THE GOLDEN WEST BOYS
"INJUN" AND "WHITEY"
_A Story of Adventure_
BY WILLIAM S. HART
ILLUSTRATIONS BY MORRIS H. PANCOAST
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY
WILLIAM S. HART
MADE IN U. S. A.
_All Rights Reserved_
TO MY BOY FRIENDS
TO MY BOY FRIENDS ALL OVER THE WORLD
The first fifteen years of my life were spent in the Dakota Territory.
The great West mothered me during the shaping of my boyhood ambitions
and ideals. Therefore, I know by personal experience much of the actual
life of our frontier days.
Let me relate a few unusual stories of early environment which will
show why a man brought up in the West never forgets its history,
traditions and life.
While boys of my age in the East were playing baseball, football and
the various school games, I was forced through environment to play the
more primitive games of the Indian. I lived on the frontier. White
settlers were scarce. Naturally, I had but a few boy companions of my
own race. A boy is a boy no matter what race or country; therefore, we
played with the Indian youths.
In this way, I learned to ride Indian-style as well as with the saddle;
I learned to shoot accurately with rifle or six-gun; I learned to hunt
and track with the wisdom of my red friends; and I learned to play
the rugged, body-building games of the native Americans, which called
for the greatest endurance and best sportsmanship. In short, I was a
Western boy.
For instance, we used to sail primitive Indian ice-boats on the upper
Missouri river. This sport was the chief joy of my winter days. With
our Indian boy friends we would construct the ice-boat in this fashion:
Taking a suitable number of barrel-staves, we lashed them together
lengthwise with buck-skin thongs. Thus the staves were raised from the
surface both in the front and rear, making a canoe effect. Then a soap
box was placed in the middle of the craft. Next we placed a stout pole
upright in the front end of the box. To a crosspiece on the pole we
lashed a blanket. We were then all ready to go.
When the winter winds hit those rude sails, we traveled so far and so
fast in one direction that it would take us all day to walk back home.
During my Dakota boyhood I not only acquired the accomplishments
of the West, but I met some of the most famous characters of
frontier days--white and red men. In fact, my early days of intimate
relationship with the Sioux Indians enabled me to learn their tribal
traits and history nearly as well as I know our own. I speak the
"silent tongue"--the sign language of the Sioux which, by the way, is
understood by all Indian tribes.
In those days the luxuries and even many of the necessities of
civilization were denied us in our frontier settlements. My mother
brought four children into this world, attended by Sioux squaws because
a doctor could not be procured. And, when a vicious rattler nearly
ended my career at the age of twelve years, a squaw officiated as the
doctor, the nearest physician being engaged in punching cows at a
ranch some sixty miles distant. That the Sioux squaw was a good doctor
is proven by the fact that I am alive to-day.
I relate these incidents merely to acquaint the public with the West as
I knew it.
When Western plays were first tried out on the American stage, I was an
actor of considerable experience. Previous to this time in theatrical
history I had played many diversified rôles, including those of
Shakespeare.
As Cash Hawkins in "The Squaw Man," produced at Wallack's Theatre,
New York City, in 1905, it was my good fortune to be able to give
the American public a typical Western character. My success in this
character opened up a subsequent line of Western rôles for me, the
emphatic success of "The Squaw Man" causing the production of many
Western plays. Considerable comment was caused by my repeated successes
in these characters that I knew as a boy and loved so well. Many
persons who were interested in my work marveled at the realism of
the interpretations. Their enthusiasm persuaded me that the entire
American public loved the West and its traditions when presented with
truthfulness--and the boys most of all.
Unfortunately, other sections of the United States had long been
deluged with sensational "thrillers" of the West on the melodramatic
stage, in dime novels and later in the early motion pictures. Many
intelligent people had formed the most weird and distorted ideas of the
West from the history of frontier days to the present.
In 1914 Western pictures were, to use the language of the
motion-picture producers, "a drug on the market."
Now I loved the themes of these plays. It hurt me to know that what I
loved was not appreciated simply because the true West was sacrificed
on the altar of sensationalism. Realizing that because of my early
associations of the West and my training as an actor combined, I was
qualified to rectify many mistakes which were then being made in
the production of Western photoplays, I decided to try my luck. To
give the American public the benefit of all I knew of the West from
experience and training became my one ambition. In turn, I would enjoy
the gratification of doing something that I had longed to do all my
life. And, naturally, I hoped for increased fame and financial success.
My continued success in Western rôles on the stage revealed to me
that what the public desired most of motion pictures of the West was
consistent realism. Of this fact I was so thoroughly convinced that I
was ready to sacrifice my standing on the legitimate stage, purchased
by long years of toil and hard knocks, to take a chance with fate.
So I declined a flattering and remunerative offer from a big theatrical
firm in New York City and paid my own railroad fare to California.
In May, 1914, I started my work in Western pictures as a star at the
salary of $75 a week, with no other financial interest of any nature.
Such was the status of Western photoplays at that time. Nearly five
years have passed since that eventful time in my career. That I have
devoted this lengthy period exclusively to the production of Western
pictures is the best proof that the American public possesses a love
for the West that will endure for all time.
"The Golden West Boys" is my answer to the thousands of letters I have
received from the boys--most of them, of course, from America, but many
from all points of the compass. My story in verse, "Pinto Ben," and
my prose story "The Savage" have been translated and published in the
Swedish language. With the war over translations in other languages are
to follow.
All Hail the Boys!--I shall never "go broke" as long as I hold their
esteem. My next story will continue the "Golden West" Series in which
"Injun and Whitey Strike out For Themselves."
"So long, boys--take keer o' yerselves."
Faithfully yours, W. S. H.
CONTENTS
I NEWS FROM THE WEST
II PREPARATIONS
III OFF FOR THE GOLDEN WEST
IV ON THE WAY
V INJUN
VI BILL JORDAN
VII WESTERN AIR AND APPETITE
VIII WHITEY LEARNS TO RIDE
IX THE BOYS SETTLE A QUESTION
X A FRIEND IN NEED
XI THE CHINOOK WIND
XII MR. ROSS PAYS A CALL
XIII THE LOST TRAIL
XIV CROWLEY
XV THE CAVE GIVES EVIDENCE
XVI WHITEY IS MISSING
XVII HELD IN CAPTIVITY
XVIII INJUN TAKES A HAND
XIX INJUN TO THE RESCUE
XX THE TRUTH ABOUT CROWLEY
XXI INJUN TACKLES CIVILIZATION
XXII INJUN SHIES AT PINK PYJAMAS
XXIII WHITEY HIS OWN BOSS
XXIV MOOSE LAKE
XXV THE ISLAND IN MOOSE LAKE
XXVI THE MAN ON THE ISLAND
XXVII A DANGEROUS SITUATION
XXVIII A PENITENT PRISONER
XXIX BRINGING HOME THE CAPTIVE
XXX PEDRO'S HATRED
XXXI PLANS FOR THE FUTURE
THE GOLDEN WEST BOYS
CHAPTER I
NEWS FROM THE WEST
"Hooray! Hooray!" shouted Alan Sherwood,--better known as "Whitey" to
the boys in school. "Ooo-lu-lulu-loo-lulu!" he called, making the sound
by putting his hand over his mouth and rapidly pulling it away and
putting it back. He considered this a very good imitation of an Indian
war-whoop.
Mr. Sherwood, "Whitey's" father, had just finished reading aloud a
letter from a firm of lawyers in Montana which stated that Uncle Robert
Granville, who died some weeks before, had left a will bequeathing his
large ranch and everything on it to Mr. Sherwood; and that, as the
ranch was a profitable one, it would be necessary for him to come to
Montana and either carry on the business or see to its disposal.
"Hooray! Hooray!" yelled "Whitey," executing a very wild dance, and
letting out a series of whoops that almost deafened the other members
of the family.
"What are you 'hooraying' about?" asked Mr. Sherwood, while his wife
and his two small sisters held their hands over their ears. "I hope,"
said Mr. Sherwood, with a quizzical smile, "it is not because your poor
uncle Robert is dead?"
"Why, of course not, Father," said "Whitey," somewhat abashed; "I'm
very sorry that Uncle Robert is dead--but--I'm just glad that I'm going
out West and can go hunting and be a cowboy, and maybe shoot a few
grizzly bears and Indians!"
"Who told you that _you_ were going?" asked his father, pretending to
be very serious, but having hard work to keep back a smile.
"Well, I'd just like to see myself staying here if we owned a ranch
out West!" said "Whitey," with fine scorn. "I've heard you say, lots of
times, that the West is the place for a young man!"
Whitey had just attained the age of fourteen, and Mr. Sherwood had to
conceal a smile behind his hand, as he glanced at his wife, who was an
interested listener.
"And what do you want to kill Indians for--they never did anything to
you, did they?" asked Mr. Sherwood.
"No," said Whitey, hesitating about making such an admission, "I don't
know as they ever did anything to me--but everybody kills 'em, don't
they? In all the Western books I read, people always kill 'em--'wipe
'em out' is what the scouts call it in the books--make 'em 'bite the
dust!' I thought that was the proper thing to do," he said, in defense
of his position.
"Well," said Mr. Sherwood, "I think I'd give the matter a little
consideration before I started the slaughter. It isn't open season for
Indians just now, and besides, if the Indians should happen to hear
that you were coming, they might all leave, while there is yet time to
escape the White Avenger! And as for the grizzlies--did you ever see a
grizzly bear, Son?"
"Sure," said Whitey, disdainfully, "up at the Bronx Zoo. He was a
terribly moth-eaten looking affair--no life in him at all! He just went
sniffing around and all he cared about was to eat peanuts. And when the
keeper went into the cage, he ran like he was scared to death!"
"Maybe he'd act a little different if he were in his native Rockies,
and you might not have any peanuts with you," said Mr. Sherwood,
shaking his head. "Would you believe it, if I told you that a grizzly
can run almost as fast as the fastest horse? And in the brush and over
the rough ground, a great deal faster?"
"I'd believe it, if you say so; but it doesn't seem possible," said
Whitey, doubtfully. "If he can run that fast, it would make him mighty
hard to catch, wouldn't it?" he asked, after some thought.
"It would," laughed Mr. Sherwood, "if he always ran the other way--but
he doesn't! Sometimes it's harder to _let him go_ than it is to
catch him! Sometimes he runs after _you_--and then you'd have to 'go
some'--as you say."
"If he ever came at me," said Whitey, belligerently, "I'd put a bullet
in his heart!"
"Even that doesn't always stop a grizzly, right away," said Mr.
Sherwood. "They have very surprising vitality. I think that, for the
time being, I'd let the Indians and grizzlies alone--let the poor
things live! At any rate, you're not out West, yet, and it may be that
I shall decide not to go at all--though I suppose I shall," and Mr.
Sherwood proceeded to ponder over the matter. Nevertheless, it was
plain to be seen that he, too, felt the call of the mountain and the
prairie almost as much as did his son.
Although a prosperous merchant in New York he had spent several years
of his early life in the great West; and once a man gets the lure of
the wilds in his blood, he is seldom able to shake it off altogether.
But he felt that there were too many things to be considered--his
business, his family and their welfare and the schooling of his
children--to make a hasty decision, pack up, bag and baggage, and leave
a comfortable home for a new and untried one.
No one, not even grown-ups, can always do just as he likes. Everybody
has obligations to others; and there are many things that we all must
forego to fulfill those obligations--as a matter of duty. For duty is,
after all, nothing but fulfilling obligations, and the sooner a _boy_
learns this, the sooner he becomes a _man_!
Alan Sherwood, although he was only fourteen years old, was getting to
be a good deal of a man. The nickname "Whitey" had been given him by
his companions at school on account of his light blonde hair. He had
resented it, at first; but after he found out that he couldn't "lick
the whole school,"--although he came pretty near doing it--he gradually
became resigned to it, and answered to it readily.
Whitey was large for his age, and was far stronger than the average boy
of fifteen or sixteen. This had been brought about by the fact that he
had been a weakling up to the time he was seven or eight, and had been
humiliated and imposed upon by the other boys until he determined to
remedy his physical defects, if hard work and systematic exercise would
do it.
He consulted his father and found out that the first thing for an
athlete to do was to breathe properly, for "wind" is a most important
thing in all contests of strength and endurance.
"No matter how fast a boy can run," said Mr. Sherwood who had been a
famous college athlete in his day, "if he hasn't good wind, he won't
last in a long race; and even if he is far stronger than his opponent
in a boxing or a wrestling bout, he will be beaten by the boy who has
good wind."
Whitey began by taking a long, deep breath, as soon as he came out of
doors in the morning, and holding it while he walked ten steps; and
this he repeated ten times. It made him a little dizzy, at first, but
he found that he could soon increase it to twenty and thirty times
without discomfort. He was careful to make the increase very gradually,
stopping the deep breathing as soon as he felt the slightest dizziness.
Then he began to take up systematic and regular running, jogging around
the block at a slow pace, and slowing down to a walk as soon as he felt
his heart beating fast. He soon found that he could negotiate this
without breathing hard, and then he began to increase the distance.
He had been assured by his father that many boys, and men, too, who
_think_ they are training are really hurting themselves by over-doing
it, and are surprised to find that they do not get into condition,
being ignorant of the fact that _moderation_ is the basis of all
success.
Mr. Sherwood pointed out to Whitey that shrewd baseball managers do
not allow their men to exert themselves to the utmost in the early
days of spring training, but compel them to "lob 'em over" until their
arm-muscles become flexible. And they will not allow a player to run
bases at top speed for fear that he may strain a tendon in his leg and
impair his speed for a large part of the playing season.
"It is a hard thing for a young and ambitious athlete to keep himself
in check when he is brimming over with health and strength and
enthusiasm," said Mr. Sherwood, "but it is the _real_ way to train.
Many a young athlete ruins his chances for future success by going at
it too violently at first."
Of course, there were many other things that Mr. Sherwood showed
Whitey, one of the most important being regular hours--regular hours
for sleep and for play; in short, to be systematic. And another thing
of great importance was cleanliness--both of mind and body--for no boy
or man can, or ever did, become a really great athlete without the aid
of both of these.
And as for smoking--"Well," said Mr. Sherwood, "I can't say that
there is anything really wrong about a _man_ smoking, but for a boy
to smoke means that he is willing to sacrifice almost everything to
that. It not only is apt to stunt his growth, but _one cigarette_ may
destroy all the good effects of a week's training. And not only that,
it affects the eye and the nerves--takes away accuracy from the eye,
and makes the hand unsteady. I don't believe it pays--I don't believe
there is enough fun in smoking to make up for what it costs a boy in a
physical way, even if there were no other reasons."
And so Whitey really went into training without seeming to have done
so--any boy can do it; he doesn't need any dumb-bells or gymnasium
apparatus--and the result was, that by the time he was thirteen, he was
the strongest boy in the school; and what is more important, he had
learned to control himself. He wasn't nearly so anxious to fight as he
had been, although, when he did get into a fight, he was able to render
a good account of himself. It is always found that the boy who really
_can_ fight isn't nearly so quarrelsome as the one who is always ready
to _start_ a fight--and let some other fellow _finish_ it!
Long after Whitey had gone to bed, and was dreaming of picking up a
grizzly bear by the hind leg and knocking down eleven Indians with
him, Mr. and Mrs. Sherwood sat debating the pros and cons of going
to Montana. And it was finally decided that before moving their home
to the West, Mr. Sherwood should go out to the ranch and learn what
the conditions were and whether it was a suitable place to bring his
family. And what is more interesting, it was finally agreed that Whitey
was to go with him, although this arrangement was not made without some
protest from Mrs. Sherwood, who had a mother's natural solicitude for
her boy. But Mr. Sherwood said, with a smile and a shake of the head,
that he was not at all fearful about Whitey--"It's the poor Indians and
grizzlies I'm sorry for!"