Cogewea, the Half-Blood

Your little trick has saved that horse of yours, but there is another way of playing safe. Maybe by the time you rest here a few hours, perhaps a few days, in seclusion, you will have had time to ponder on the absurdity of contending against your betters. You are in my power and I am certainly going to use it effectively.”

“Yes, you have me in your power, but how have you accomplished that boast? Give me back my gun! You may keep your big one but I will not fear you, though I am a woman.”

Craven as he was, Densmore winced at this challenge. All the venom of his perverted nature found vent in his retort:

“Bosh! you squaw! And to think that I was ordered from a smoke-dinged lair of your ‘breed’! I am but half squaring accounts; and when you get back to that dear old grandmother of yours, you can tell her how nice the white man was in his dealings with you. You may then feel like talking, for that tongue of yours is now going to have a rest, if I meet my guess.”

Cogewea loftily disdained reply to this tirade of abuse. Knowing the futility of resistance, she submitted without a word of protest as he securely bound her to a cottonwood, twining the rope about her from neck to foot. An effective gag was made from her own scarf. Completing his task to his own satisfaction, Densmore again addressed her, assuming a mock air of apologetic politeness:

“Goodbye! little sweetheart! O statuette in bronze with a wildwood setting! How superb! and the sun fast sinking to rest. A merry time and pleasant dreams as you hear the coyotes squalling tonight. I tried to give you a good time the past summer, and I feel that I am really entitled to this small pittance which you have so kindly permitted me to appropriate. I hope that you are generous spirited enough to concede that you have had value received. I am placing your toy-gun here in your own pocket, the cartridges considerately extracted of course. Give my regards to that coppery hided lover of yours⁠—should you ever see him⁠—and know that with your opportunity to convey this last message for me, I will be far out of the state and among really civilized folks. After all, Densmore the ‘tenderfoot’ has not fared so badly financially, considering the few months that he has sojourned in the wilds, do you think? Goodbye! goodbye!”

Then hastily saddling his horse, he mounted and turned towards the highway, calling back over his shoulder:

“That you may retain your deep respect for my integrity, you will find this horse, which you have so graciously loaned me, at the livery in Ravalli. Of course this is considerate of me and I know that you will appreciate the courtesy. So long!”

Cogewea, her limbs already aching from the cut of the overdrawn lariat, heard the clatter of pounding hoofs, as the false Shoyahpee fled from the scene of his most hellish duplicity.

XXIX

Stemteemä’s Dream of the Soma-ash-hee

For his heart was hot within him,
Like a living coal his heart was.

Hiawatha

Celluloid Bill and Silent Bob lounged lazily at the big rock on the high ridge overlooking the Buffalo Ranch. Their “blown horses” were feeding on the bunch-grass, after a hard and futile chase for outlawed cayuses. They had stopped for a rest. The wild herd could be seen as it fled across the wide stretch of range to the west. It disappeared, circling Buffalo Butte, to flash into view again on the opposite side. There the band halted and with high flung heads, watched the enemy at the rock.

As the riders again swung to their saddles, Bill’s quick eye descried a woman riding at an unusual swiftness over the flat to the south and on the road leading to Ronan. Something familiar about the figure held his attention and he drew his binoculars for a more critical inspection. A moment later he returned them to their case and turned to Bob whose horse stood abreast of his own:

“There goes Jim’s gal a racin’ ’cross th’ flat an’ I bet she’s goin’ to meet that there tenderfoot in Ronan; ’cause he said airly this mo’nin’ he was a breezin’ to the little town today not to be back till af’er dark. Ha! ha! Can’t fool ol’ Bill! He’s wise to that there soapy guy, who thinks the gal has dough. He’s a fallin’ in love with th’ cash ’stead of the little gal.”

Bill chuckled at what he evidently regarded as a huge joke. Bob was silent for a moment, his face serious as he gazed after the receding horsewoman. There was a touch of concern in his voice as he spoke:

“How’d yo’ happen to know so much ’bout th’ love ’fairs of that there tenderfoot guy?”

“ ’Cause his eyes went wide like sascers when I tol’ him how th’ gal had th’ kale an’ a plenty, too; an’ all th’ cattle an’ hosses she wanted. Made him believe nearly all the hoofs on th’ reservation was her’n, an’ he was dead easy. Fell like a log to it all! an’ I tol’ Rodeo to stuff him more, some ’bout her lan’ which he did an’ the fool went belt an’ buckle in love with all that there wealth she ain’t got; an’ th’ mavricks he thinks he’s a goin’ start brandin’ when the roun’up opens nex’ spring.”

Celluloid indulged in another low laugh, but receiving no response from his companion, he continued:

“An’ I bet they run ’way purty durned quick, ’cause they’re awful mashed! More’n Jim knows! There’d be hellerpopin’ if he foun’ out ’bout this.”

When Bill again glanced at Bob, instead of the expected smile on the suntanned face, he saw a knit brow and a firm set mouth. Without a word the Silent one turned his horse and started at a steady gallop