A FRONTIER DANCE
Two cowboys came to the ranch of the scout with a herd of cattle; one a
half-breed, the other a white man, sinewy, tall and straight. He was a
typical cowboy who had lived a life of adventure and hardship, rugged
and bronzed by the sun. He wore a broad-brimmed hat, leather chaps, and
high-heeled boots; a knotted scarlet handkerchief round his neck, and a
cartridge belt with a six-shooter hanging from his hips. His fearless
gray eyes looked straight out at me, and he moved and spoke with an
easy, careless air of confidence. He had a smiling face and talked in a
high squeaky voice that sometimes broke.
Yellow Bird told me, with mingled awe and admiration, that he was a
famous bandit named “Slim.” The United States Government had a reward
on him dead or alive. Single-handed he held up a Montana stage, and an
express train on the Northern Pacific Railway. Now he was trying to get
a herd of stolen cattle across the border-line into Canada; they were
“mavericks,” or unbranded cattle, taken out of many herds.
Because of his adventurous life, Slim carried several bullets in his
body. His right arm was so crippled that he could not lift his hand to
his mouth. But, in spite of his wounds, he could still rope cattle and
break wild horses; and was a dead shot with both hands.
I saw him break a vicious bronco to the saddle. He went into our high
round horse corral, with smooth and easy gait, jangling spurs, and
dragging his lariat which he coiled as he went. He lost no time and his
movements were quiet and catlike. He did not seem to lift his arm or
move; suddenly his noose shot out its full length and settled
gracefully over the neck of the bronco. It bawled with rage and fear;
threw down its head and sprang high into the air. It walked about on
its hind legs, striking with forefeet and threw itself over backwards.
But Slim finally mastered and tied it to the snubbing post. When he had
finished his job, he could ride it without bucking, and led it about
with a rope.
From the first I took a liking to this brave and hardy bandit, with
smiling face and winning way and nerves of steel. He had a pleasant and
easy-going disposition, with a broad and genial tolerance. He did not
look down upon people with a different code, or hold it against me
because my actions were within the law. To him there was nothing out of
the way in robbing stages and trains and driving stolen cattle. He did
not speak of these things, nor did he boast of them; to him they needed
no apology. He was simple-hearted and generous—a type that would
quietly face death without flinching, be faithful to friends and
chivalrous towards women. But he would pursue an enemy with bitter and
vindictive hatred.
Like all cowboys Slim loved excitement—especially a dance. That night
there was going to be a party down the river at the Lone Wolf Ranch;
and Slim asked me to go along.
Before dark we saddled our horses and rode together. I did not ask
about his life; it was not customary in that country. But he told me of
adventures in former days with wild animals and hostile Indians; and
all the time he spoke his steel-gray eyes looked straight into mine. He
talked simply and with a careless drawl, not seeming to feel there was
anything unusual or exciting in his tales. But for me they had a
strange charm—the way he told them, with a high squeaky voice, dry
humor, picturesque cowboy language, and good-natured oaths.
With his partner he once roped a big grizzly, which charged from a
thicket and chased them into the open. They were mounted on agile
cow-horses that ran like the wind; but a fall would have meant death.
Slim threw his lariat round the neck of the bear and his partner roped
her hind feet. The grizzly bellowed with rage and foamed at the mouth.
She tried to charge and floundered on the ropes; she reared and struck
wildly with all fours; but in their grasp she was helpless. With ropes
snubbed to their pommels and horses pulling in different directions
they together stretched her out; and after a while turned her loose.
The dance at the Lone Wolf Ranch was given by the sisters Katoyísa and
Nínake, and was free to all; every one in that region, both Indian and
white, was welcome. People came long distances in wagons or on
horseback—entire families—mothers with young babies. A log-shack close
to the cabin was used by the women, and there they left their babies
and young children to sleep on the floor.
The ranch cabin was lighted by lamps and candles; all three rooms,
including the kitchen, were used for dancing. The front door opened
upon the main room, a long apartment with low ceiling and walls of hewn
logs, chinked and plastered, all beautifully whitewashed and clean. The
windows and doors were decorated with green branches and pine boughs,
with the Lone Wolf brand made out of juniper on the log walls, also the
heads and horns of deer, elk, and mountain sheep. The guests were squaw
men with Indian wives, cowboys, and half-breeds. But no men of the
older generation of Indians came; it was not their kind of a dance.
The solitary musician was a half-breed who played on a wheezy
accordion. He had only one tune, a sort of lively jig. But he played it
over and over throughout the night, sometimes slow, sometimes fast.
Slim, Yellow Bird and I took partners and joined in a square dance. At
first there was little life or spirit; the dancers were stiff and
self-conscious, until Slim took hold. He was a good mixer and a natural
master of ceremonies. He was looked up to because of his brawn and
genial disposition. He was the life of the party. He went from one room
to another, shouting directions to the dancers; he was the caller-off
and was witty and funny; he wakened up the half-breed musician and made
every dancer “toe the mark.”
Around the walls were bashful cowboys who had not the courage to ask a
woman to dance, and breeds of all sorts and mixtures. It was hard to
distinguish between Indians and whites. Among the spectators were
elderly squaws in bright-colored Indian clothes, grandmothers looking
after babies and children, while their daughters danced and had a good
time.
At midnight I helped Katoyísa feed the hungry people. We had sweet
cake—an unusual luxury—cold beef and bread. The people wanted
nourishing food. They always had a craving for meat, especially beef;
it took the place of buffalo meat and they felt abused if they did not
get it.
We made tea in a great washboiler that nearly covered the stove. The
people ate in relays; and we washed dishes in between. I helped Námo, a
young Indian woman who had charge of the dishes; she was a great talker
and good natured.
After supper even the bashful cowboys limbered up; although some
slipped out of sight, because they had not the courage to dance. But
never have I seen a crowd of dancers with more dash and enthusiasm.
After midnight only those who were experts in the square dance took the
floor. Some had odd steps, like jigs, which they used at every chance.
The dancers had no time to rest or sit down; and in their joy they
stamped so hard the cabin was filled with dust.
In the early hours of the morning, old women and children lay asleep on
the floors. And outside in the shack, they lay so close, there was no
room to step, or turn over without waking the others.
At the height of the dance some women got excited and I heard
exclamations of fear. They said they had seen a wild face look in at a
window. They thought it was the Mad Indian—the murderer who came at
night and killed people in the light. So they covered all the windows
with blankets and shawls; and for a while no one was willing to open
the door, or go out into the night. Perhaps somebody did look in. At
the time I paid but little attention; Indian women are superstitious
and have vivid imaginations. Besides, I thought the wild tales I heard
of a “Mad Indian” might be a myth. But he was no myth. He turned out to
be a real Indian, an outcast who had committed murder and was on the
warpath—a menace to everybody in that country both Indian and white,
seeking to kill as many people as he could before he himself had to
die. Later I heard his story from one of the Indian Mounted Police who
had captured him alive.