MAUCHACHO WINS THE RACE
“Come, folks, hurry, hurry! I can hear the Indians’ drums already!”
cried Bess, as she ran through the hall and downstairs.
Several guests who had come from Kalispell the day before to see the
Indian celebration were with Mrs. West in the living-room.
James Fletcher and Henry West, together with the other gentlemen of
the party, were waiting at the gate with several extra saddle horses.
Mrs. West expected to drive and call for Mrs. White on the way through
Polson. The site selected for the various races and Indian dances was
on a level stretch of county South and East from Polson. As the merry
party mounted their horses and started they soon came in sight of
the large crowd which had already congregated. The incessant muffled
sound of the tom-toms or the loud cry of an Indian, came to their
ears as they urged the horses so that they might not miss any of the
performances.
The first sight which attracted them was a number of squaws and bucks
who were seated on either side of a log rapping upon it with sticks.
The squaws sang in weird monotones in time with their sounding sticks;
and occasionally a buck joined them for a few notes as if to give the
song a greater impetus. With a swift motion and a sharp cry one of the
bucks pointed with his stick at another Indian who sat opposite him
only further down the line. Instantly the music (if indeed it could
be called music) ceased, and each one in this gambling game looked
expectantly to see if the Indian designated held in his hand the piece
of bone which had been passed deftly, and with no little sleight of
hand, from one to another. A look of sheer disappointment came into his
face, however, and he placed a forfeit with the opposing side. Again
the song and drumming were resumed more vigorously than before, the
result this time was that one of the bucks arose, removed his blanket
and stalked away, amid calls and words of derision and laughter from
the others.
West suggested that the party move on and seek some shady place where
they might rest and view the dances. They had not long to wait, for
presently they saw marching towards them a long file of brilliantly
dressed Indians, squaws, papooses and larger children. The squaws were
gorgeous in flaming reds and yellows, in purple velvet or red satin, in
greens and even one in pink, with floating ribbons and flashing beads
and ornaments. They sang in high, shrill tones to the accompaniment
of the tom-tom, which was carried by four stalwart bucks beating
vigorously and marching ahead.
The Indians in the procession now began forming a circle with the
squaws and the drummers in the center where they squatted upon the
ground. Now the tom-toms assumed a different _tempo_, the nasal,
piercing singing of the squaws began anew, and simultaneously, at a
certain note in the music, all the Indians began the dance. To some, it
looked like a confused mass of bending, jumping, moving beings, each of
whom seemed bent upon going through the greatest contortions. But when
one observed closely it was seen that at a certain beat of the drum the
heels came to the ground, then the toes or the whole foot. Their bodies
moved forward and backward in graceful savagery. See their gorgeous
blankets sway! How the festoons of feathers and fixings wave with each
movement of their supple bodies; watch the interested expression on
the faces! See that tall, slender buck with a whirl of eagle feathers
hanging down his back; hear the bells about his ankles as they jingle
in perfect rhythm to the song and drum! Now he has bent forward till
the feathers in his hair sweep the dust! Backward he sways and his
knees fairly touch his face! See his eyes gleam, how eager is his whole
face! How his hands lift high the war implement with its decoration of
eagle feathers!
But hark, the music ceases, and at one shrill note the dancers stop.
Already each brow is dripping with beads of sweat. Now one Indian,
straight, strong, lithe of limb, steps alone upon the trodden circle.
The sun makes his almost nude body gleam like burnished copper and
dazzles the beads upon his belt and bracelets. A large war bonnet of
weasel skins and eagle feathers, with two curved buffalo horns, covers
his head and falls down his back till it nearly touches the ground.
Bells tinkle upon his moccasins and at his wrists. As he steps out from
among the others, cries of approval are heard upon all sides, and Bess
knows that he must be some extraordinary Indian. Turning to West she
asked who the Indian was, who was about to dance, and what the dance
was to be.
“He is Two Feathers, and is noted for his wonderful dancing. This
is to be the snake dance, I think,” replied Henry West, as he moved
Mauchacho to a better position for the benefit of Bess. Glancing about
to see that his guests also had a good view, he rode Eagle over to
the carriage where his mother and several other ladies were seated.
Assuring himself that they were comfortable and could see the sport,
he started to return to Bess’ side when he saw to his chagrin that
Mr. Davis, the Indian Agent, had just assumed that position. The girl
greeted Mr. Davis, and was introducing him to her companions, when she
noticed West standing aloof from the others. In response to a gesture
from her he came quickly to her side. “Please stay here, Henry; I want
you to tell me about the dances.”
Reluctant though he was to be near Davis and to be compelled to speak
with him, he did as she requested. Dismounting, he leaned an arm across
the saddle, and only occasionally lifted his face to Bess’ in response
to her questions during the dance.
But she was now all absorbed in the graceful undulations of the dancer.
See how he stretches out his neck and writhes his body like a huge
reptile, curving now to the right, till his face nearly touches his
shoulder, and swiftly moving forward and again to the left, in long,
gliding vibrations! Some of his manoeuvers were so suggestive of a
living snake, that Bess could feel her flesh creep. When the music
increased, the singing of the squaws shrieked higher and shriller,
the dancer thrust forth his head and hissed. She impulsively threw up
her hands which came in unexpected contact with the decoration on her
sombrero. She gave a little, nervous scream as she felt the rattles
quiver under her touch. West glanced quickly at her and asked anxiously
if she were ill. Before she could reply, however, Davis said, “Really
Bess, this exhibition of savagery is rather hard on your nerves. Let me
take you away!”
He looked with insolent eyes at Henry West who met the gaze without a
tremor of the eyelashes.
“It is not that which made me act so silly. I unconsciously touched
these things on my hat and they always send the shivers through me. I
could not bear them at all, except that they are my first trophy.”
“Are you coming with me?” asked Davis, as he began to turn his horse’s
head.
“Oh, no; for see, all the others are now joining Two Feathers in
the snake ceremony! See! even those small boys are dancing like old
warriors!”
Forward and backward swayed the circle of dancers, undulating in and
out past each other; bending their bodies low towards the ground with
a creeping movement until they seemed like a huge, squirming mass of
bright colored and winged reptiles. In measured tread they danced, they
swayed, they moved, in perfect time to the singing of the squaws and
the hollow sounding drum. Their heels struck the earth with such unison
that one could feel the vibrations. Would they never tire?
West asked to be excused, as he wished to prepare his horses for the
relay race which was to begin later. The fact was, he felt himself
growing hot and angry in Davis’ presence and feared that something
might occur to make him lose his self-control. Once during the
conversation Davis had asked Henry West why he had not joined in the
dance. Bess did not see the smiling sneer as he asked the question, and
consequently thought it was only meant for a joke.
“Fancy Henry dancing with the Indians and with a blanket on,” laughed
Bess, as she patted him on the shoulder and looked at him with saucy,
smiling eyes from under her fluffy hair. She could not know that the
malicious remark of Davis cut West like a knife, and did not understand
that the purport of the words was—“why do you not go where you belong
instead of mingling with white people.” For a brief moment West looked
at Davis, who quickly turned his face; then he said carelessly and
indifferently, “I know all those dances, Miss Bess, and perhaps some
day you may be applauding me instead of Two Feathers.”
As he lifted his broad-brimmed hat to her and the others in the party,
he sprang to the saddle with one easy swing of his leg, reined Eagle
abruptly about and started swiftly away. Davis looked at Bess as she
watched Henry West, feeling no little chagrin at her look. She seemed
to lose interest in the dances now that he was gone, and though Davis
tried to point out the especial features of the Sun dance and Medicine
dance, she watched them half-interestedly.
“Come—let us see if the others have not had quite enough by this time,”
said Bess, after the Indians had given two more long, fantastic dances.
As the horses were brought out for the relay race, and the party moved
to be nearer the track Bess again became filled with excitement.
James had explained to her that this race was ten miles, or around
the half-mile track twenty times; there were three entries and each
rider could have three horses. They were to change horses, re-saddle
and remount unassisted, except that some one could help in holding the
horses after each mile. The rider completing in the quickest time, of
course, won the prize. Bess had only eyes for Henry West as he led his
horses down the track to the starting point. One horse was already
saddled, and walking by West’s side was the Indian who was to ride his
horses.
Presently the other men with their horses and riders were ready.
The three Indians mounted; the crowd was waved back out of the way;
everyone grew expectant and interested. At the crack of a pistol the
horses were off like a flash amid clouds of dust. Evidently they
were not new at this kind of racing and were eager for the sport.
As they sped around the track they were almost abreast, and as the
mile was nearly run West’s horse was a length behind the other two.
As they neared the wire where each horse was being held ready to
receive its saddle and respective rider, each slackened his pace and
now simultaneously the three riders slid from their horses, quickly
unbuckled the saddles, flung them upon the waiting horses, and with
quick and sure fingers girted them, remounted and were off! Swift
Arrow, the Indian riding for West, had changed his saddle so quickly
that his horse was ready to start when the others were. This second
horse kept apace with the others and toward the end of the half mile
was gaining slightly. One of the other horses suddenly bolted off the
track, and by the time the rider had him under control he was at least
a quarter behind. Again at the change Swift Arrow’s deft fingers had
adjusted the saddle, remounted and was off before the second Indian
had fairly gained his feet. On and on they rode, first one gaining,
then the other ahead according to the fleetness of the horses. How the
crowd cheered as the favorite horse came in ahead! How they shouted as
Louie pounded his heels into the horse’s sides in vain! See, here he
comes at last, a half lap behind the other two, with his shirt flopping
in the wind and one of his leggings hanging down over the stirrup.
As he passes the man who holds his horses the legging is caught and
jerked free. Again the others have remounted and gone, as Louie comes
steaming up, half falling as the other loosened legging dangles at his
feet. His long braids have become untied, and now the black, straight
hair with its single feather is standing straight out with the breeze.
Nothing daunted, with his fleeing companions already nearly a mile
ahead, he bends low over his horse and rides as only an Indian can.
Seven miles are run! Swift Arrow still leading! The eighth begun! Look!
What attracts West, as he runs hurriedly across the track? His keen
eye caught a glimpse of the saddle as Swift Arrow sped past! See, now,
it is surely loose! Will he be able to hold until the end of the mile?
Here he comes dashing forward! Already he seems to be beginning to
dismount! Look. The horse suddenly turns, and the loosened saddle with
the rider are flung to the ground almost at West’s feet! The frightened
horse plunges and is gone. Two men quickly draw the stunned Indian to
one side and shouts of “West! West!” are heard coming from the excited
crowd.
“Oh! Will he be able to finish the race,” cried Bess, excitedly to
James, who stood near Mauchacho.
“His other two horses cannot stand it to run alternately now, surely,”
replied her brother, “and already both the others are ahead! See, here
comes Nedreau’s horse on the finish of the eighth, and West has still
the last half of the eighth to go. He might as well give up.”
West had assured himself that Swift Arrow was not seriously injured,
and then lifting his sombrero to the calling crowd, snatched the saddle
from the ground, threw it upon the resisting horse, fastened it, leaped
upon the horse and was off! His head fairly touched the horse’s neck as
he bent over, and in a steady voice urged the animal into even greater
speed! Nedreau’s rider was already mounted and off as West came up
the half-mile with Louie not far behind. He re-saddled to begin the
ninth mile, but the tired, restive horse did not gain a foot over the
others. Bess could not sit still in her saddle. “That is not fair,” she
cried, “for they have three horses and Henry only two!” She saw with
trepidation that his horse was falling far behind, and knew that he
could not go much farther.
Before any of her companions was aware of her purpose, Bess gave
Mauchacho a quick cut with the quirt and flew across the intervening
space to the man holding West’s horse ready for the remount. Bess
sprang to the ground, unfastened and jerked off the saddle and thrust
the reins into the man’s hands just as West came up. He had seen the
girl as he neared the wire, and quickly divined her purpose. She sprang
back out of the way and cried, “Take Mauchacho, take my Bird! Win the
race for me!”
At first the crowd could not see what was going on, and when the girl’s
purpose dawned upon them they cheered and shouted wildly. Cries of
“Ride,” “Go win,” “Mount the Bird,” came to the breed’s ears, and he
threw his saddle upon the anxious, eager animal and was off.
See how easily he starts; he even leans over to pat the horse’s neck;
he does not seem to care nor to notice that Nedreau’s Indian is almost
a half ahead! Now he is bending low over the saddle till man and horse
seem one; neither hear the cries and shouts as they begin the last half
of the race. On Mauchacho speeds—swiftly, steadily; nearer, nearer,
nearer the other horse! Almost to the other’s tail! A leap and they are
even! A stretch, and his nose is ahead! One supreme effort and daylight
is between the two horses, just as they pass under the wire amid
frantic cries, tossing hats and waving handkerchiefs. In a moment the
cheers were changed to laughter as poor Louie came trotting under the
wire, dressed only in his feather, so strenuous had been his exertions.
Bess stood alone near the track, her hands clasped together. Not even a
cry escaped her lips as she saw, not West, but Mauchacho win the race.
As soon as West could slow the horse and bring him back before the
judges, he heard the starter announce that “West had won the race.”
West sprang to the ground, gave the reins to a man standing near, and
entered the judges’ stand.
“I did not win this race, gentlemen; I had no right to take a fresh
horse; the money goes to Nedreau and Louie,” and before they could
offer any protest he had gone. As he led Mauchacho over to the waiting
and now smiling mistress, West paused a moment as he heard the
announcement of the correction of the race, and felt relieved as he saw
the two Indians receive the prize.
Bess flung her arms about Mauchacho’s neck and happy tears filled her
eyes. “You beauty! I had no idea that you could go so like a bird! Oh,
you dear!” and she patted his neck and kissed his nose just as the men
threw a blanket over him and led him away to be cooled off.
Henry West was just about to take Bess back to her companions, when he
turned and directly faced Dave Davis.
“Come, Bess—permit me to take you away from here. What prompted you to
do such a strange thing? Besides, the race was unfair and West did not
win,” he said, as he glanced with lowering eyes at the man by her side.
“It may not have been fair, Mr. Davis, but it was a mighty fine race! I
will go back to Mrs. West with Henry, thank you,” and she gave him a
queer smile as she left him, which he did not quite understand.
“Please, little Mother—now, James, don’t both of you look so. I just
had to have Henry win that race, even though it took Mauchacho and me
both to help him do it!”
“Well, sister, we can’t truthfully call you a tenderfoot any longer.”
“How long have you been in the West, Miss Fletcher?” asked one of the
company, as he looked at the happy, satisfied expression on the girl’s
face. Bess turned her full, brown eyes to the man’s face, but for the
moment she did not speak. Unconsciously she had slid her fingers into
Henry West’s brown hand as he stood near to her, but did not heed its
tremor nor faint pressure. Then her eyes sought the deep, blue hills
with the soft masses of white, fleecy clouds crowning their crests and
the verdant pines caressing their feet.
“How long! Oh, how long? When was I not here? Here my heart has been
since God’s divine touch first made those hills! Here my soul shall be
when they have passed away!” replied the girl, her head raised toward
the deepening shadows on the crests.
Then came the evening with its cool and quiet; with its rest and peace;
with its quivering stars and pale radiance of the moon.