behind them hog-backs—low hills—a-waitin' for us.</p> + +<p>"But th' Old Man was mad. He was out t' do somethin' an' he was a-goin'<a name="Page_252" id="Page_252"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 252]</span> +t' do it. An' he says, 'You're all wrong, but we're goin' t' attack, +anyhow.'</p> + +<p>"An' Charlie he says somethin', an' walks away, an' I seen th' Old Man +starin' an' glarin', an' I says t' m'self, 'When we git back t' th' Fort +it's a court-martial for Charlie, sure.' An' then it all happened.</p> + +<p>"Boots an' saddles, an' we that was so all-in we c'd just stretch out +an' groan with tiredness, was up an' on th' move. My hoss, Long +Tom,—an' he was as game a animal as ever lived,—just wavered an' +swayed when I hit th' saddle. Gee, boys! we was sure an all-in bunch!</p> + +<p>"Why did th' Old Man do it? How in thunder do I know? He just done it. +I'm supposin' he was sort o' smartin' under them stay-back orders he +had, an' such like, an' just nachally cut th' cable; same as Admiral +Dewey done at Manila Bay, only Dewey, he won out, an' our Old Man—well, +that's th' story.</p> +<p><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 253]</span></p> +<p>"But just to digress or switch off, or whatever that big word is, for a +minute. I want t' say that our Old Man, whatever his faults was,—an' I +guess he had a-plenty,—he was game. He was a fighter. He said, 'Come +ahead,' every time: he never said, 'Go ahead,' An' if all th' boys +layin' out there on th' prairie in their graves c'd tell, I'm bettin' my +six-shooter ag'in' what you all know about th' Rooshian langwidge that +they'd say as how th' Old Man died with a sword in one hand an' a gun in +th' other, a-lookin' right into th' sun.</p> + +<p>"Well, we made a wide circle—a detower—an' come up ag'in 'way behind +th' village, an' right there th' Old Man made his great mistake. I ain't +blamin' him none, but it sure shows how a big man c'n lose his head just +by bein' crazy mad an' wantin' t' fight. Even th' rookies, what had +seen a lot o' service, knowed that he was makin' himself liable—an' him +a general—t' be called up on a drumhead court-martial.</p> + +<p>"There he was, a thousand miles from anywhere, dividin' his force in th' +face of a superior enemy. An' that enemy th' greatest fighters that ever +th' sun shined on. You know we men that fighted Injuns knows what they +was made of. All this talk 'bout Injuns not bein' fighters, an' not<a name="Page_254" id="Page_254"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 254]</span> +bein' game, an' one white man bein' as good as ten Injuns, makes me feel +like th' organ-grinder Dago what said, 'It makes me sick, an' makes th' +monkey sick, too!'</p> + +<p>"Well, to git back. Gee, you fellers'll think I'm a Williams J. Bryant +runnin' f'r President. Notice I said runnin'! No, I ain't tryin' t' be +funny. I just wish I could be. It'd sort o' take th' weight off th' +awfulness of what I remember as what happened, an' what I can't tell +right 'cause I ain't got eddication an' brains enough.</p> + +<p>"Th' Old Man, he split us up, him takin' companies C, E, F, I, and L, +givin' Benteen four companies an' Reno three companies. He ordered Reno +t' go t' th' left an' cross th' Little Big Horn an' attack, th' Injuns +from th' rear. Benteen he told t' go straight ahead, an' he himself took +th' right. I was with Reno, an' I saw personal what he was up ag'inst. +We crossed th' Little Big Horn an' went right into what seemed a million +warriors.</p> + +<p>"I was right alongside of Lieutenant Hodgson, Lieutenant McIntosh, an'<a name="Page_255" id="Page_255"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 255]</span> +Doctor De Wolf when they fell, an' I see Charlie Reynolds—he'd refused +t' go with th' Old Man—put up a fight that if I was a artist, an' c'd +draw pictures, I c'd make a fortune puttin' it on paper. He started with +a Springfield, then went to his six-shooter, an' wound up with a knife +before he went down with a bullet through his heart an' at least a dozen +Injuns piled all 'round him. Suicide, I reck'n it was. He knowed he was +right, but he also knowed he'd disobeyed orders, an' he just kept pilin' +right in till he got his.</p> + +<p>"Reno done th' only thing he could do. He retreated back across th' +river, an' got up ag'in a bluff 'bout three hunderd feet high. Reno +Hill, they call it now. An' there we fought for five or six hours, when +Benteen, who'd bin fightin' in th' center, heard heavy firin' over on +his right where Custer was. An' Benteen, he bein' a honest-t'-God Injun +fighter, he knowed that Custer was gone, so he fought his way through to +us, knowin' that we had th' hill behind us.</p> + +<p>"An' for three days we kept goin'—not runnin', just standin' an' layin' +down there fightin'. Sure, we stopped firin' at night, but we didn't +stop work. We dug all night long, usin' knives, tin cups, an' plates<a name="Page_256" id="Page_256"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 256]</span> +instead o' spades an' picks, makin' breast-works; an' then we started +fightin' all over ag'in in th' mornin'.</p> + +<p>"Say, boys, I ain't strong f'r prohibition. It'd take me ten years t' +git up nerve enough t' put my foot on a brass rail an' order sody-water +in a drug store, but let me tell you somethin'. On th' afternoon o' that +second day's fightin' there was nothin' on earth to us like water. Th' +wounded was beggin' for it. Oh, boys, they was beggin' for it somethin' +pitiful, an' we that wasn't wounded, our tongues was all swollen an' our +lips was parched till they cracked open. So some of th' boys volunteered +t' go to th' river, an' we took canteens an' camp kettles an' started.</p> + +<p>"One of us never come back, an' a lot of us got shot up, but we got +water. Not much, but we got water. I never will forget how I wanted t' +wet my hoss, Long Tom's, tongue, but a wounded bunkie he needed it. That +night we went ag'in an' got some for th' stock, an' it was just in time, +for they sure was dyin' for it.</p> + +<p>"Th' fightin' opened ag'in next mornin', an' kept goin' till th' +afternoon. It was th' twenty-seventh o' June, when all at once we seen a<a name="Page_257" id="Page_257"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 257]</span> +panic start among th' Injuns, an' they began t' stampede, leavin' their +dead all over th' hills. An' Terry come into sight, an' strong men cried +on each other's necks—an' I ain't a bit ashamed t' say that I was one +of 'em.</p> + +<p>"When Terry got in, an' congratulatin' an' hand-shakin' was all over, +Lieutenant Bradley he come in, sayin' he'd found Custer, an' we all +dragged ourselves to th' spot.</p> + +<p>"There they was, all dead, two hunderd an' sixty-one of 'em. Not one +lived t' tell th' tale. Them that'd bin deployed as skirmishers lay as +they fell, havin' bin entirely surrounded in an open plain. The men in +th' companies fell in platoons, an', like them on th' skirmish line, +lay just as they fell, with their officers behind 'em in th' right +places.</p> + +<p>"Th' Old Man, General Custer, was in th' middle, an' round him lay th' +bodies of Captain Tom Custer an' Boston Custer, his brothers, Colonel +Calhoun, his brother-in-law, an' young Reed, his nephew. An' right near +was Mark Kellogg, th' Bismarck Tribune's newspaper man. He wasn't<a name="Page_258" id="Page_258"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 258]</span> +scalped or touched; just lay as he fell.</p> + +<p>"Kellogg savvied Injuns, an' used t' say in his paper, 'Hold on a +minute, let's talk this over,' when all th' long-whiskered grangers, +what had come in from Illinois, would raise a holler, an' want th' +United States soldiers t' kick th' Injuns off th' land what they owned. +An' th' Injuns remembered, even when they was crazy with fightin'. An' +just th' same as they didn't touch th' White Chief, Custer, just th' +same they didn't touch th' feller what shoved a lead pencil an' once in +a while said, 'Give 'em a chance.'</p> + +<p>"Did they ever find out how many Injuns was there? Not def'nite, but +near enough. On th' tenth annivers'ry of th' fight th' survivors held a +reunion on th' battle-field, an' bein' as I was line-ridin' for Tracy's +Tumble H outfit at th' time, I sneaked off an' went over.</p> + +<p>"They'd done a wonderful thing; somethin' that'd never bin done before, +an' most likely never'll be done ag'in. Dave Barry—him as th' Injuns<a name="Page_259" id="Page_259"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 259]</span> +called 'th' Shadow Catcher'—was a great friend o' Charlie Reynolds, +Barry speakin' Injun talk, an' bein' adopted into th' tribe, an' +savvyin' Injun ways just th' same as Charlie did. An' Dave wanted t' get +the real dope on th' fight on Charlie's account, an' him bein' also a +close friend of old John Gall, th' chief what led th' Injuns in th' big +fight.</p> + +<p>"Now, Barry he persuaded—nobody knows how he done it—he persuaded John +Gall t' go along t' this reunion. An' then, as if one miracle wasn't +enough, he pulled another. By golly, he got th' old man t' make a talk. +Boys, it sure was some picture, on that June evenin', t' see that Injun +when th' blanket fell off his shoulders, standin' like one o' them +bronze statutes, with th' settin' sun a-hittin' him. I sure never will +forget it. Old Gall, he pointed here an' there, showin' where +Rain-in-th'-Face was, an' where Crazy Hoss was, an' where Crow King +was—an' all th' rest of th' other chiefs.</p> + +<p>"An' then Barry, who was interpretin' for th' old Injun, asked him +quiet-like, in th' Injun lingo, 'How many of you was there, John?' An' +th' old Injun he paused like, while every one waited t' hear, an' then +he pointed to th' ground, an' said some Injun words. An' Barry, he said<a name="Page_260" id="Page_260"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 260]</span> +in that quiet, firm, even voice o' his'n, 'We were like the blades of +grass on the ground.' So you see what th' old Seventh was up ag'inst, +boys.</p> + +<p>"A mighty funny thing happened after th' talk. You all know Will Curley. +He's s'posed t' be th' only survivor of Custer's men. No, I ain't sure +he is. How should I know? I wasn't there, I was with Reno, two miles +away. Well, th' bunch sorta interduced, or tried t' interduce, Old John +t' Will Curley.</p> + +<p>"Will Curley had somehow got himself a brand-new Stetson, in celebration +of th' occasion, an' when Barry said, in Injun talk, 'John, this is Will +Curley,' Old John he never moved a muscle, but his eyes looked like +forked lightnin'. You know, Curley is a Crow—th' perpetual enemy of th' +Sioux—an' in addition t' that, Curley he was a scout for th' whites. +Old Gall he walked slowly over t' Curley, with a walk that made me think +o' nothin' else on earth but a painter, an' when he got t' Will he +paused, with everybody holdin' their breath t' see what'd happen, an' +then it did happen!</p> + +<p>"Th' old man reached out an' took that brand-new Stetson off Will +Curley's head, an' shook it an' knocked it on all sides, an' put it on<a name="Page_261" id="Page_261"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 261]</span> +his own head an' walked away. Insultin'!—all I c'n say is, if it ever +happened t' me, it'd be my dyin' wish that I'd have a gun in each hand."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>A few moments of silence followed the old cow-puncher's story. In +reciting this page from the book of his life he had lost thought of his +surroundings, but now he remembered, and seemed startled at having +talked so much. He retired within himself, his eyes taking on an +introspective look as though, as one of the boys expressed it, "he was +tellin' stories t' himself."</p> + +<p>He paid no heed to the comments the men made on his story of the Custer +fight. It had impressed them because it had rung true. The comments were +made in murmurs or whispers. As Injun had sat during the tale he sat +now; stolid, expressionless. Now and then Whitey stole a look at him. In +his mind Whitey was connecting the old puncher's story with the one +Injun had told in the bunk house at the Bar O, and with what Bill Jordan<a name="Page_262" id="Page_262"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 262]</span> +had said afterwards; that Injun had revealed the start or source of the +greatest Indian fight the country ever knew.</p> + +<p>It had been a hard day, and one by one the men dropped off to sleep, +until only Whitey and the old puncher were left, he rolling an +occasional cigarette, and living in that past which the events of the +night had brought back to him. Whitey realized this, and had to admit +that it was a pretty exciting place in which to live. And he wondered if +the old puncher would like to have another page in his book of life; a +sort of explanatory page, like the key in an arithmetic.</p> + +<p>It was almost dark in the tent. Only one lighted lantern hung from a +pole. And in low tones, so as not to disturb the sleepers, Whitey told +the old man the story of Injun's mamma's brother and his friend the +scout; and of the White Chief, and the dance, and the arrest and the +escape; and of Injun's father's resolve that "we fight heap!"</p> + +<p>The old puncher didn't know who these Indians were of whom Whitey was +talking, but he listened politely at first and interestedly at last. And +when Whitey had finished the story, he added, "<a name="Page_263" id="Page_263"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 263]</span>Injun's uncle was old +Rain-in-the-Face, and he was a great friend of Charlie Reynolds, the +scout."</p> + +<p>Then Whitey crept off to bed, and allowed the old man to figure out in +his mind—as Bill Jordan had done—the start of "the doggonedest Injun +fight this country ever knowed!" And far into the night the old +cowpuncher thought of this other page, added to the book that was to +entertain him as he went down the steeper side of the hill of life.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h3>UNREST</h3> + + +<p>The second and last week of the threshing at the Hanley Ranch was well +on its way, and nothing had occurred to break the routine of hard work<a name="Page_264" id="Page_264"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 264]</span> +in the daytime and nights spent in a tent, in an atmosphere laden with +tobacco smoke and the yarns of rough men.</p> + +<p>The boys had not succeeded in confirming their suspicions against Henry +Dorgan, and if Dorgan felt any resentment against them, or against the +old cowpuncher who had defended them, he failed to show it.</p> + +<p>Whitey now discovered a new trait in his friend Injun—persistence. +Injun was very determined in his efforts to get something on Dorgan. He +had made up his mind that Dorgan had stolen Monty, and his mind was not +like a bed that could be unmade easier than it could be made up. At +first Whitey thought that this was a phase of the Indian's well-known +desire for vengeance, but Injun didn't seem to be vindictive in the +matter. He didn't even mention Dorgan's attempt to put him out of the +tent. Whitey was interested in this trait of Injun's and liked him the +more for it. If Injun was a stick-to-itive fellow, so was Whitey. He +would show Bill Jordan that he couldn't make a fool of him and get away +with it.</p> + +<p>And finally, as a reward of perseverance, Injun did get something on<a name="Page_265" id="Page_265"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 265]</span> +Dorgan, though it didn't amount to much. Injun averred, and it may have +been true, that Monty had a deadly fascination for Dorgan; that when +Monty was around, Dorgan couldn't keep his eyes off him. And Injun said +that he saw Dorgan approach Monty in the corral, probably to admire him +more closely, and that Monty showed great hatred for Dorgan; laid back +his ears and bit and kicked at Dorgan.</p> + +<p>"Him no like um. Him must know um," declared Injun, being firmly +convinced that Monty's actions indicated a close acquaintance with +Dorgan.</p> + +<p>However, Monty couldn't give any spoken evidence that Dorgan had stolen +him, so there the matter rested. And there was something else to occupy +the boys' minds. There seemed to be a vague feeling of unrest at the +ranch. There always had been bad blood between Gil Steele and the +workers. He not only was a hard taskmaster, getting the last ounce of +work out of the men, but he was close in money matters, and had all<a name="Page_266" id="Page_266"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 266]</span> +sorts of fines and penalties he imposed when the men were late or +neglected their work. There was continual wrangling and haggling.</p> + +<p>With this sort of thing on the surface you will understand that it would +be easy to stir up more serious trouble from underneath, and something +of the sort was going on. It was something Whitey couldn't put his hand +on, but he could read it in signs shown by some of the men. And there +were mysterious meetings and gatherings of the disaffected ones.</p> + +<p>Of course, Injun was quick to sense all this, and had no scruples about +butting in and finding out all about the trouble. As bad examples are as +catching as good ones, and more so, Whitey joined Injun in his +investigations. So behold! A dark night on the prairie. A tent showing +only a streak of yellow light where the opening folds did not quite +meet. Two boys lying on their stomachs near the edge of the tent, +industriously listening.</p> + +<p>This was not their own tent. There seemed to be few grumblers in that. +It was the tent in which Henry Dorgan was housed. And listen as they +might, and sharp as Injun's ears were, they heard nothing definite. Just<a name="Page_267" id="Page_267"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 267]</span> +murmurs, an occasional oath or two, and what might have been threats, in +louder tones. It was very discouraging. So at last they returned to +their own tent, to the yarn-spinning threshers and the silent old +cowpuncher.</p> + +<p>Whitey soon gave up this form of effort, but Injun did not; possibly +because Dorgan was in the other tent. Friday night came, almost the last +of the threshing. Injun was absent on his eavesdropping quest, which so +far had yielded nothing. The men in Whitey's tent were merrier than +usual and, it must be admitted, more profane. Then along came bad luck, +in the person of Mrs. Gilbert Steele.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Steele, you must know, was one of these motherly women who didn't +have anything to mother. She was stout, round-faced, good-natured, and +industrious; quite the opposite to her rather cold-blooded husband. And +this matter of her not having anything to mother was responsible for +many things, as you shall learn. Threshing-time was rush time with her. +She had few chances to think of anything except food, but this night she<a name="Page_268" id="Page_268"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 268]</span> +happened to have a little leisure, and had devoted it to consideration +of Whitey. "That poor boy out in that tent with all those rough men. Why +didn't I think of him before?"</p> + +<p>So Mrs. Steele had waddled out to the tent, and had arrived at a moment +when there was a particularly strong outburst of profanity on the part +of one of the rough men. Though this was nipped in the bud as Mrs. +Steele entered the tent, it caused her to reproach herself more bitterly +than before. She promptly took Whitey under her wing and told him that, +crowded as the ranch house was, a place there should be found for him to +sleep.</p> + +<p>Whitey was greatly taken aback. Of course he didn't want to go. He +thought it made him look foolish in the eyes of the men, and it did. He +thought he might get out of it by explaining to Mrs. Steele, and he +didn't. Perhaps that lady believed that Injun's morals were swear-proof, +or that he didn't have any, for she didn't mention him. And to crown<a name="Page_269" id="Page_269"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 269]</span> +Whitey's annoyance and chagrin, just as he was being led away to the +darned old house Injun appeared. And his face was lighted up—for +Injun's. And his eyes were shining with an unholy light. For he had +heard something!</p> + +<p>There would have been another story to tell if Injun had acted +differently. But in the first place he was an Indian, and it was not in +his blood to follow any fat white woman and rescue a boy from her +clutches. In the next place he was Injun; he had his own personality. We +Caucasians are apt to think that because the red and yellow people look +pretty much alike, they all are alike. Then when we come to know them, +and find that they have as many differences as we have, we are rather +surprised. This may be conceited of us, but it is natural. You probably +know by now that Injun was a very independent person. So he started off +to take charge of affairs himself.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Whitey, feeling much like a fool, and possibly looking like +one had there been light enough to see, was being led to the ranch<a name="Page_270" id="Page_270"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 270]</span> +house. Arrived there and seated in the living-room, motherly Mrs. Steele +apologized for not thinking of him before, and surrounding him with all +the comforts of home, away from those vulgar men. She was inclined to be +proud of herself for having done so at this late hour. Had she known +what Whitey was thinking about the comforts of home and about her, she +would not have been so proud.</p> + +<p>For a while she entertained Whitey by talking about New York, which she +had visited ten years before, when on her honeymoon. She was surprised +to learn that Whitey had not even heard of any of the people she had met +there, he having been born in New York and having lived there the first +fourteen years of his life. Well, well; it was a queer world, anyway. +Perhaps you will get the best idea of how unhappy Whitey was by +imagining yourself in the same position.</p> + +<p>In his misery Whitey formed vague plans for escape. Then a new horror +awaited him. He was to sleep in the Steeles' bedroom, in a cot at the +foot of their bed! In vain he protested that the living-room floor was +good enough for him. Mrs. Steele wouldn't hear of it. So he was shown +into the bedroom, and when he was undressed and clothed in one of Gil +Steele's long white night-shirts, Mrs. Steele returned and took his +clothes away to brush them!</p><p><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 271]</span></p> + +<p>Whitey's cup of bitterness was full. This was a fine position for a hero +to be in. He tried the sour-grapes idea: perhaps Injun hadn't learned +anything that amounted to anything, after all. But that didn't work. +There were no two ways about it, he was an abused being. By golly, this +was worse than school! But after working hard all day in the hot sun, +even an abused being will get sleepy. So at last the curtain of sleep +fell on Whitey; of dreamless sleep—perhaps he was too mad to dream.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h3>THE NEW ORDER</h3> + + +<p>At midnight Whitey was awakened; awakened and almost strangled at the +same time. A hand was clamped across his mouth, with force enough to +push his teeth down his throat. A lamp burned low in the room. Whitey +saw Mrs. Steele bending over him. Her face was ashen with fear. Her +eyes, bulging from her head, looked to Whitey to be the size of saucers.<a name="Page_272" id="Page_272"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 272]</span> +Whitey struggled vainly in her clutch.</p> + +<p>"They're going to kill my husband!" she gasped. "Go, go to your father's +ranch. Get the vigilantes. Bring them here quick, for God's sake! +They'll murder him, they'll murder him!"</p> + +<p>She dragged Whitey from the bed and, half pulling him behind her, groped +her way to the side door of the ranch house and into the blackness of +the night. Tied to a bush, by a hackamore, was an iron-gray colt, the +fastest on the ranch. After that night's work he was known to be the +fastest in that part of the country.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Steele gave the half-awakened Whitey a "foot up" upon the pony, +untied the hackamore, and he was gone. Fortunately for Whitey the horse +was turned in the right direction. That pony had been wanting to run +ever since he was born. This was the first time he ever had had a +chance, and he sure took advantage of it.</p><p><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 273]</span></p> + +<p>Back toward the men's quarters the night was fractured by sounds like +those of a healthy young riot. These meant nothing to Whitey, nor did +the pung! pung! of bullets, when he started, or rather when the colt +started. Perhaps the men were shooting wide, or perhaps the pony was +going so fast the bullets couldn't catch him. Be it said for the +threshers they didn't know they were shooting at a boy.</p> + +<p>You will admit that being wakened from a sound sleep, shot on to the +back of an almost wild colt, and borne across a dark prairie at +lightning speed does not tend to make one think clearly. Whitey had only +one lucid thought during that ride. If any cowpunchers mistook his +white-clad figure for a ghost, they couldn't shoot him—he was going +too fast. In a vague way he was thankful for this.</p> + +<p>The distance was fourteen miles, and it seemed to Whitey as though he +made it in thirteen jumps. When the pony arrived at the Bar O Ranch, he +still had the boy with him. And when Whitey pulled up the restless colt, +and roused the slumbering household, he had another sensation coming, +for his father was there.</p><p><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 274]</span></p> + +<p>Mr. Sherwood had intended his coming to the ranch that day as a +surprise, and it was. And he had had a surprise coming to him. He had +laughed when Bill Jordan told him how he was hazing Whitey. Then Walt +Lampson, of the Star Circle, had arrived with Mart Cooley, who was now +working for Walt. They had dropped in to see if Whitey had arrived home +safely, supposing that he had started for home when he left the Star +Circle.</p> + +<p>When it was learned that Whitey wasn't at home, and no one knew where he +was, Mr. Sherwood had his surprise, and it wasn't pleasant. And Bill +Jordan looked crestfallen. They had talked it over till late, and +decided to start a search for Whitey in the morning. Then, when Whitey, +clad in a large night-shirt and riding a half-wild pony, came to summon +the vigilantes—well, it seemed a time for surprises.</p> + +<p>The men hastily dressed and armed themselves, summoned all the others on +the ranch, and saddled their horses. While this is going on, at the risk<a name="Page_275" id="Page_275"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 275]</span> +of telling you something you already know, a word about the vigilantes. +In the Old West various bodies of men were formed to clean up the wilder +elements. Sometimes they enforced their law by being lawless themselves. +They made a man be good if they had to hang him to do it. The law was +weak. By harsh, rough treatment—as a tigress might treat its cub—they +made it strong. And when the law was strong and able to care for +itself—again like the tigress—they allowed it to do so; the vigilantes +disbanded.</p> + +<p>The Bar O mustered about ten men. The rider of the fastest horse dashed +ahead to the Junction, to get reënforcements to join the ranchmen on +their way to the scene of action. And now came bitter, oh, bitter! +disappointment for Whitey. He was not to be allowed to go. He had been +hero enough. The only clothing that iron-gray pony had on during that +fourteen-mile ride was a hackamore, and the only clothing Whitey had on +was a night-shirt. He was fit for nothing except to lie face downward +and sleep—no attitude for a hero.</p> +<p><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 276]</span></p> +<p>Whitey begged, he appealed, he almost wept, but his father was firm. He +was willing to risk his own life; he would not risk his son's. So, with +tears in his eyes, Whitey stood and watched the party gallop away in the +darkness. And beside him, a lantern in his hand, stood the cook, an +elderly man who had taken Wong Lee's place. And he watched wistfully, +too, for he wanted to go, but he had left one of his legs on a Southern +battle-field.</p> + +<p>Whitey choked back a sob with which the silence would have been broken. +He felt something warm and moist on his hand, and looked down. It was +the tongue of Sitting Bull, the faithful—forgotten but not forgetting. +And as Whitey gazed at the friendly ugly face of the dog, he noted the +determination marked in every feature of it. He could not imagine any +one's stopping Bull from going into a fight if he wanted to go into it. +And perhaps unconsciously Whitey's under lip and jaw shot out, and his +face took on much the expression of Bull's. Whitey would like to see any +one stop <i>him</i> from going.</p> +<p><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 277]</span></p> +<p>That new, elderly cook not only approved of Whitey's purpose of +disobedience or rebellion, he aided him in it; yes, if it cost him his +job! There was the iron-gray colt, still restless and as ready for the +fourteen-mile ride back as he was for his breakfast. While Whitey limped +into the ranch house for some clothing and footwear, the cook had his +own troubles getting his own saddle and bridle on that pony.</p> + +<p>When Whitey reappeared and was helped into the saddle, he let out a yell +of agony and helped himself out again. This would never do. The leather +felt like hot iron. A consultation. The cook's blankets were brought +out, folded and cinched on the saddle, the stirrups shortened. Again +Whitey mounted. The torture was somewhat less. Painfully he galloped +away. A last look back showed the lantern on the ground, the cook +kneeling beside it, with both arms around Sitting Bull, restraining that +warrior from following.</p> + +<p>When the Bar O men and Lampson and Cooley were joined by the contingent +from the Junction, about forty determined vigilantes dashed over the +prairie. Their horses were fresh and they made good speed. The cloudy +darkness had given way to starlight that dimly illumined the still<a name="Page_278" id="Page_278"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 278]</span> +night. Mr. Sherwood had aimed at a sufficient force to overawe the +threshers, if possible. There was little talk.</p> + +<p>They had made perhaps ten miles when there was a distraction. A horse +came galloping toward them. A dozen rifles were drawn from their +gunboats. When the horse drew near, it made a detour, avoiding them, and +eyes accustomed to the darkness could see that it was riderless. With no +pause, but commenting on this, they rode on.</p> + +<p>About two miles farther on, from the surface of the plain came a flash +of flame and the short bark of a forty-five, followed by another and +another. The men reined in, but the shots were directed the other way. +The marksman was evidently too occupied with his invisible target to +notice them. But on their nearer approach he rose to his feet and +started to run. A shot over his head, a sharp command, and he halted and +was surrounded by the vigilantes, but not before he had slily dropped +some object in the grass. One of the men dismounted and struck a match.</p> + +<p>"Why, it's Henry Dorgan!" exclaimed Mart Cooley.</p><p><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 279]</span></p> + +<p>Dorgan appeared to be greatly flustered and in pain. His left arm was +helpless from a wound in the shoulder, and from the fleshy part of it an +arrow protruded. It probably had been less painful to leave it there +than to pull it out. It was a home-made arrow.</p> + +<p>"What you shootin' at?" demanded Bill Jordan.</p> + +<p>"That infernal Injun," whined Dorgan. "He's bin pesterin' me; follerin' +me like a shadow."</p> + +<p>The vigilantes peered into the darkness, and made out a hummock on the +prairie. It was a dead horse, and from behind it Injun rose and came +toward the group. He had been reassured by the sound of Bill's voice.</p> + +<p>"Lemme go!" cried Dorgan. "I don't want no more truck with him," and he +started as if to run, but was roughly held back.</p> + +<p>"What's all this rumpus about, Injun?" Bill Jordan demanded, when the +boy was within hearing.</p> + +<p>Injun indicated Dorgan. "Him steal Monty," he said.</p><p><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 280]</span></p> + +<p>"Is that Monty lying dead over there?" Mr. Sherwood inquired anxiously.</p> + +<p>"No. Him run away," Injun replied.</p> + +<p>"Then it musta bin Monty that passed us," said Bill Jordan.</p> + +<p>Through short, sharp questioning it was developed that Injun had seen +Dorgan take Monty from the Hanley Ranch corral, had borrowed a mount for +himself, and followed; that he had winged Dorgan with an arrow, the +shock of which had jarred him so that he had fallen from the pony. The +other arrow in Dorgan's arm was the result of another lucky shot by +Injun. When the vigilantes arrived, Dorgan was striving to return the +compliment. He had succeeded in killing Injun's borrowed horse, behind +which that expert young person had barricaded himself. It took but a +minute to tell this story. Again Injun indicated Dorgan and said:</p> + +<p>"Him drop something." Running back in the course Dorgan had taken, Injun +returned with a small but heavy canvas bag. It was filled with gold and<a name="Page_281" id="Page_281"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 281]</span> +silver coins, the principal currency of the West in those days. This +promised interesting developments, but Dorgan, who had fallen into a +sullen silence, refused to answer when questioned about the bag.</p> + +<p>"What's going on at the Hanley Ranch, Injun?" Mr. Sherwood asked. "Have +those threshers killed Gil Steele?"</p> + +<p>"Dunno, Make heap noise. Much fire-wa—whiskey," said Injun, suddenly +remembering his education. His object had been to "get" Dorgan. His plan +had been to watch Monty. The plan had worked. That was all he knew.</p> + +<p>"Come, we've lost time enough," said Mr. Sherwood. "Two of you fellows +will have to ride double. One take Injun, the other Dorgan. Injun, you +take Dorgan's gun, and if he makes a break, plug him."</p> + +<p>But Dorgan didn't want to go back to the Hanley Ranch, and suddenly he +became very talkative. He could explain about the money and Monty and +everything.</p> + +<p>"No time for chinning," Bill Jordan said. "Boost him up."</p> + +<p>"Would you b'lieve a Injun 'stead o' me?" Dorgan wailed, as he was being +boosted onto the horse of a disgusted cowboy.</p><p><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 282]</span></p> + +<p>"Sure—a rattlesnake," declared Bill. And the party started, Injun +proudly carrying Dorgan's reloaded six-gun.</p> + +<p>Except for the horses bearing double the rest of the ride was made at +breakneck speed. When the vigilantes approached the Hanley Ranch house, +a noise was heard such as is supposed to come from Donnybrook Fair. They +headed for the sounds, but as they arrived the racket had ceased. It was +followed by an ominous stillness. This, in turn, was broken by a woman's +scream.</p> + +<p>Over a score of men, most of them half drunk, were gathered in front of +a large barn. From the ridge of this projected a derrick-beam with a +pulley through which a rope was roved. One end of the rope was in the +hands of several threshers, the other was in a noose around Gil Steele's +neck. Mrs. Steele was being bound and gagged by other men. The action of +the group came to an abrupt standstill as the vigilantes dismounted and +crowded into the foreground.</p> + +<p>"Unloose that rope," said Mr. Sherwood. He released Mrs. Steele himself.</p> + +<p>The man who seemed to be the thresher's leader glanced around at the<a name="Page_283" id="Page_283"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 283]</span> +vigilantes, their number, their rifles, and their Colt guns. He unloosed +the rope.</p> + +<p>"Now, what's all this about?" demanded Mr. Sherwood, seeing that danger +was averted.</p> + +<p>In an instant Babel broke loose. The sober and half-drunken men and Gil +Steele began loud and angry explanations. Steele was interrupted by his +wife, who staggered and almost fell as she threw herself on his breast +and fainted. Thus was the step from tragedy to comedy taken, but no one +thought of laughing. The tragedy was too close.</p> + +<p>Then came another interruption: the arrival of the double-laden horses +with Injun and Dorgan. When the latter was dragged into the group, and +the bag of money thrown on the ground in front of him, there was another +ominous silence. Gil Steele released himself from his wife, who had +recovered. He knelt and with trembling fingers undid the neck of the +bag, and displayed its contents of gold and silver. That bag of money<a name="Page_284" id="Page_284"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 284]</span> +was the key to the whole situation. Again Babel broke loose.</p> + +<p>In time, out of the yells, curses, threats, and other sounds, this story +was extracted: Gil Steele's closeness, not to say meanness, had made him +more than unpopular. The threshers who owned the machine worked a +percentage of the grain which they carted away to the railroad. Gil had +tried to reduce this percentage. The threshers, abetted by Henry Dorgan, +had tried to increase it. Dorgan also had told the hired hands that +Steele intended to reduce their wages. Steele had become angry and +refused to talk to any of the men. In some mysterious way Dorgan had +introduced a keg of whiskey into the situation.</p> + +<p>The hands had demanded their money, and none was forthcoming. They had +attacked Gil Steele, who had wounded one of them and fled. It was then +that Mrs. Steele had sent Whitey for aid, as it was certain that the +infuriated mob would hang Steele if they found him. Gil was hidden in a +most unromantic place; a sort of dugout, one-third dirt, one-third +boards, and one-third stone, in which hams were smoked. You know how +near he came to going from that place to his death.</p><p><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 285]</span></p> + +<p>And Henry Dorgan had created the disturbance so that under cover of it +he might steal the bag containing the money for the men.</p> + +<p>When this fact was apparent to the minds of the excited hands, they and +Gil Steele made a rush for the cowering Dorgan, but Mr. Sherwood and +some of the vigilantes intervened with drawn weapons and forced them +back. The vigilantes would see that the law punished Dorgan. There was +loud-voiced protest against this, but the attackers were outnumbered and +were helpless.</p> + +<p>During this Walt Lampson and Mart Cooley had been talking apart, and now +Walt stepped forward. "This law business is all well enough," he said, +"but I got somethin' t' say about Dorgan." He faced the crowd. "Lots o' +you fellers are cowmen, ain't you?" he asked. Most of the men were. +"When the Star Circle herd was stampeded by them white-caps," Lampson +went on, "an' we got them sheepmen for doin' it, Donald Spellman cashed +in, but before doin' so he told me who put up the job. It was this +feller Dorgan. Him a cowman, an' he turned ag'in' his kind for money. +Are we goin' t' let him get away?"</p><p><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 286]</span></p> + +<p>Henry Dorgan's feeling of relief was gone, and he crouched behind Mr. +Sherwood and Bill Jordan, white-faced with fear, as a loud "No!" came +from a majority of the men. This turn of events caused a breach in the +vigilantes' ranks. The Bar O men stood by Mr. Sherwood, but some of the +cattlemen from the Junction hated sheepmen more than they loved the law.</p> + +<p>"Better give Dorgan up," Walt Lampson advised Mr. Sherwood.</p> + +<p>"No," replied Mr. Sherwood.</p> + +<p>A movement began in the crowd. Men ranged themselves on one side or the +other. With the Bar O men and those left from the Junction crowd, Mr. +Sherwood now headed about twenty vigilantes; they were outnumbered. The +old cowpuncher, he of the Custer story, came and stood by Bill Jordan. +It being evident that it would take a fight to get Dorgan, Walt Lampson +stepped back and Mart Cooley took his place.</p> + +<p>"Mart's a bad hombre, boss," Bill Jordan whispered to Mr. Sherwood. "You +ain't got no call t' get killed. You better get out o' this."</p> +<p><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 287]</span></p> +<p>"Are you going to get out, Bill?" Mr. Sherwood asked, and Bill grinned.</p> + +<p>As this Western bad man and this Eastern business man faced each other, +they represented not only violence against law, but something else—the +old order against the new: the old order that survives only on the +printed page and in the memory of man.</p> + +<p>"Better give in," Walt Lampson shouted from the crowd. "That skunk +Dorgan ain't worth sheddin' blood for."</p> + +<p>"The law is," Mr. Sherwood replied determinedly.</p> + +<p>His courage seemed to make an impression on the mutineers, as moral +courage usually does, but not on Mart Cooley, who was regarding Mr. +Sherwood coldly. Mart did not reach for a gun. Your bad man never +did—until the gun was to go into action. And there was this silent +pause between the two factions, when a word would have meant bloodshed.</p> +<p><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 288]</span></p> +<p>Whitey had ridden into the outskirts of the scene, unnoticed, and had +seen his father facing Mart Cooley, the man who handed out death so +easily and unerringly. As Whitey dismounted and staggered toward the +center of the crowd, he was joined by Injun, who was standing near. +Whitey's face was ashen and his teeth clenched. He was not going to see +his father killed if he could help it, though he had not the slightest +idea how he could help it. Mr. Sherwood exclaimed angrily when he saw +his son approach with Injun.</p> + +<p>Near by stood Mrs. Steele, with clasped hands and staring eyes, helpless +with fear. The boys' coming caused a moment's irresolution in the crowd. +Mrs. Steele saw her chance, and fear left her. She boldly forced her way +to where Injun and Whitey stood, and turned to her husband, who was +foremost among the lynchers.</p> + +<p>"Gil!" she cried, pointing at Whitey. "You ain't goin' to kill this boy? +He saved your life!" She saw a change come in her husband's face and was +quick to follow up her advantage. She grasped Injun by the arm. "And +this Injun," she called. "See what he did for you. You ain't goin' to +fire on him?"</p> + +<p>"No, by——, I ain't!" said Steele.</p> + +<p>In his thirst for revenge he had been willing enough to oppose his<a name="Page_289" id="Page_289"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 289]</span> +rescuers; indeed, some of them would have been fighting with him; but to +fight against the boys was different. He drew his gun from its holster, +threw it on the ground, went over to Whitey, and grasped him by the +hand.</p> + +<p>It would be hard to say what turned the tide of that mob's feelings. +Whether it was Whitey's standing by his father, Mrs. Steele's quick wit, +or Gil's throwing down his gun, or all three. But the tide was turned. +The desire to kill was gone, and no one knew this better than Mart +Cooley. As he and Walt Lampson moved toward the horses, he paused and +spoke to Mr. Sherwood.</p> + +<p>"You got good nerve, all right," he said, "and so h<a name="Page_290" id="Page_290"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 290]</span>as the kid."</p> + +<p>Mr. Sherwood smiled, and Mart Cooley went on into the shadows, from +which he never came again, as far as the father and son's lives went. +And it must be admitted that Whitey's nerves were rather shaken by now, +with the excitement of the ride and the fear for his father and all. But +it was something to have been the first messenger boy in the West—even +if you were started off as a joke—and to help bring about the new order +of things.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<h3>PIONEER DAYS</h3> + + +<p>Injun and Whitey sat on the veranda of the Bar O Ranch house, with +Sitting Bull between them. One of Whitey's hands rested on the head of +the dog, who leered at him lovingly. Now that Whitey was back, Bull was<a name="Page_291" id="Page_291"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 291]</span> +so full of contentment that it almost gave him indigestion.</p> + +<p>"Injun, do you remember the day Bull came?" Whitey asked. "And how I +said maybe it was a good omen, and there ought to be something doing on +the ranch? Well, there has been something doing—on and off."</p> + +<p>"Um," said Injun, looking at Bull, with a gleam of appreciation in his +eye. "Him good med'cine."</p> + +<p>Whitey's night ride from the Hanley Ranch had created much favorable +comment in the neighborhood, and Injun had come in for his share of +praise. Some one called them "the rescuing kids." But Whitey found that +being a hero wasn't what it was cracked up to be. When any one praised +him he was inclined to blush, and that made him sore at himself.</p> + +<p>But the extraordinary effect of the affair was the change in Gil Steele. +As Bill Jordan said, it had "jarred Gil loose from his meanness." The +result of this jarring was that Gil presented Whitey with the iron-gray +colt, with <i>a silver-mounted saddle and bridle</i>. The neighborhood gasped<a name="Page_292" id="Page_292"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 292]</span> +at that, and gasped again when Gil gave Injun a pair of gold-mounted +six-guns, with an embossed leather cartridge-belt and holsters. You can +imagine the figure Injun cut when decorated with these. And he slept +with them on.</p> + +<p>And, pleasing to relate, Gil prospered more when he was generous than he +had when he was mean. In time he became very well off.</p> + +<p>Things seemed to be coming Whitey's way, for the school problem was +solved, too. Mr. Sherwood brought this news from the East. John Big +Moose was to return. Not that John had been unsuccessful in the Eastern +college; far from that. He had gained the respect and esteem of the +students. It is true that they called him "Big Chief," but there was +more affection in the nickname than even the boys suspected.</p> + +<p>But John was like many another man—and boy—who, when he gets what he +wants, finds that he doesn't want it so much, after all. It was not only +that John longed for the greater reaches and the free life of the West; +he felt a call to return to and to aid his own people. There were plenty +of men to teach in colleges; there were few who could help the Indians<a name="Page_293" id="Page_293"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 293]</span> +as John could.</p> + +<p>And he agreed to direct Injun and Whitey's studies until the time came +for them to go away to school, which would not be long.</p> + +<p>So, with Henry Dorgan safely in jail awaiting trial, and a vacation in +prospect, pending John Big Moose's return, something must be done. +Wouldn't do for the boys to sit around twirling their thumbs. They began +to talk about this, or rather Whitey began to talk and Injun to slip in +a grunted word now and then; and suddenly Whitey had an idea.</p> + +<p>Often on the plains and in the mountains Whitey had thought of the +pioneer days of the West; thoughts such as the country arouses in the +minds of all boys and of some men. Whitey could close his eyes and +imagine that he saw an old wagon train wending its way across the +prairie, its line of white-topped schooners drawn by drooping, tired +horses, its outriding guard of scouts, clad in buckskin, alert, +keen-eyed, each with a long rifle resting in the hollow of his arm. Or +in the mountains he saw an old, fur-capped trapper crouch behind the<a name="Page_294" id="Page_294"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 294]</span> +shelter of a boulder, his single-shot, heavy-barreled rifle directed +toward an unconscious, lumbering grizzly, the trapper's life hanging on +the accuracy of his one shot. Yes, like all boys Whitey was full of +these dreams.</p> + +<p>"Injun, we'll take a pioneer hunting trip!" he cried.</p> + +<p>It took a little time to explain this matter to Injun, but when it was +explained Injun was keen for the plan, too, for his being Injun didn't +make him different from any other boy at heart. He was to take his bow +and arrows. Whitey would borrow an old-fashioned Springfield rifle, that +belonged to his father. There would be no Winchester repeaters, nor +trout rods with multiplying reels, nor any of the modern weapons for +slaying game or fish. It would be a sort of return to the wild.</p> + +<p>And here the first trouble arose with Injun; that of leaving his +six-guns behind. It took some time to coax him to do this; to entrust +them to the safe in the ranch house. But, that done, it was necessary +only to get Mr. Sherwood's permission and to make the preparations. Mr. +Sherwood was not in the ranch house, nor in the bunk house, where Bill +Jordan was starting one of his lengthy yarns. Whitey paused there for a<a name="Page_295" id="Page_295"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 295]</span> +moment.</p> + +<p>"What I don't know about boys a tongue-tied man could tell in half a +second," Bill was saying.</p> + +<p>"A tongue-tied man couldn't tell nothin' in half a second," objected +Shorty Palmer.</p> + +<p>"That's just what I mean," Bill said. "There ain't nothin' to tell. Now, +'bout a boy bein' civil. You don't often find one, out West here, and +when you do it's mostly accident; mebbe inherited. 'Course you c'n train +a boy t' be p'lite, but you got t' be careful, like in trainin' any +other animal, an' not take th' spunk outa him. Most folks thinks that +when a boy's civil he ain't got nothin' else t' recommend him, but +'tain't allus so. Now, I knowed a boy, onc't—"</p> + +<p>But Whitey fled. He could not afford to wait for Bill's story, which +probably would take all the morning. He found his father, overcame that +gentleman's objections to the pioneer hunting trip, and Injun and Whitey +had a busy time gathering the food, weapons, and clothing for their<a name="Page_296" id="Page_296"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 296]</span> +journey to the mountains, where the simple life was to be led.</p> + +<p>It was shortly after noon when they rode away, the men on the ranch +watching, and perhaps each feeling in his heart a little twinge, as +though he'd like to be a kid again, and up to some such boyish prank. +Whitey was on Monty, Injun on his pinto, leading a pack-horse laden with +their few belongings. From the corral the intelligent eyes of the +iron-gray colt regarded them with interest; the colt that was to be +trained for racing, and that Whitey hoped to ride in rodeos.</p> + +<p>This country was so full of game that all one had to do was to go a mile +from any town, in any direction, to find it. Prairie chickens were most +prolific; the principal game. They were so plentiful that one could +walk through thousands of them and they would part and allow the hunter +to move among them, without taking wing.</p> + +<p>Of course, one never would dream of shooting at a bird unless it was on +the wing. The only time that was excusable was when hunting for +partridges among the trees in the foothills. Usually Injun with his bow<a name="Page_297" id="Page_297"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 297]</span> +and arrow would take first shot at the partridge as it perched in the +tree branches. If he missed, which he seldom did, Whitey would let go +his shot-gun when the partridge was on the wing. And as Injun seldom +missed, Mr. Partridge lost both ways. But this day the shot-gun was at +home, so Injun bagged all the partridges they needed for food.</p> + +<p>The prairie chickens have a peculiar call. First the hens cry, in a +high, treble, "Chuck-luck, chuck-a-luck!" and the male replies, in a +deep, full sound, "Bomb-bombo-boo!"</p> + +<p>In that part of the country there was a rather eccentric character named +Charlie Clark. He had been creased on the head by a bullet sometime, +somehow, and he was not exactly all there. And Injun and Whitey used to +interpret the calls of the prairie chicks to:</p> + +<p>"Char-lie—Clar-k—Char-lie—Clar-k—Char-lie—Clar-k—" for the hens, +and:</p> + +<p>"Darn'd ol-fool—" for the males.</p> + +<p>And so the boys went on their merry, heedless way. They expected to camp +in the foothills that night, and had made about ten miles in a leisurely +way, when Injun happened to look back and saw an object approaching them<a name="Page_298" id="Page_298"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 298]</span> +in an uncertain and wobbly but determined manner. Injun's sharp eyes +soon identified it as Sitting Bull. The boys were first surprised, then +sorry that Bull should have had such a long pursuit, but that did not +keep back Whitey's laughter when Bull staggered up to where they waited +for him. He sure was a happy dog, and fatigue did not keep him from +showing it, his method being to twist his body into almost a +half-circle, wag his stump tail, and prance about gazing delightedly up +at the boys.</p> + +<p>As a hunting companion he was a frost. Looking at it in that light, and +after deep consideration, Injun spoke. "Him must go back," he said.</p> + +<p>"How?" asked Whitey.</p> + +<p>More profound thought, and Injun spoke again. "Me take him," he decided.</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Whitey, "and I wait up in the mountains alone. Perhaps you +wouldn't mind sending me daily or hourly reports of Bull's condition +while he is recovering from the fatigue of his journey." Injun didn't +know whether this was sarcasm, or if he was being kidded, and he didn't +care. His was a serious mind that was not easily turned to light +thoughts. "No," said Whitey, "he goes with us, I can't bear to +disappoint him." And perhaps Injun was better satisfied at this +decision, though he did not express himself.</p> +<p><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 299]</span></p> +<p>So the journey was resumed. For a time Whitey would carry Bull. When he +tired, Injun would carry Bull awhile. When Injun tired, Bull would +waddle a way. It was a strange way for a dog to go hunting.</p> + +<p>As we are soon to part from Injun and Whitey, there is one more thing I +feel that I should tell you about them. In a way I don't like to tell +it, in another way I feel that I ought to tell it and—anyway, I'm +<i>going</i> to tell it and to call it:</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<h3>"IN MEMORY"</h3> + + +<p>Up in the mountains, about two miles northwest of Moose Lake, was a hole +which old Mother Nature had carelessly left there, and afterwards +thoughtfully filled with water. The water was blue—probably in +imitation of the near-by sky—so the place was called Blue Lake.</p> +<p><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 300]</span></p> +<p>At Moose Lake there was a cabin and a canoe, as you may remember, and to +Injun and Whitey that had seemed too civilized for a pioneer hunting +trip. So they had fished the canoe out of the lake, and had made a +portage with it. The canoe was light, and a boy could carry it over his +head for quite a distance before he got tired or fell over a rock.</p> + +<p>Blue Lake was an ideal place for a wild camp. It was almost circular and +nearly a mile in diameter. To the north its shore blended with the +heights that led to the peaks; heights clad with a rugged growth of +pines and firs that extended toward the timber line. There was nothing +gentle or park-like about the Blue Lake.</p> + +<p>Its chilly depths were spring-fed, and sheltered trout that were far +from logy. They would put up an awful fight for life, and as the boys +were using back-to-nature poles, made from the branches of trees, the +fish tried the patience even of Injun.</p> +<p><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 301]</span></p> +<p>When not tied to a tree Sitting Bull's part in the hunting was to +interfere with matters as much as possible. As a hunting dog he had only +one advantage; he didn't bark. But he deserved no credit for that. It +wasn't his nature to bark. As Bull tore enthusiastically about, Whitey +would watch him with a rueful smile, and say, "The only way he could +help would be by going home, and of course he can't do that."</p> + +<p>"In early October a crisp morning found Injun and Whitey leaving camp to +begin what for them was a special day's hunting. They were going for +deer. The deer loved the secluded shores of the lake, and some distance +from the camp a run led to a spot where the animals came down to drink. +This morning the camp was down the wind from that spot; so it was ideal. +The boys planned to go in the canoe, and Sitting Bull was securely tied +to a tree to await their return. But Bull looked so longing, so lonely, +there was so much entreaty in his eyes, that Whitey allowed his heart to +overrule his head.</p> + +<p>"He can't raise much of a row in the canoe, and he won't bark," Whitey +said rather shamefacedly. "Let's take him along."</p> + +<p>Injun said nothing, as usual, but he didn't look disapproving. So they<a name="Page_302" id="Page_302"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 302]</span> +got into their canoe and paddled up the wind until near the run, where +they found a low, overhanging branch and ran the canoe under it. So +masked they waited for Mr. Deer to come and drink.</p> + +<p>In about an hour he came and with him was Mrs. Deer, or maybe it was his +daughter, and not his wife, for she looked so young and timid one hardly +could picture her as the mate of Mr. Deer. He was a big fellow who would +weigh about four hundred pounds, and had fourteen points—little +branches shooting off his horns.</p> + +<p>It was Injun's turn to shoot first, and he pulled back his bowstring and +braced himself to let go. Right here it may be said that at thirty yards +an arrow propelled by an Indian-made bow is just as deadly as a bullet, +if it hits its mark. But Injun shot a little high and caught the buck in +the shoulder. He threw up his head and let out a roar of battle, looking +every inch the magnificent creature that he was, and just churned the +waters of the lake, which he was in up to his knees.</p> +<p><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 303]</span></p> +<p>He didn't have very long to bellow his defiance, for Whitey's +Springfield rifle spoke. Now Mr. Deer turned almost completely over from +the shock, but again the hit was not in a vital spot. The canoe was +rocking a little, and Mr. Deer was not exactly posing to be shot at. And +there was another excuse that I have mentioned before—buck fever: the +disease that comes when a big buck deer jumps up from nowhere, and +causes the hunter to lose his head and do the wrong thing.</p> + +<p>You would think that Injun and Whitey would have been over that? Well, +perhaps they should have been immune, but you will remember that our +mighty hunters were just boys, and even frontier boys can be excused for +a sudden attack of a complaint that grownups have. And the grownup who +says that he never has had it, at some time in his life, that Mr. +Grownup has not done any deer hunting, or that Mr. Grownup lies. And +what's more, some grownups never get over it.</p> + +<p>Perhaps Sitting Bull had given the fever to Injun, for the dog was +trembling so that he shook the canoe; each particular hair stood on end, +and if any one had stroked Bull, he probably would have got the electric<a name="Page_304" id="Page_304"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 304]</span> +shock of his life. Anyway, Injun sure had buck fever for the first time +in his young life, for in bracing himself for his next shot he sat too +far back on his left leg, and when he let go his arrow, over went the +canoe. All hopes for a successful issue of that battle would have ended +right there had not Injun's arrow by a lucky shot gone straight into Mr. +Deer's heart. With one mighty lunge in the air he fell back in the water +toward the shore, where his horns and part of his body remained above +the surface. When the canoe went over, Whitey held his rifle high over +his head, so it was still dry and ready for use—a needless precaution +in this case.</p> + +<p>I hate to write this part of the story. The deer's daughter—she must +have been his daughter—had lots and lots of chances to run away, but +she didn't do it. She just stood there like the poor, timid, scared +thing she was, with every quiver of her graceful body, every look of her +big, brown, childlike eyes saying, "Please, why did you kill my father, +who was my only protector? And please, please don't hurt me!"</p> + +<p>Did you, Mr. or Miss Reader, ever have a helpless animal look at you in<a name="Page_305" id="Page_305"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 305]</span> +that way? If you did, you know it's awful—awful to remember!</p> + +<p>Whitey fired. He couldn't miss at that distance. And he ran forward to +force Miss Deer to fall on the bank, clear of the water, which she did. +She looked at Whitey while he was shoving her over, Whitey nor no one +else can ever describe that look, and Whitey, boy as he was, turned away +his head as she fell. Injun stood by dripping, silent, his face a mask +for his feelings. And Sitting Bull was shivering, but not with cold or +excitement; he had caught the dying look of the doe. And Bull's ugly +face reflected the feelings of his heart, that was both brave and +gentle, for actually, yes, actually! there were tears in Bull's eyes.</p> + +<p>The canoe was brought to shore, the water was dumped out of it, the +paddles were recovered. Then a rope was fastened to Mr. Deer, and by +means of a log lever he was hauled out of the lake and dressed. But +Injun didn't talk and Whitey didn't talk. And Bull didn't wander around +as usual and smell the scents that gave him so much excitement and +delight, and that the boys couldn't smell at all. The deer's head, hide, +and some of the meat were put into the canoe. The rest of the meat was<a name="Page_306" id="Page_306"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 306]</span> +tied high in trees, safe from marauding animals. The boys didn't touch +Miss Deer. They got into the canoe with Bull and paddled away. They +didn't look back.</p> + +<p>The rest of the day and evening were spent in a constrained silence. +Sitting Bull felt the constraint. He lay on the ground, his great head +between his paws, and moodily watched the boys. Several hours had +passed; it was night, at the camp-fire; still no words had been spoken. +Finally Whitey stopped looking into the fire and stood up straight.</p> + +<p>"Injun, where's the spade?" he asked. "I've got something to do."</p> + +<p>Injun answered Whitey's question, but asked none of his own. "Me go +help," he said.</p> + +<p>With Sitting Bull as a passenger, they paddled the canoe back over the +moonlit lake until they came to the run. And the two boys dug a grave +for Miss Deer, and laid her in that grave just as she fell, and covered +it with a pile of stones so the coyotes couldn't touch her. And when the +morning sun came up over the hills, Injun and Whitey were in a new camp +miles away.</p> +<p><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307"></a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 307]</span></p> +<p>Injun said nothing to Whitey and Whitey said nothing to Injun, but to +the day of his death Injun never shot at a Miss Deer again. And although +Whitey is now a middle-aged man, to this day he has never again shot at +a Miss Deer. Nor has he ever forgotten the look in the eyes of that Miss +Deer which those boys buried on the bank of Blue Lake, twenty-six years +ago.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE END</h2> + + + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="img1-6" id="img1-6"></a> +<img src="images/img1-6.gif" alt="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="img2-6" id="img2-6"></a> +<img src="images/img2-6.gif" alt="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"><br /> +<a name="img3-6" id="img3-6"></a> +<img src="images/img3-6.gif" alt="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"><br /> +<a name="img4-6" id="img4-6"></a> +<img src="images/img4-6.gif" alt="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"><br /> +<a name="img5-6" id="img5-6"></a> +<img src="images/img5-6.gif" alt="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"><br /> +<a name="img6-6" id="img6-6"></a> +<img src="images/img6-6.gif" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INJUN AND WHITEY TO THE RESCUE***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 16870-h.txt or 16870-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/6/8/7/16870">https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/8/7/16870</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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