“Well, Sis! who won? Twenty yards more and the Star would a beat that there brag thoroughbred. I told you the Star’s a greased streak, though a busted up cayuse. Used to be the fastest on the range and he’s won lots of dough for me. Kinda spoiled him by usin’ him for a cow hoss, but he remembers old traits and he don’t take dirt from many on the track. You can ride him today if you wish. He’s gentler than that there hoss and you know what he can do. Better let old Jim handle the Bay Devil at the crowded track. It takes the best rider of the Flathead to—”
“In‑deed! You think I can’t ride a real race horse? Guess you have forgotten how I bested you to the tune of an even hundred at the races when I was home on vacation two years ago. But maybe that was before you was known as the ‘best rider.’ ”
“Now Sis, don’t pout! I didn’t mean anything. Am only anxious for you to win the ladies’ race today. Want to see you put it over them there high toned white gals who think they can beat the Injun gals a ridin’. If you ride White Star, I’ll bet my summer’s wages on you and I know durn’ well he’ll come out in the lead.”
“Say, Jim! I’ll ride the Star in the squaw race,” exclaimed the girl in elation. “I’m part Injun and can participate in that as well as in the ladies’ race. They can’t stop me from riding in both races, can they? If there’s any difference between a squaw and a lady, I want to know it. I am going to pose as both for this day.”
“That’s a go, little squaw! The Devil in the ladies’ race; the Star in the squaw race. Come! let’s get home.”
Turning their mounts, they rode back to the corrals on a slow trot. A curl of smoke from the kitchen flue denoted activity in that department, while the boys were all busy at the barn. Bill was giving his saddler training exercise at the end of a rope; Rodeo was braiding his cayuse’s tail, decorating it with ribbons. Bob was leading the two bays up from the river bank where he had taken them to water; all harnessed and with manes and tails gaudy with tricolored streamers. Leaving the racer with Jim at the barn, Cogewea hastened to the house to help her sister prepare the morning meal. She set the table, when Julia said to her:
“I wish that you would get the Stemteemä ready. She insists on going and says that this was why she came so far to visit us; to see the Fourth of July celebration and the Kootenais give their war dance. I know you will not mind going horseback. The hack is too small for all of us and Mary should be with the grandmother.”
“Sure!” was the genial response. “I’d just as soon go in the saddle; in fact prefer it. So the Stemteemä is going? Well, there is class to her.”
“Oh! Cogewea! Do not speak lightly of poor grandmother.”
“Why! I’m not saying anything mean about her. Was just admiring her grit. I know why she is going. It is not for the firecracker celebration of the Declaration of Independence—which is not for our race—but for the Indian pom-pom. She is thinking of the olden days when she was younger than now. The joy of her heart is participating in the war dance and the medicine dance.”8
These ceremonies, held sacred by the more primitive tribesmen, are now, shame to say, commercialized and performed for a pittance contributed by white spectators who regard all in the light of frivolity.
Breakfast over, the lunch basket was filled and the children hurriedly dressed. Bob drove the bays to the gate and yelled:
“Hurry! yo’ fellers. I hater be late at them there races; I hater be last at th’ grub pile.”
Cogewea came out and informed him that they must first go to the teepee for the aged Stemteemä who was waiting, as Mrs. Carter was not quite ready. She sprang to the seat by his side and they were soon at the lodge. The grandmother was waiting. Her luggage consisted of several blankets, a bag of dried meat, berries and roots. Her eyes beamed with childish delight, as they drove back to the house for the rest of the party.
As the hack rolled away leaving a dense trail of dust, Cogewea turned back into the house. Densmore was lying on a couch, too badly shaken to undertake the trip. She gave him instructions in the care of his wounds. He was not suffering, but he appeared rather depressed and she was half tempted to stay and minister to his wants.
But the call of the races was loud in her ear. She turned to the window and watched a string of cowboys from other ranches passing. Some were leading horses while others had only their mounts. They were several hundred yards away, when Jim came from the barn leading Diamond, the racer. She tripped back to her patient, bade him a cheery goodbye and hurried from the room.
Cogewea was at the gate when the foreman rode up and dismounted. He held Diamond while she mounted, the horse surging at the bit. The Westerner, leading Croppy whom he intended riding in the “outlaw” contest, vaulted to his own saddle and they were off. Cogewea was unusually silent, Jim doing most of the talking. When they reached the big flat, she said impulsively:
“Let’s gallop! I hate to ride slow through here. This vast expanse seems in keeping with swift hoof-beats.”
“Yes, but not too fast,” admonished the more prudent Jim. “Remember we’re ridin’ our kale winners, but
