The boys surmised that Silent Bob had a new girl, a homesteader out on the flat. Seemingly he did not care to go with them of late, but dragged behind, ever managing to get lost on the trail. He was beginning to wear fancy ties and to take unusual care of his Sunday-best-clothes. The boys also remarked that he stopped at a certain lonely shack, where his sorrel stood at the wooden gate till sundown every Sunday, before he ever thought of going home. They knew not her name and with all their joking they got nothing more from Bob than a slow:
“Aw! shucks! I ain’t a castin’ no ropes for any schoolmarm troubles. I hater think of bein’ tied up for life; I hater think of bein’ bossed by a Missourian.”
Jim had manifested but little interest in this particular excursion. He felt “kinder knocked out” and wanted to rest. Celluloid Bill urged:
“Better come on with us to town to skin the Kootenais. We’ll bring home a jug. They say that there bootlaiger has a big supply cached, an’ th’ Gov’ment ossifers cain’t locate him. But by heck we can! Come on! don’t buck! Yo’ ain’t got no colt to home yo’ ’fraid of losin’ have you?—old sox! Yo’ ain’t scared somebody corralin yo’ slick-ear, are yo’?”
At this sally the boys all laughed and Jim, unable to withstand their banterings, proceeded to saddle his horse and join the crowd, growling with ill concealed annoyance:
“It will take a durn’ good roper to corral the colt that the best rider of the Flathead can’t get his lariat on. You savey that?”
Cogewea stood on the veranda and saw the gay cavalcade as it streamed from the barnyard, the horses cavorting and the riders swinging their sombreros, yelling with exuberant abandonment. She noticed with what grace and ease Jim sat his saddle. She admired his strength and skill and could almost love him—but for the white man who had come so strangely into her life. For all of the foreman’s fierce temperament, he had never shown her the least disrespect. On the other hand, he endeavored to augment her happiness by sharing her troubles. His rugged, uncultured exterior was offset with a well meaning heart and a deep loyalty to friends. The girl watched the boys until they swung onto the upper road and were lost to view behind a curve. She then started for Stemteemä’s lodge, but met Densmore as he emerged from the bunkhouse. His arm was no longer in splints, and he had several times ridden out on the flats, always careful, however, to have a gentle horse. Cogewea accosted him:
“Why didn’t you go to town today?”
“Because I wanted to see you; and—and perhaps you can prevail on Stem—Stem-tam—your grandmother to tell the promised story.”
“Is that really why you stayed?” she asked in doubting tones.
“Well—the boys do not appeal to me and doubtless I do not appeal to them. I am not in their class and they naturally deem it quite a joke to make it ‘hot for the tenderfoot,’ as they are pleased to call me. There is the foreman. He does not like me and I am sure that I am not in love with him. He tried to get me killed,” continued the Easterner bitterly. “He knew that I could not ride a horse that the most experienced riders here are unable to back.”
“Oh! you are mistaken!” retorted Cogewea with a tinge of resentment. “While the other boys may not stick Croppy, Jim can do so easily.”
“Perhaps! but I do not believe that he can, from what I have heard about that horse. But even so, that does not excuse him from trying to get me killed.”
“Jim did not try to get you killed! With the deep, soft mulch of the corral spread like a great pad over its entire breadth, there was no special danger of fatality. The same joke had been played often and you were the first to meet with more than a scratch. Jim was sorry enough and did all in his power to make amends. He has the best of hearts,” she concluded with a suspicion of anxiety in her voice, “but I would not unnecessarily antagonize him.”
Piqued and disappointed at her attitude, Densmore replied with a degree of warmth:
“Why! you speak as if I were entirely dependent and helpless!”
“No, not that! but you do not understand a cowpuncher. They are the truest of friends when you are one of them; only you cannot be too careful. Do not incur needless enmity! Nothing is to be gained.”
Not fully comprehending the situation and stung with what he regarded open partiality on the part of Cogewea for the dusky foreman, the Easterner felt a smothering rage toward Jim. Could it be that this lowbred rope thrower was barring the way to his desires? Desperate, he declared heedlessly:
“Alright! You may be correct, but we’ll see. I did not start the feud, and there are different ways by which it may be ended.”
A thrill of apprehension passed over the girl. Jim’s declaration on the Butte came to her with chilling vividness. It was indubitable that should Densmore blindly cross the fiery breed, a tragedy was likely to ensue. But nothing was to be accomplished by argument, and glad of an excuse to dismiss an unpleasant theme, she exclaimed with a return to her old-time gaiety:
“Oh! I forgot! You wanted to hear the story promised by Stemteemä. I will run and see if she will tell it now.”
With this, she sped down the slope and soon returned with the information that they could go to the teepee within a half hour; that the aged woman would then be ready to talk and would tell
