A FRIEND IN NEED
The accuracy of Bill Jordan's estimate of Injun was clearly
demonstrated very soon afterward. Injun did not appear at the ranch
the day following his "argument" with Whitey; and it must be confessed
that the latter missed him sorely. The usual sports and occupations
had lost a good deal of their zest, and life wasn't quite the same to
Whitey. Injun, accustomed as he was to a solitary and independent life,
probably felt the separation less; but that he felt it, is certain.
For on the following day, he appeared early, and made no pretense
that he had come on any other errand than to offer peace. He did not
bring a peace-pipe for Whitey to smoke with him, but he brought what
was equivalent to it--a fine lariat which he presented to Whitey at
the corral with no words and no ceremony, simply handing it to him
and letting it go at that. Like the rest of his race, Injun was not
demonstrative.
Whitey accepted the gift in the spirit in which it was given and
thanked Injun for it; and at once proceeded to try it under the
tutelage of his companion who already had acquired considerable skill
in its use.
Bill Jordan had been near at hand when the reconciliation between the
two boys had occurred, thinking that perhaps it was not best to trust
the red boy too far; but the latter's manner soon convinced Bill that
things were as they should be and that the lad was no "Injun-giver,"
and that there was no sinister motive behind his seeming generosity.
Bill examined the lariat closely, and a smile came over his face as
he asked: "Where'd you grab off this here rope, Injun?" Injun looked
frankly at Bill and said, "Him Pedro leave him."
Bill laughed: "He shore did, Injun!" And then he explained to Whitey:
"This here Pedro person was some complicated into more kinds of evil
deviltry an' wickedness, includin' cattle rustlin', than any six men
oughta be. He's a half-breed Canuck, bein' called 'Pedro', 'count o'
him havin' more'n ord'nary skill at playin' a card-game by thet name.
He had most pressin' reasons to go away from here right sudden, an' he
neglected to take some of his belongings--which he prob'ally stole in
the first place. You title is good, Injun--better'n Pedro's, anyhow!"
"Where is he now?" asked Whitey.
"Anybody who will tell me that," said Bill, "will get a vote o' thanks
all wrote out on paper an' tied with a pink ribbon! I'd travel some
consid'able distance afoot if I figgered I c'd meet up with thet pizen
hombrey. When he left, he didn't leave no forwardin' address--the'
was a lot o' things comin' to him thet he wasn't partic'lar 'bout
receivin'. If he's where I hope he is, an' where he oughta be, he don't
need no over-coat ner blanket! I reckon this here Injun mebbe'd like to
know where he is, too!" laughed Bill. "Injun had consider'ble to do
with showin' up that skunk, an' he's some sore on Injun--I'll tell yo'
'bout it sometime."
The subject of Pedro apparently was not a very pleasant one to Bill,
and he changed the subject abruptly. "Lemme see what I kin do with thet
rope," he said, and Whitey handed it to him, delightedly. Bill took the
"rope," and proceeded to show the boys some stunts that opened Whitey's
eyes, especially the fancy ones. And as he performed each one, he told
the boys that "he was plumb outa practice."
"I'd like to see you when you _are_ in practice!" said Whitey; "but I
want to know, Mr. Jordan, if those stunts are really any good?"
"Well," said Bill, "o' course the main thing to do with a rope is to
ketch somethin' with it, an' I didn't ketch nuthin' but mebbe a little
applause; but yo' learn them things foolin' with the rope, an' the
more yo' fool with anythin', the more yo' learn about it, and the more
control yo' get over it. I wouldn't say thet the time spent in learnin'
them things was _all_ throwed away. Mebbe they ain't so useless as they
seem." Bill smiled--that rare, quiet, quizzical smile of his, as he
asked innocently, "Was yo' thinkin' o' puttin' in the whole mornin' an'
learnin' 'em?"
Whitey laughed; he had tried the lariat and he knew how difficult it is
to do anything with it at all. "Not this morning!" he said. "I'm going
to wait until no one is looking. I think I'll get better acquainted
with my horse before I tackle a new job!"
"One thing at a time is good dope," said Bill. "Hev yo' got so yo' kin
set on that ol' hobby-horse without holdin' onto his mane?"
Whitey laughed; and for an answer, he vaulted onto Monty's back, and,
followed by Injun, he galloped away.
As the boys rode away from the ranch-house across the prairie toward
the mountains, they came upon numerous small streams, some of them so
deep or so swift that they could not be readily forded. Here was a
new experience--"swimming a horse" across a stream. Injun, of course,
showed the way, and Whitey learned that, if the current is at all
swift, you must enter the water above the spot where you wish to land,
so that you will be carried down-stream to the proper place. And it was
here that Whitey had his first real adventure; though had it not been
for Injun, there is no telling but the story of Whitey would have to
come to an end right here.
The boys had dismounted on the bank of one of these streams, and Whitey
had tied his horse in the way Injun showed him. Injun's pony did not
require tieing, for the reason that no dog ever followed his master
with more fidelity than did the pony follow Injun.
As Whitey ran down the steep bank onto the rocks that bordered the
stream, he saw, not more than ten feet away from him, a rattlesnake
sunning himself on a flat rock. If Whitey had been a Western boy, he
never would have done what he did, and that was to stoop and pick up a
stone and take careful aim at the snake. In fact, he took too careful
aim! Rattlesnakes are born fighters, and naturally object to being
hit by rocks thrown by boys or anybody else. And at exactly the same
instant that Whitey threw the stone, the rattler jumped for him--and
a rattler is a considerable jumper. The rock and the snake probably
passed each other in the air!
At any rate, the rock did not hit the snake, and it seemed that the
snake did not hit the boy; but for the next few seconds the air was
full of snake and boy--the boy doing a dance that would put to shame
any professional. Whitey hopped high and far and frequently, but he
couldn't get out of reach of the snake. But a rattler must coil to
strike effectively; and although this one did, very quickly, he was not
quite quick enough.
Injun had come to the edge of the bank and had taken in the situation
at a glance, and he acted instantly. In an incredibly short time, he
had fitted an arrow to his bow, and when the snake coiled, it was the
last thing that Mr. Snake ever did! Injun's arrow hit him just below
his ugly, flat head, and pinned him to the ground for a moment, where
he writhed and twisted for a time and then lay still. Injun paid no
attention to the snake, but turned anxiously to Whitey.
"Him bite you?" he asked earnestly.
"No," answered Whitey, "guess not--I didn't feel anything. He made me
hop some, though," he added, going toward the dead snake as though to
examine it.
But Injun was not satisfied; he stopped Whitey and made him take off
his shoes and stockings and roll up his trousers and examine his
legs critically for any evidences of a bite. In the calf of Whitey's
leg, there was an almost imperceptible scratch; Injun examined it,
and at once applied his lips to the wound and sucked the blood from
it and spat it out; and this he repeated several times, while Whitey
looked on, grinning and wondering what it was all about. Then Injun
took Whitey's handkerchief from about his neck and tieing it above
the wound--_nearer to the heart_--he knotted it, ran a short stick
through the knot, and twisted the stick until the handkerchief was very
tight. This is the first thing to be done in case of snake-bite, as it
prevents, in a measure, the poison from getting into the circulation.
"Gee!" said Whitey, "my leg feels numb--I guess you got that thing too
tight!"
Injun shook his head and insisted that Whitey get onto his horse and
ride back. Whitey agreed, though he had begun to feel a certain drowsy
numbness all over him, and Injun had to help him mount.
It was plain to Injun that Whitey never would be able to stay on his
horse unassisted, and he mounted behind him and held him on, calling to
his own pony to follow.
In this manner the two boys came to the ranch-house, where Whitey
was taken in hand by Bill and Mr. Sherwood and the usual remedies
administered, one of them being to pour whiskey into the victim.
The poison of a rattlesnake has a tendency to stop the heart, and
whiskey is given to stimulate it--to make it beat faster--a primitive
remedy and one that doesn't always work. And then, too, it is a
question in the minds of many people as to which is the worse poison,
rattlesnake juice or whiskey!
It was evident that Injun was not altogether satisfied with the
treatment that his pal was getting; and he leaped upon his pinto and
dashed away. After a time he returned with an old Indian Squaw, who
set up her tripod of sticks and hung her kettle over a small fire and
cooked some of the herbs that she had in a little bag. A couple of days
later Whitey woke up and proceeded to get well--thanks to the squaw and
to Injun!
And it is quite certain that he never again set out to kill a six-foot
rattler with a rock! If a man hasn't a gun handy, it is just as well
to give the rattler his full half of the road--or the whole of it, for
that matter, if he seems to want it.