“Yo’ was caught with yo’ rope a trailin’ that time ol’ skate!”
“Set ’em up to th’ frog eater!”
“Draw yo’ cinch an’ try for th’ finals! yo’ wanderin’ son of benighted Wyomin’!”
“Yo’ trained th’ overseas duck too well!” yelled a voice at the door. “He ain’t no longer no tenderfoot!”
These, and similar cries greeted the discomfited Smoke of the Foot Hills, as he “dug up” for the basket. He accepted the jibes with good grace, contending that he knew the owner of “this here feed” and that it was worth the price.
As basket after basket was proferred, the H-B contingent made it lively for the city visitants; but Silent Bob held aloof. Noting this, Jim accosted him:
“Why don’t you get a move on? You’ll get left without a feed if you don’t rustle ’round and do some biddin’. Schoolmarm’s baskets is a bein’ sold now. Don’t forget you’re from the Hoss-shoe Bend.”
“Waitin’ for the feed box showin’ th’ right bran’,” was the drawling reply. “When it ’pears, I’ll chip in a plenty. At presen’, I’m a restin’ from my laborin’. I hater be a hollerin’ so durn much; I hater tire myself a talkin’.”
As all things come to those who wait, the Silent one finally got his “feed” at fifteen dollars.
The canoe was the last offered. Jim, true to his declaration was a loyal bidder; Rodeo and Celluloid his principal opponents. The city guys manifested but little interest above the three dollar mark. The canoe, tastily decorated with tricolored ribbons and sprigs of evergreen, was held aloft by the auctioneer, who expatiated on the evident merits of its builder and the super-qualities of its cargo. There was at last a lull in the mad riot of contending bids, punctuated with:
“And sold! to the foreman of the H-B Ranch, for forty-one dollars a truly silver weighted, deep water sounding line.”
Again the audience was wild with applause. The Horseshoe “Benders” were tendered an ovation. They had carried off the three banner baskets of the evening.
With his canoe under his arm, Jim talked and joked with friends and acquaintances. Everybody was hunting for partners, some to a realization of joy, others to disappointment. But all was harmony and good will. The foreman made his way to where he had last observed Cogewea. He suddenly stopped, dumbfounded. There sat the object of his search by the side of the tenderfoot. She was unfolding a napkin, disclosing the dainties of a tidy basket. The contents were most appetizing. Approaching, Jim touched her arm. Tapping the side of the canoe, he spoke evenly:
“Sis, I thought this here was your feed.”
“You did?” in mock surprise. “Has it my name? Is Cogewea on the card?”
“Why!—I—I—haven’t looked!” was the stammered reply.
“Well, you better search for the brand. There may be some mistake.”
The Westerner lifted the corner of the cover and took up an embossed card. “Blank!” was written across its face. For a brief moment he stood silently, and then in an undertone addressed her:
“You think you’ve played one hell of a trick, now don’t you! I didn’t think—”
“Aw! now Jim, come off! What’s hurting you? That canoe is not the first craft to sail under false colors. Besides,” continued Cogewea with twinkling eyes, “you should be generous enough to recognize that all is fair in—in certain phases of life. It may be piratical, but you had a gallant crew to help you plan and effect its capture, had you not?”
Jim saw the cunning trap in which he had been caught and despite his bitter disappointment, he felt an increasing admiration for the girl. Perhaps he had been served right. Intuitively, his mind flashed back to that secret council of war in the main corral, the previous evening. He chilled! Vacancies as well as walls could sometimes have ears.
“By gollies, little squ—Sis!” he exclaimed with sudden impulse. “You’re a trump! But you’r nawtical reckonin’ was all wrong this time. You turned this here boat driftin’ with a mine in the hold, expectin’ somebody to get blowed to kingdom come when they boarded it. You didn’t count on the secret treasure it carried—a code number calling for a fine pearl-set solid gold brooch—a sure glitterin’ prize for rescuin’ so splendid a craft from getting’ wrecked and all busted up on rocks and hidden snags. It takes the best rider of the Flathead to do so improbable a stunt like that.”
“Sure! But the best of riders are sometimes caught sleepingnot always in the sage—but when they should be looking to their cinching. Now own up that you were mad when—”
“Who the dickens wouldn’t feel all broke up, when a hungry feller spends nearly a month’s wages for a feed only to find it all mixed with wormwood and gall? But you’ll savey you have stung yourself when you see that there elegant brooch bein’ worn by my best gal.”
“James LaGrinder,” and there was music in the laughter which set the Westerner’s heart thumping, “I’ll wear that prize brooch and don’t you forget it! Stemteemä donated that canoe, and the brooch goes to her, but since she is not here and you look so lonesome you better go share your banquet with Mary. She is mad about Frenchy and will not eat with that Foot Hills orator from Wyoming. You fellows ought to be ashamed for the low trick you perpetrated. You and Slim have been treated to a dose of your own mixing and it may do your systems good. Now! ‘Go and sin no more!’ ”
Jim laughed with ill affected grace, hunted Mary and shared the contents of his canoe with her. But he failed in all attempts at engaging the girl in conversation. Beyond a monotone answer to his question, she was silent.
Slim divided his high priced “spread”
