“You ought to know, for you helped supply some of them. We were just having a slight argument, and to help settle it, you better explain your part in the makeup of this book’s contents.”
Rejoiced at being able to aid in the discomfiture of Densmore, the foreman’s eyes twinkled with suppressed amusement, as leaning over the gate, he spoke:
“I was there when the boys was a stuffin’ one poor woman. It was at the first buffalo roundup when lots of people come to see the sight. A bunch of us riders was together when this here lady come up and begins askin’ questions ’bout the buffaloes; and Injun names of flyin’, walkin’ and swimmin’ things and a lot of bunk. Well, you know how the boys are. They sure locoed that there gal to a finish; and while she was a dashin’ the information down in her little tablet, we was a thinkin’ up more lies to tell her. We didn’t savey she was writin’ a real book, or maybe we would a been more careful. Yes, maybe! Why, them there writin’ folks is dead easy pickin’ for the cowpunchers. But I see she took more to the full-blood talk than what I tell her.”
Jim indulged in a low laugh, as Cogewea, turning to Densmore, took up the conversation:
“There, you have it! But that is only a glimpse of the real situation; of what the tribesmen give would-be writers. You now understand why I contend that the whites can not authentically chronicle our habits and customs. They can hardly get at the truth. A promulgator of the law of requital—good and bad—he is aware of how he has ever been deceived and taken advantage of, and he has no scruples in returning, as he thinks, some of the coin. Of course he does not understand the true situation; and when the ridiculous ‘facts’ which he narrates are once in print, he has the worst of it. I have heard the Indian boast of the absurdities told to the white ‘investigator.’ It is practically impossible for an alien to get at our correct legendary lore.”
Densmore, nonplussed at the unaccountable change in the attitude of the foreman towards him, and wishing to fraternize, thought to do so by again resuming the colloquy:
“Well, you must be a truly suspicious people. But has it ever occurred to you that you may be standing in your own light—casting shadows over your own road to progress? Distrust is a fearful barrier to those who would help you. Confidence is conducive to good fellowship, facilitating both social and business interests.”
“Not bein’ in the beatin’ game ourselves,” responded Jim sullenly, “that there ‘confidence’ card has been our undoin’. I ain’t a dyin’ for any more shufflin’ of the bait by any hombre.”
“The world is filled with a great variety of people,” observed the Easterner with a nervous laugh, “but your race must be doubly peculiar, judging from the slight effect that the white-blood has in the mixing.”
“The Indian is a peculiarly mysterious race; differing from all others,” broke in Cogewea. “We breed are half and half—American and Caucasian—and in a separate corral. We are despised by both of our relatives. The white people call us ‘Injuns’ and a ‘good-for-nothing’ outfit; a ‘shiftless,’ vile class of commonalty. Our Red brothers say that we are ‘stuck-up’; that we have deserted our own kind and are imitating the ways of the despoilers of our nationality. But you wait and watch!” exclaimed the girl with animation. “The day will dawn when the desolate, exiled breed will come into his own; when our vaunting ‘superior’ will appreciate our worth. Fate cannot always be against those who strive for self-elevation. But oh! it is hard when the foot of the strong is ever on your neck. Of the hundred million composing this great Christian Nation, how few are our actual friends; working friends. Those we have are mostly in the far East and consequently cannot know of the multitudinous wrongs which we are compelled to suffer. Occasionally a local champion is found who is big enough and strong enough to defy popular sentiment and fight for us, but it is self-sacrifice. He loses social standing with his own race. We may be too sensitive about our blood, but I often don my war bonnet and go scalp hunting.”
“I’m a thinkin’ you must have on your war bonnet now,” interposed Jim with a low laugh. “You sure hand it to the pale faces steamin’ hot. Like a four minute phonograph, when you get started you run to the end of the trail. You keep unwindin’ the lariat till you fetch up at the picket-stake with a jerk. You’ve got to have your spiel. But I hear the boys a comin’! I hear the hoof-drums of their cayuses a comin’! I’ll leave you fellers to fight it out yourselves.”
The foreman turned to his horse in manifestly high spirits at the turn of events. Cogewea was evidently “soured” on the entire white race; the tenderfoot included. It was apparent that she would never forsake her Indian associates; never turn from her own blood.
Densmore in evident displeasure, also rose to go. His voice was cold and unsympathetic, as he spoke:
“This is nothing of interest to me. I can not argue with a lady. I do not dare!”
“And I am only an Injun, after all!” she retorted bitterly.
The Easterner laughed derisively at her outburst of temper, and left for the bunkhouse. The throb of hoofs came nearer and nearer, mingled with the silvery jingle of spurs. But for once the stiring chime failed to reach a responsive chord in the bosom of the girl; who, feeling friendless and unhappy, passed into the house. She wondered if Densmore would, in the presence of Jim, have spoken to her as he did.
Cogewea found solace in consigning the maligning volume to the kitchen stove.
XI
At the Teepee Fireside
Go
