Having had to accommodate himself to the rudeness of a civilized
woman, he made other provision for his cayuse and then asked her,
"Wheh yo'man?"
She told him I was down in the field, and he then proceeded to find
me. He was in the depths of trouble. He had several squaw-wives and
feared he was to be arrested for it.
Now he approached me. It was dramatic; it was high-class pantomime.
It is too bad the kinetoscope, cinematograph, or some other
moving-picture machine had not been invented. He seemed awed by a
presence, yet so emboldened by the needs of his case that he
walked stoically to his quest.
Squaring his Atlaslike shoulders, he began: "You heap big chief. You
talky this way" (at the same time extending one finger straight from
his lips). "Mormon he talky this way" (now extending two fingers, to
show he understood them to talk with double tongue). "Mormon telly me
sojer men ketchy me, put me in jug [jail]; me havy two, tree, four
squaw. You heap big chief. You telly me this way" (one finger).
Continuing, he said: "Me havy two, tree, four squaw. Mormon he telly
me, me go jug; one my squaw he know dat, he heap cry, _heap_ cry, HEAP
cry, by um by die!"
This was accompanied by gestures, throwing his body backward in
imitation of the dying woman whom fear had killed, according to his
dramatic story.
I told him something like this: "No, heap big lie. You go back Skull
Valley, you stay home, no sojer ketchy you, you be heap good Injun!"
Upon this he grunted deeply, shook hands cordially, went back to his
many-wived tents over across the creek, and soon we saw them filing
off through the sagebrush toward their Skull Valley home, many miles
over the Onaqui range.