ON THE WAY
The train carrying Whitey and his father sped across the continent
at an average speed of perhaps fifty miles an hour, but it seemed to
Whitey that it crawled along at a snail's pace after it had crossed the
Mississippi. The first day, and most of the second, were novelties; new
scenes presented themselves continually and Whitey kept his face glued
to the window. But after that the monotony of the thing became tiresome
even to so wide-awake a boy as Whitey.
Of course, as they came into the great prairies and away from
"civilization," the chance of encountering train-robbers lent an added
zest to things; but as time went on and no train-robbers appeared,
Whitey gradually came to the conclusion that the train-robbing business
was not all it had been cracked up to be, and that maybe the Daltons
and the James Boys and the rest of the bandits had retired. Which,
perhaps, was fortunate for them, as it will be remembered that Whitey
had the pearl-handled .22 in his hip-pocket! He should worry about
train-robbers!
Whitey was completely staggered at the size of his own country.
He had no idea it was so large; distances, on the map, had seemed
insignificant, but when traveled, became prodigious. And long before he
got to his destination Whitey had come to the conclusion that this is
the greatest country on earth--as indeed it is!
Mr. Sherwood told him the story of the foreigner who started from New
York for San Francisco. When the train got to Chicago, the foreigner
asked of the porter, "Aren't we there yet?"
"Nossah," said the porter, "not yet!"
Every morning, for three mornings, he asked the same question, and
received the same answer.
When they finally got to San Francisco, after about five days, the
foreigner said, "They make an awful fuss about Columbus having
discovered America--I don't see how he could have missed it!"
In order to get to the ranch, it had been necessary to leave the main
line at a junction, and take a branch road up into the northern part of
Montana. Traveling in this train was slightly different from what they
had enjoyed in the luxurious Pullman, but Whitey felt that they were
now near their journey's end, and he didn't mind the inconvenience of
the combination baggage and passenger coach which was the only one on
the "train."
Whitey and his father alighted on a small platform, in the early hours
of the morning, and the prospect seemed dismal enough. There were only
a few people in sight, and it was cold and raw. Even in summer, at a
high altitude, such as in the foot-hills of the Rockies, the early
morning is cold.
As they looked about them, a tall, and very sunbrowned man approached
and said, "I reckon you must be Mr. Sherwood?" and on being assured
that such was the case, the tall man introduced himself: "I'm Bill
Jordan, the foreman of the Granville ranch. Your telegram was a mite
delayed, but I managed to get here with a wagon to meet the train. You
an' this youngster has a pretty long drive ahead, an' I'd suggest yo'
all better get a hot cup o' coffee an' some eggs over to the shack
'cross the road before yo' all starts." This was most agreeable to both
Whitey and his father, and they proceeded to the shack for breakfast.
It must be acknowledged that what they called "breakfast," was not much
like what Whitey used to get at home. The room was low and dingy, and
the dishes were thick and cracked, and a big man who acted as waiter,
seemed to "deal" the plates from his arm. But "hunger is the best
sauce," and Whitey managed to consume everything that was set before
him, while his father and Jordan talked about the ranch.
Whitey liked the big man the moment he saw him. He had a firm and
rather cold face, but a very kindly one when he smiled. His manner
toward every one was reserved. It was evident that the other men all
deferred to him. He did as little talking as possible, and his eyes
seemed to be taking in everything. He always thought for some time
before he expressed an opinion; but when he did venture one, it carried
conviction with it. And what meant more than anything else to Whitey,
was the fact that he took a good deal of notice of him, asking him one
or two questions about New York, and telling Whitey that there were
lots of horses on the ranch for him to ride.
When they came out of the shack, Whitey got his first look at an
Indian, except those that he had seen in the Wild West shows. His
shoulders were covered with a very dirty blanket, his trousers were
much too long and were crumpled about his ankles and under his bare
feet at the heels. Altogether, he was not an impressive figure. He
stood near the wagon while their baggage was being loaded into it, and
watching his opportunity, approached Mr. Sherwood. But whatever the
Indian intended to do was nipped in the bud, for Bill Jordan came back
a little unexpectedly. "Beat it!" said Jordan, and the Indian ducked
away hastily, just in time to escape most of the kick that Jordan aimed
at him.
This was most astonishing to Whitey. The Indian did not conduct himself
in the way that might be expected from the books that Whitey had read,
and as "the proud Red Man of lofty mien and bearing," this Indian was
a most dismal failure. According to all the authorities, he should
have said to Jordan, drawing himself to his full height, "Dog of a
Paleface, an insult to Rain-in-the-Neck can be wiped out only in blood!
Let the White Man tremble before the vengeance of the Chief of The
Wallawalloos!"
But nothing like that happened, at all. No full height; no dignity
of folded arms and proud and awful threat of terrible vengeance. The
Indian just "beat it!" And half way across the platform, he stopped
and scratched himself. It was all wrong! All wrong!
In a few moments, everything was in readiness and they entered the
wagon, Jordan taking Whitey on the seat with him. They sped over
the ground at a fast and steady gait that put the miles behind
surprisingly. And Whitey had many questions to ask about the various
interesting things they saw, which Jordan answered cheerfully.
Whitey could not get the Indian out of his mind. "Are all the Indians
out here like that one?" he asked, after a while.
"Well, no," said Jordan, "not all of 'em. That feller evidently don't
b'long up here; he's prob'ly from the Southwest an' ain't nuthin' but
a sort of a hobo. He's jest a sample of the kind that hangs 'round
towns. An Indian h'aint no business in a town--he belongs in the open.
He h'aint no more business bein' in a town ner an eagle has bein' in
a cage--both on 'em is plumb ruint by it. Now, the's some Indians
up North fu'ther," Jordan went on, after a pause, "that's quite
consider'ble men--'twouldn't be safe exac'ly, to kick none of 'em,
'less you wanted a fight. But they keeps to theirselves--'way from
town." Whitey's fallen hopes in the noble Red Man revived a little at
this.
"Do those fellows give you any trouble now?" asked Mr. Sherwood. "I
mean the Indians that gave Mr. Granville so much trouble some years
ago."
"Not lately," said Jordan, and his grim face set hard. "We give 'em
quite consider'ble of a lesson, one time. They was a bunch o' Dakotas
wanderin' 'round, an' they sure played hob with the cattle, fer a
spell. The' was some Greasers among 'em, too; but we give a few
neck-tie parties an' they kind o' got discouraged."
"What is a neck-tie party, Mr. Jordan?" asked Whitey.
"Well," said Jordan, smiling, "the way o' playin' the game is like
this: you take a man--gener'ly a Greaser--an' tie his hands behind him
an' set him onto a horse. Then you make a slip-knot in a rope, or a
lariat, an' you put it 'round the Greaser's neck an' throw the other
end over the limb of a tree, an' two or three o' the boys takes a holt
of it. Then, if somebody happens to hit the horse a slap--well, most
gener'ly the neck-tie fits sort o' snug!"
"Why, that's hanging a man!" exclaimed Whitey, all excitement.
"Some calls it that," said Jordan, dryly. "I guess it 'mounts to 'bout
the same thing--fer the man! But, y' see, this way, it's gener'ly a
kind of a accident--somebody jes' happens to slap the horse, or mebbe
the horse is res'less an' moves hisself. Then th' ain't nobody to
blame!"
"Gee!" said Whitey, "I'd like to see one of those parties!"
"Well, I dunno," said Jordan, soberly, "they ain't altogether such
all-fired pleasant an' sociable affairs as y' might think. I hope I've
seen the last one--in these parts." And Jordan didn't speak again for
some time.
Whitey figured that, after all, maybe all the Indians wouldn't stay
tame and dispirited, and that maybe there would be "something doing,"
before the summer was over.