Furthermore, Hilda loved little Jessie Three-Young-Mans, a squaw of fifteen sad years, whose white-faced blue-veined papoose was kept alive only by the heroic efforts of Hilda and the Agency doctor. The Morley Indian Reserve adjoined the O Bar O ranch, and P. D. employed a great many of the tribe for brush-cutting, fencing and riding at roundups. No matter how unimportant a job given to a “brave,” he moved upon the place the following day with all of his relatives far and near, and until the job was done, O Bar O would take on the aspect of an Indian encampment. At such times Hilda, who knew personally most of the Indians of the Stoney tribe, would ride over to the camp daily to call upon the squaws, her saddle bags full of the sweet food the Indians so loved. She was idolized by the Indian women. When riding gauntlets and breeks were to be made for the daughter of P. D. only the softest of hides were used and upon them the squaws lavished their choicest of bead work. They were for “Miss Hildy, the Indian’s friend.” Of all the squaws, Hilda loved best Jessie Three-Young-Mans; but Jessie had recently fallen into deep trouble. Like her tiny papoose, the Indian girl’s face had that faraway longing look of one destined to leave this life ere long. She who had strayed from her own people clung the closer to them now when she was so soon to leave them forever. Hilda alone of the white people, the Indian girl crept forth from her tent to greet. What she refused to tell even her parents, Jessie revealed to Hilda McPherson and accordingly Hilda loathed Holy Smoke.
However, Ho was assistant foreman at O Bar O and very often in full charge of the ranch, for there were times when Bully Bill went to the camps to oversee certain operations and in his absence Ho had charge of the ranch and its stock. Also in P. D.’s absence, Hilda was accustomed to take her father’s place so far as the men were concerned, and if there were any questions that needed referring to the house they were brought to her. Thus she was forced to come into contact with the foreman as well as his assistant.
Ho had what Hilda considered a “disgusting habit” of injecting personal remarks into his conversation when he came to the house on matters connected with the cattle, and no amount of snubbing or even sharp reproof or insult feazed him. He was impervious to hurt and continued his smirking efforts to ingratiate himself with P. D.’s daughter. He always spruced himself up for those calls at the ranch-house, slicked his hair smooth with oil and axle grease, put on his white fur chaps, carried his huge Mexican sombrero with its Indian head band, and with gay handkerchief at his neck, Ho set out to make a “hit” with his employer’s daughter.
At the time when Cheerio was reading from Dumas, P. D. was away in Edmonton, and for a few days Bully Bill had gone down to Calgary, accompanying his men with a load of steers for the local market. Ho, therefore, in the absence of both of the bosses, was in charge of the ranch, and one evening he presented himself at the house, ostensibly to inquire regarding the disposition of certain yearlings that had been shipped by Bully Bill from the Calgary stockyards. Were they to be turned on the range with the other stuff? Should he keep them in separate fields? How about rebranding the new stuff? Should he go ahead or wait till the roundup of the O Bar O yearlings and brand all at one time?
“Dad’s in Edmonton,” replied Hilda. “You had better wait till he gets back, though I don’t know just when that will be. He’s playing chess.”
“Couldn’t you get him by phone or wire, Miss Hilda? Rather important to know what to do with this new stuff, seein’ as how they’re purebred. Maybe the boss’ll want them specially cared for.”
“I could phone, of course, for I know where to get him, but it makes him mad as a hornet to talk on the telephone, especially long distance, and as for a wire, like as not, if Dad’s playing chess, he’d just chuck it into his pocket and never bother to read it.”
“Wa‑al, I just thought I’d come along over and talk it out with you, Miss Hilda. Your orders goes, you know, every time.”
He helped himself to a seat, which the girl had not proffered him, and stretched out his long legs as if for a prolonged visit. Hilda remained standing, looking down at him coolly, then she quietly moved toward the door, and opened it.
“That’ll be all, then,” she said, and held the screen door open.
The cowhand, with a
